My Innards Are Glowing

Well let's find out once and for all if you really do have a hernia Lynn! So I can stop talking, thinking and WRITING about it! I Just got back from my CT Scan. And no one told me about the fun needle in the arm, shoot glowing radioactive dye through your body part. They just ordered the test and said drink 2 quarts of water before showing up. Now, I was pretty dang proud that for once-- I didn't Google it! So I just went in blind thinking--super-powerful xray right? Wrong.

Let's just get this out of the way first. I hate that I have no man in my life at 48 to drive me to shit like this. I hate that I have to go it alone. Yes, I know you're saying--leave it to her to find a way to connect radiation with relationships--but seriously. I get too worked up over this crap. Having someone sit next to me in the waiting room as I read the paper about all the side effects to this dye--would have been nice. I mean even the woman across the room had her little three year old boy with a mohawk who was giving her the finger--AND a significant--something, sitting next to her!?

You have to check off all these boxes--to help them determine if you're allergic to this stuff. Do you have heart disease?  Kidney problems? Something I can't pronounce like Phoetnoneticsenia? I DON'T KNOW THAT'S WHY I'M HAVING A TEST!! I hope not! I hope just a little, baby hernia! Can that make you allergic?

I called my mom. Even though the sign said "Please don't use your cell phone." I needed her reassurance. Yes, at 48. But I'm not sure that was the right thing to do as she told me my father had a horrible reaction to that dye when he had a CT Scan years ago. Huh? What if dye-allergy is genetic? I do have his eyes!? I started to panic a little and hate Mr. PP even more for making me sit there alone listening to how they had to stop the test on my father because he started itching. Maybe I should just go home and go back to ignoring the pain above my belly button. For eight months I convinced myself I over-twisted in Yoga. Can't I just keep saying that?

Too late. They called my name. The adorable technician spoke to me in the hallway. Running down the list of 'here's what's going to happen.' Don't they even take you in a little room? Granted it was the lobby off the lobby--but still, as she told me about the IV suddenly making you feel as though you're peeing your pants, some dude half dressed in an open hospital gown walked by, right as I asked "do you really pee your pants?" I think his open gown opened up a little more, if you get my drift. (I sure caught his.)

So okay--peeing feeling, got it. Warm sensation as the dye goes in. Okay. Metallic taste in your mouth. What? I had to say--"but  my friends are taking me to a nice birthday dinner tonight at the Waterboy!?" She didn't seem to care. Metallic mouth. Check. Next thing I know we're walking into a room that looked very much like a space ship with a bad fake window looking out on trees lit up on the wall. Why do they do that? Another on the ceiling. Do they really think that's going to make you relax and feel like you're in nature?  There are 3 men sitting behind a glass window watching a screen of your organs light up? Soothing trees?

Now, I've been fortunate--I've hit 48 without many medical problems in my life. Even as a child--no broken bones and I didn't get my period till I was a sophomore in high school. Bonus. I've had one little surgery as an out patient. About ten years ago I went on vacation alone for a few days to Tahoe. I had been working pretty hard at TiVo and decided to get away. First thing I did was go get a massage! Only to hear the massage therapist flip me over and say "do you know you have a large lump on your back? I've seen one like this before on another client and it turned out to be cancer." WTF? I'm on vacation, alone, and suddenly I am convinced I was dying. Which is why I left the spa and immediately went and gambled my life away in the casino. Long side-story-short...I had a lipoma -- benign fatty tumor dogs and horses get. They removed it from my shoulder a month later. (and yes I connected tumor to my sad single life too--I told the doctor I couldn't see the large egg-sized lump on my back, because I don't have someone who sees me get out of the shower naked, at the moment.)

Back to CT scan central. I was trying to do my pranayama breathing--all these years of yoga has taught me--to relax and sail through it. Until they stuck the darn needle in my arm--and we're back! F the trees and the breathing. They were really nice and talked me through the entire thing. "And now we're going to inject the dye, you let us know how you're feeling." I'm feeling like I want my mommy and I want to rip this needle out and get the F out of here! "I'm fine."

I felt the weird warmness from the top of my head flow down through my stomach and then--yes--wait for it--the oops I think I just peed my pants sensation. Fantastic. I could feel my anxiety level rise almost as high as those fake trees on the ceiling. Breathe. Breathe. Wait what? Some dude says "hold your breath!" Uh--I feel like I'm going to pass out from anxiety and you're now telling me to hold my breath as I'm moved through a nuclear donut hole? Three times?!!

And we're done. But I couldn't stop shaking. Was it the dye? Are my innards exploding? Am I just having a massive freak out because I had to wait in the waiting room alone surrounded by women wearing scarves on their heads to cover the hair loss? She gave me a granola bar and said to sit and eat something. She told me if it's nothing too serious--I'd get the results next week. If they see "something" they'll call your doctor tomorrow.

