Another Year, Another Physical

Recently I went for my yearly physical again. And I swear, every year they change the stupid gowns. This year, they were really spacey looking. But also, they have this plasticy lining that makes you so hot and gross inside. It felt like wearing saran wrap. And you have that little tie around you, trying to hold the gown together. I mean, it opens in the front and you have to sit and they just don't cover anything. You think you are all covered up and then a boob falls out the minute you sit down.

Anyway, we got past all that initial stuff, and I made it through the breast exam this time without yanking his head into my chest (woo hoo!).  He asks how my stomach has been because I had issues the previous few years with stomachaches and pains.  I mentioned that I had the same issues as before.

He was like, “Okay, that’s it!  You have put me off enough on this problem, this year we are doing a rectal exam.”  I started to edge away from him, awkwardly shoving the back of my body towards the wall.  “What?  No no, when I said the same I meant BETTER.  It’s totally better.  Not at all the same or worse.  Nope.”

He wasn’t having it, so he was like “roll over and I’ll bring the nurse in.”

Me: The Nurse??  What, do you want to bring the whole waiting room in here too?  God!

Dr: I have to have her in here for that type of exam.

Me: Maybe you can also ask on the street if anybody wants to catch this sight? [I know it's legal, but man, it is hard to give up your modesty like that.]

Dr: [Sigh] I’ll be right back.

So I’m on the table and trying to figure out a way to get around this whole thing.  I know it isn't a big deal but this is a whole new level with my doctor and frankly, I’m not sure I am ready to go there.

He comes in with the nurse and starts giving me a speech over me as I am trying to deter him from coming near me with his gloved hand.

Dr: Okay, for a few days you may be red and sore at the site, and you may have some itching or start to feel sick...

Me: WHAT??

Dr: Oh my God, I’m so sorry, it is flu shot season and I am so used to giving that speech I just automatically started on it.  Please, you will be fine.  You won’t even notice.

Me: You know, this isn't instilling in me a sense of comradery and the desire to tell you things in the future!  I’m not a big fan of this!

Dr: Yeah, I hate to tell you this, but it isn't really the highlight of my day, either. Sorry.

Point taken.  Anyway, it seriously was like five awkward seconds and then over.  It really isn't a big deal, but man, I hate those awkward doctor moments.

My One Prophetic Shining Moment

I have absolutely no ESP.  Like everybody I will get bad feelings and try to read into them and pretend, but overall, honestly I have no connection to the powers beyond.

However, my single prophetic experience happened in college.  Was it some kind of feeling about a close family member?  A dear friend?  My boyfriend of several years?  A dire warning or helpful sign? Nope.

I woke up one day and said to my friends, “I just had the craziest dream that Dudley Moore was dying from a brain disease.”  I got blank looks and “.... who the hell is that?”

“You know, he was in that movie Six Weeks with Mary Tyler Moore [I loved that movie], and he was in Arthur, and Crazy People?  Man, I haven’t even thought about him in years.”

Nobody really cared or even knew who I was talking about.  

Two days later, the news came out that Dudley Moore DID have a serious brain condition.

I’m just sayin’... not that I don’t love the guy as an actor, but if the universe saw fit to send me some kind of prophetic dream, I think it could have been something a little more exciting.

C'est La Vie

Way back in 2006, Leigh and I found a deal to go to Paris for only $499 a person, and it included the flight and hotel for 5 days.  We were like, how can we not take part of this tres magnifique deal?!  

Anyway, when you do one of those deals, they always offer you the cheapest flight and you can pay more to change the time, or the airline.  Our flight happened to be on Air India and the times worked.  Leigh and I figured, what’s the difference?  So we booked it.

We get on the plane and I end up between Leigh and this much older woman who was sitting by the window.  Things seem mostly okay; we watch a movie or whatever, we ate the airplane food they offered (which was curry!  Pretty good!).  Suddenly when the movie is ending the woman next to me starts holding her watch out to me and speaking to me in a language I was very unfamiliar with.  She kept waving the watch and pointing at it, so I just tried to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.  I’m sorry.  Yeah, I don’t get it. No, I still don't get it. I don't know. Please stop.”  But she just kept hitting my arm and then pointing to watch with a really annoyed expression.

So I turned to Leigh and went “I don’t know what to do here” so for some reason, Leigh takes the watch, changes the time to Parisian time, and gives it back.  She was like, “Maybe she just wants it updated.” (Meanwhile, the flight was stopping in Paris just to let off like, ten people.  The rest of the people were going to Mumbai and never even getting off the airplane.)