The only thing I could get out, between my teeth chattering was "Cannn--I-I-I ha-have a cocktail at my birthday dinner tonight?" Thankfully, she said yes. I don't want to think about it. I just want to go out and continue celebrating with good friends. 48 years of good health. And god willing, I'm gonna take another 48 thank you. As I left, I tried to read the faces of the three guys sitting behind the glass wall. One of them said, "you take good care of yourself okay?" Why? Did he see something more than a hernia?

Maybe it just was the yoga twisting. I just hope it's not really my gut. I've been relying on it pretty heavily lately. I need it one piece.
(and now I have to run, because all the water I drank may cause more than just the "sensation" of peeing your pants)

48 and Holding

Today was my birthday. I woke up sort of scared to face it, instead of the usual birthday excitement. Why? For the first time in--gulp--48 years, I may be spending it alone. And on top of the icky feeling--God has a fun F'ed up birthday sense of humor. As if the date wasn't reminder enough that I'm getting old...I woke up to the second period this month. Second. And on my birthday. Could I not spend my birthday tampon free? Without zits and cramps? I'm already manic as it is about being alone, old and 10 lbs overweight--did you have to bless me with bloating too?

So that was neat. But I suppose better than the alternative--no birthday, right? So I got up. Made birthday coffee. Heard Matt Lauer say "Today, May 19th, 2010." I smiled. Still not sure about what the day held. Just another day right? I decided to open one of my presents my lovely family made sure arrived before the big day--no matter what the shipping cost. This one, from my sister Lisa who works for a really cool yoga clothing company. I hit the namaste jackpot! An entire bag of Yoga love. Mats, socks, pants, headbands, shirts. Only remember?...the hernia? Still waiting to find out if I'll ever do yoga again. But damn--I'm gonna look good if I do!

Went to the McDonald's job and was pleasantly surprised by one of my sweet staffers who brought flowers, gifts, wine and yummy baked goods--from two other staffers--in absentia. (One is on emergency medical leave and the other just changed jobs.) This felt nice. I've been feeling like a managerial failure at this place. Mostly because I don't feel the job is once again--the right fit for me. But my direct staff--whether they're here or not--are amazing. Very sweet. And maybe I did do something right. You don't give your boss wine if you hate them, right?

My fears of spending the day alone were fading. Especially since two good tee-vee pals took me to a nice lunch. And all the phone calls from friends--my phone didn't stop. Good friends. So many friends. Emails. Facebook greetings. I am blessed to have such wonderful family and friends who don't care where I work, what I say or how many times I complain about not having a boyfriend. (even when I do) They love me unconditionally. And speaking of NOT loving someone unconditionally--in the midst of all this outpouring of love--I still felt a little pang of sadness. (And no it wasn't the hernia acting up) PP hadn't called yet. I was convinced--no matter how angry he is, or maybe even dating someone else--he'll call. He knows how important birthdays are to me. Am I an optimist? or just stupid?

Back to work. Getting closer to 5. I didn't want to go home. Alone. Even though I left a few presents to open--and a bottle of champagne on ice--I knew it wouldn't be good. So--I did what I didn't want to do--I texted a friend--asked if she wanted to have dinner. (You thought I was gonna call someone else huh? Not that optimistic!) Thankfully she was open. I didn't tell her it was my birthday at first--because I didn't want her to feel obligated to pay for dinner. We're all hurting financially these days. But I came clean--mostly because I ordered champagne while I sat and waited for Andrea to arrive--I think she knew I was celebrating something. Now--my friend Andrea is a shrink. Please don't get all Freud on me by thinking there was anothe reason I invited her to my bday dinner. Free therapy over bruschetta? We don't go there. Just girl talk. Although--I did tell her about my angst over the ex not calling yet--still girl talk. But she shared that that was normal. You can be happy--about all the other stuff--and still be disappointed. See? I had the AMA seal of approval for my pang.

So all in all, it was a nice day. All my fears I built up the week prior--about celebrating alone--were for naught. Isn't fear just stupid wasted energy? That can cause stress or worse? (hernias) I came home. Opened the champagne and the rest of my presents. My BFF had flowers sent--they were on my doorstep waiting. Maybe I'm getting wiser in my 48th year--because as I drank my champagne and sat surrounded by cards and flowers and gifts--I said out loud--"I am loved!" Even when you don't have someone to wake up next to you who says "Happy Birthday" in the morning--the birthday hugs still come-- in so many forms! Sure, live arms are the best, but phone hugs, email hugs--you still feel the warmth.

And boy--I felt it. But then I had a second glass of champagne (okay counting the one before dinner--third) and pulled out "the box." It's under my bed. I don't ever pull it out. But because he didn't call and I was sad about that--I took it out. I just wanted to read his birthday cards from the years we spent together--and feel that kind of love before I went to bed. Alone.