The woman takes back the watch and seems annoyed, but finally stops trying to talk to me after pointing at it a few more times.  We try to go to sleep, and just as I drift off in my seat I am woken up by the woman, who has put her head on my shoulder to try and sleep herself.  I said, “oh.  No.  No, no no.”  And she just looked at me.  I start to sleep and she does it again.  

At this point I am starting to get a little annoyed because we don’t have a lot of time in Paris and I need some freaking sleep so I’m not passing out when we land.  But I just keep being woken up and trying to use gestures to show that I’m not cool with cuddling with a strange older woman.

After getting maybe 20 minutes here and there throughout the night, they serve the morning meal.  I was like, “thank God, coffee.”  I stir my coffee and put the tiny spoon down on my tray.  The woman next to me picks up my spoon (Why?!  She had the SAME EXACT THING!) and as I stare confusedly, she stirs her own coffee, puts the spoon in her mouth, then puts it back down on my tray.  It really wasn’t cool. Needless to say, I was unable to consume my tiny plane yogurt.

After breakfast she starts to freak out a little bit so Leigh and I try to let her out of her seat; she doesn’t want to get up, she just is talking agitatedly and apparently nobody on the plane could communicate with her.  She spoke a dialect that nobody knew so she was just yelling, I was staring, and the flight attendants were trying to just calm her down.  She calms down enough, gets up to use the bathroom, and I am so ready to get off this flight.

The woman comes back and we go to let her back into her seat, but she emphatically gestures to show us that we should just shift in and take the window.  I move to the window, Leigh the middle, and the woman sits on the end.

I am like, “oh good, at least now I can look out the window and enjoy seeing Paris as we fly in!”  That thought was great for about 5 seconds, until I realized the seat stank.  I was like, “uh oh!” and showed Leigh that there was just vomit down the wall of the plane like 2 inches from me.  Leigh was like “oh, here, just cover it with this blanket and come share the middle seat with me.”  So we jam our 2 bodies into a seat and a half, and then Leigh goes, “oh God, that vomit is going to make me sick” and takes out the barf bag and starts dry heaving.  I was in hell.  

Luckily she held it together, and we landed in Paris. Leigh gets out of our row and the woman moves back in as soon as Leigh is out.  So I stand up and am showing her I have to get off the plane... she just won’t let me out.  To the point that a mess of flight attendants had to come over.  The woman was yelling and refusing to move, I was freaking out that I was going to end up in Mumbai if I didn’t get the fuck off that plane, and I was really tired of sitting with vomit.  They ended up physically pulling her out of the way so I could get off the plane.

Anyway, I mean, Paris was great.

Dead Fish Mouth

Last night, I was walking down the street towards my house and a random guy on the street stopped me and said, “excuse me.  Do you know where Path Mark is?” So I turned and pointed and said, “Yup, it’s right there.  See?  You can see the sign for it like, right there?  Like, RIGHT there?”  (It was half a block away and the sign was really clear as day.)  

So he was like “oh okay, thanks!” and I go to leave.  He stops me again.  “Oh, you know, I saw the sign, I actually was just wondering if you were Russian.”  So I was like “.....uh, no.”  

He walks over closer to me and shakes my hand.  I mean, it wasn’t a job interview so I’m not clear on why that had to happen, but whatever.  He tells me that I look just like a friend of his, and she is Russian, so he was just wondering if I was Russian too.  As established, no.  I repeat that no, I’m not in fact Russian.  He tells me he is from Paris and most people think he’s hispanic but he’s French.  Okay... And?

Him: But you have such beautiful eyes!

Me: Thanks, but... that doesn’t mean I’m Russian, does it?

HIm: But you look so much like my friend!

Me: Okay.

So then I started to leave and say, “Well, have a good night.  Path Mark.  Right there.  Enjoy it!”  I turn to try and get away.

Him: Oh are you walking back that way?

I mean, he saw me walking up the street in a specific direction.  It isn’t like I was standing still when he came up to me.  Nor was I just wandering and veering in many directions.  

Me: Yes, I am walking up there.

Him: Okay me too.  [what?  No you aren’t, I thought you were going to Path Mark?]

Me: What?  I thought Path Mark?

Him: Oh I wanted to go walk by Pep Boys.

Pep Boys?  Pep Boys was closed.  And who wants to walk BY it?  It isn’t the Macy’s Christmas window.  So he starts walking with me and I realize that basically, I am a block from my house and I can’t lose this guy and I really don’t want him following me in.  So we get up near my house, he is still talking to me about absolutely nothing, and I am starting to wonder what the best move would be.  

Him: You should take my number so you can text me and I can make you dinner.

Me: Oh, right.  [I make no move to take out my phone.]

Him: So you live here?

Me: [Staring at the house next to mine vacantly] Yeah, I live over herrreeeeeeish.

Him: Do you want to go in and have a drink?

Who the heck meets you and in 5 minutes wants to come inside your house?  Murderers, that’s who.  So I was trying to be nice enough to not have a situation on my hands, but ugh.  I try to give him helpful information, like “the train is over there!  Are you taking a taxi?  Do you need directions somewhere?” and he just won’t go.  He wants to know if I live alone.  I was like “no, actually, I live with family. A lot of people.  I’m NEVER alone.”  

HIm: awwww.

Me: Yup.

Him: Do you want to sit outside with me for a minute?

Me: I really have to get inside.

Him: I would love to see your apartment.

Me: That sucks.

Him: Can I not see it?

Me: No.

Him: Let me touch your hand.

Me: [thinking he wanted to shake hands] okay, bye!

Instead he takes my hand, waxes on and on about how soft it is (it isn’t), and kisses my hand, and starts in on my fingers.  It felt like someone was rubbing a dead fish all over my fingers. How someone could have a mouth that was so.... cold.... ick!

I pulled my hand back, horrified, and said bye.

Him: Don’t forget to call me.

Me: Sure.

Him: Did you get my number?

Me: yeah, you already gave it to me. Bye!

I just don’t know how to be meaner in these situations.  Because I always feel like when someone is crazy, it makes it worse to be mean!  Like then you’ll make them snap.  

But even still, I wonder if it isn't better than my brief foray into online dating, where I opened the app and THE VERY FIRST THING THEY RECOMMEND TO ME is this gem.

Where has he been all my life? So romantic!

"Desserts Are for One"

Many, many years ago in my youth, I was going on a date with a guy that I liked a lot.  He was driving down from pretty far away for dinner, so I picked the place (my favorite restaurant) and told him it would be on me.  I was like, 22.  Making $25,000 a year.  But I was so excited and wanted to be able to share my favorite place.  

After we ate and enjoyed and chatted, the waiter came around with the dessert menu.  Having seen countless romantic comedies, I batted my eyelashes (I mean, I probably really just looked like I had dust in my eye because I can't roll like that) and said "oh, do you want to spliiittttt something?" 

He smirked, and then looked at me, in earnest, and said "Diane, I am pretty sure the desserts are FOR ONE."  Then continued to peruse the menu. And order a dessert...  For himself.

SHOT DOWN.

Oh Life

There are very few feelings like the one you get when you realize you just spent God knows how long walking around with your skirt tucked into your underpants.

Motorcycles Suck

A few weeks ago, I was on vacation in Croatia.  Oooh!  Ahhh!  Beautiful!  Lovely people!  Living the dream.

My friend and I got to Split and got off the bus. We try to take a cab, but because our hotel was in the older part of town, cars weren't allowed.  The cab driver gives us vague directions.  "Go that way.  You see stairs.  Walk past them.  Then up."  Okay.  We start trekking. Sounds clear enough.

Despite being New Yorkers, we wait for the light to change to cross all streets.  We get to a major intersections, and stand around waiting.  Finally, it has the little walk guy lit up, and a bunch of other people start crossing as well.  My friend steps off the curb, and I'm right behind her.  All seems well.

Suddenly when I'm a few feet into the street, I hear a horrible screeching sound.  The next few seconds are basically just gone from my life...  From what I gather, a guy on a motorcycle either turned and wasn't looking, or ran a red light, not sure.  But he knocked my ass down.  Me, the guy, and the motorcycle are all splayed out in the street.  Laid the fuck out.  My friend turns and screams, "OH MY GOD, DIANE!"  I got up myself, some other people helped the dude on the bike up.  I was standing there shocked.  

(As a side note, I had the Samsonite spinner luggage, which wheeled itself to safety and left me to take the hit. It was standing proudly to the side, unscathed. Little bastard spinner.)

While I was standing in the street, just looking around completely shocked, I look down at the guy while he's still on the ground. We make weird eye contact, and then my friend screams again, "get out of the street!  The light is going to change!  Don't get hit again!"  So I grab my still upright bag and we cross over.  The guy on the motorcycle gets up and drives off.  We are standing there, in shock, and my friend is making sure I'm okay.  I suddenly can't stop laughing.  The whole thing was so unbelievable.

We get to the hotel, finally, and the woman is telling us that even though we had booked on Expedia they didn't charge it and we had to pay for it, in cash.  She has a little bit of an attitude problem, but I am just sitting there.  I take out everything from my wallet and say, "here is all my money."  I hold it out in my hand with a vacant smile on my face. I am fanning out every form of kuna and blindly staring. My friend says in a gentle voice, "no, no, Diane, put your money away now..."  

I really wasn't at my best.

After getting that settled all I want is dinner and some wine.  I had a skinned knee, and my hip ached, but really, for having been hit by a motor vehicle I was as best as could be expected.  

We go find some food, and I (apparently) order lamb chops.  After the waiter leaves and I think for a minute, I say, "wait.  Did I order lamb?  I hate lamb."  And my friend looked a little horrified and says, "... yeah, that's what I thought.  Are you sure you are okay??"  But I just had some more wine and felt better.  

Luckily our hotel that night had a shared, small bed that felt like we were sleeping on old hay.  

I even wanted to stay in the hotel the next day, but because it was all so uncomfortable, I just took the boat to Hvar and held my friend back from moving around much...

Meeting my favorite celeb

So my friend tells me "you really have this unnatural love for Josh Groban.  He's doing this thing for the NY Philharmonic, why don't you come?  You can't like, touch him, but you can just come look at him from afar." (Side note: "unnatural" means I listen to him and am not over like, 50 years of age.  This is the rule per all my friends.  Not unnatural like I follow him around.  Just to clarify.)

So I take a short day from work, go down to view Josh. I was standing with the photographers waiting for the Philharmonic.  They were nice and we had chatted.  I had to explain to them who Josh Groban was, as mostly they were excited about Alec Baldwin and stuff.

Right before everything is about to start, my camera dies.  Like, dead and never to be revived. I am freaking out, and having my little fit about how I will get a picture of him.  My phone camera was OKAY, but this was my moment to shine! The moment when Josh Groban would look over and realize he loved me!  The group of professional photographers are all looking at my cheap ass camera trying to fix it. No luck.  We can't bring it back to life.

Suddenly my friend shouts "I got eyes on Groban!" or something equally creepy in the context.  She takes off across Lincoln Center towards where he is standing with a gorgeous blonde "friend."

He comes over for the pics and is so nice, my friend asks him if he would take a picture with me.  He was the nicest person ever (sigh) and he was very accommodating and I was finally getting the picture that would hang next to my bed for years to come.  (Yeah, that's not creepy...)
So as he puts his arm around me and we are posing, what slips forth from my mouth?  Nothing cool.  Nothing that I had prethought out.  Someone says you are going to meet your favorite celebrity and wouldn't you, like, I don't know, THINK about what to say?  Well, not this girl.

So as we are standing there and I am grinning so wide I feel like I'm going to hurt my mouth, I say in a fake and extremely exaggerated Southern accent (and yeah, I live in the Bronx): "Oh myyyy.  I shoulda brought my smellin' salts!"

But I think I took him off guard so much he looked down at me and did a half laugh.  Probably as in, "what the hell did I just get myself into?"

The professional photographer ends up snapping the picture, which then had to be purchased from his website (thanks Xander!)... but totally worth it.

Anyway, the moral is, if it is even remotely possible that you may speak with a celebrity you love, maybe think about what to say first.

Naughty Puppets

Lately I have been thinking a lot about people I have met up with, and dated, and past relationships.  I know people say that online dating opens you up to weirdos, but honestly, I meet weirdos constantly in person anyway.

There was one guy I met out, and he seemed like a cool guy.  I gave him my email because he claimed that he was too wordy for texts and his thoughts can't be constrained by a mere 160 characters.  Kind of a douche thing to say in an attempt to sound smart, but okay.  The exchanges were interesting.  He spelled well. Things seemed pretty good.

We decided to meet up one night and I dragged my friend along (I know, kind of not cool on my part, but he wanted to meet way downtown and I didn't want to take the subway home alone and frankly, maybe he was psycho).

We get there and he seems okay.  Clearly it won't go anywhere with us, but maybe he can be a friend.  I like friends. 

He did spit a little when he talked, and as the night went on he kept inching closer and I kept having to retreat away.  But still, it wasn't a heinous night.

He then starts talking about his ex.  I mean, enough with the exs, people.  I am so tired of constantly hearing about it, but whatever.  And he is saying how much they had in common, and how they still ran into each other because they hung out in the same crowds.  He proceeds to tell us then how they bonded over their passion for "adult puppetry."  

I smiled and said, "excuse me?"  

"Yes, it is REALLY a niche group of us who are into that kind of thing.  You'd be surprised.  But we were both pretty intensely into it."

Puppet erotica?  Really?  This is a thing?  And you think I'd be shocked to find that it a small group of you?  Not so much.

I think the shock and horror showed on my face, as the night pretty much ended there.  He walked us outside and said, "Well I'd offer to drive you guys home, but I don't really want to."  Such a gentleman!  I like the fact that he even brought it up... we weren't expecting or requesting a ride.  But hey, at least he pointed out he WOULD if he felt like it.

But I am pretty sure that experience and hearing about this underground group of puppet fanatics made this one of the best dates of my life.