Up next...what to do with "the box." It's time.

I'm not Desperate. Just Bored.

At least that's what I"m telling myself is the reason to consider online dating again. Bored. I spent the entire weekend alone. I mean, I talked to the lady at Starbucks and to the chick who painted my toenails. But I didn't spend time with anyone I know. I want to spend time with someone I know. Don't you? But when you don't know many someones...what do you do? How do you meet them? And by them--I'm talking about the opposite sex. When did meeting men become so difficult? All those old movies had women meeting men in soda shops, on street cars, walking in the park? I don't get it.! Is it because we don't wear hats or bosom-heaving corsets and red lipstick anymore? Oh wait, that's not true, I just saw that at Target...but still, no men coming up to her. So what is it?

Despite the nasty breakup, I think I was a pretty decent, somewhat kinda okay girlfriend. (I bought him a gas grill?)And I"d like another shot at it, thank you. But if you don't hang out in bars or wear tube tops and go clubbing on a bike half drunk--how do you meet someone? I tried online dating at the suggestion of my sister. She said, if anything, "it gives you something to do!" I needed something to do. But maybe not this. Oil painting may be more appropriate.

I wrote what some told me quite likely, is the funniest profile ever to be written on Match.com. Granted--funny isn't what they're all looking for, now is it? If I can find it--I"ll share it with you. But suffice it to say, you probably shouldn't start off your dating profile with comparing online dating to ripping off a bandage quickly, forming a scar that turns to puss and possibly death by infection. And you probably shouldn't tell the players to move along and the nice guys "while I am more inclined to talk to you and go on a sympathy date, it's not going to happen here so don't waste your lame 'winks' on me--what are we twelve? I'm into chemistry." Seriously. That was what I wrote. But then I also wrote I bake the best damn biscotti in the world. Balance. It's an important quality when choosing a mate.

Now, I only had my profile up for a few weeks. And it did get viewed several hundred times. I got quite a few emails--but let's face it. Match.com is a software program. That's filtered by information you input. Scan, Scan...and BING! No one--even men my age--is putting in the number 47. Or will click on 47. So while I got one younger guy who admitted he was only separated and addicted to ambien...I also got a healthy dose of "older men" wearing cowboy hats, a dude who sent me a video of himself singing a song he wrote for me, and one guy who I'm convinced is Vern Troyer's identical twin, complete with hairless cat. (in the profile photo)

Maybe I wasn't ready for this. I went on one coffee date. So I wanted to be ready, right? But the rest--I couldn't budge on. There's something so false about meeting someone hiding behind computer screens--they all can't be great cooks, movie-goers, hand-holders, walk in the moonlight types of guys? At least my profile was dead on sarcastic girl! What you read is pretty much what you get. I told them if I didn't meet anyone--I'd be fine--cuz "I have lifetime free TiVo." (maybe that's why they emailed me?)

So this weekend--in the midst of total loneliness, I decided to look at it again. Just look. But this time--it was worse than I remembered. I just can't be serious about men posing behind handles like "Luv2holdu2" or "RuThe1?" and my personal fave "Jessicasdad".  I'm sorry. But match.com should re-title itself "divorcedadslookingforsex.com"  Oh--and add a disclaimer--older ladies need not apply. Unless you're into old, REALLY old men. Not even the 70 year olds are looking for 47.

I can't do it. No matter how bored I am. And okay, no matter how desperate and lonely I am. Maybe it's time to get a sport. Like rock climbing? But first I better get the bunions fixed. That's the thing about meeting someone in person. You can't lie like you can on the internet. (college photos) You can see those suckers sticking out of my shoes from a mile away. (But you can also see my smile!)

Signed, "Feetfckedup4u".

Horoscopes Suck

Today I read my horoscope for the week--my birthday week--and just knew it was going to be about getting a new job and a new love! Sadly, it was about credit card debt. This after I decided today to treat  myself to a pedicure--even though I can't afford it and normally DIY my toenails. I don't know why I read my horoscope every Sunday. It's part of my newspaper ritual. Before I dig into the headlines--I check the Pink Section horoscope and the best seller list.

But I should know by now--horoscopes suck. They give you hope--right? You tape them to your bathroom mirror and they give you hope. Sort of like some anonymous free therapist helping you look through the crap towards a shiny new penny still to come--but it never does. But come on. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY this week. Really? I get credit card debt to dream on?

Yeah, birthday. I'm kinda sad about it too. First--let me say, I love birthdays. I usually stretch them out into 4-5 day events. I love getting cards--If someone gives me a gift or sends it to me in the mail, I wait. I don't open it until it's official! But this year, it's different. And no--it's not the age thing. Although 48 is waaaay too close to 50 and just sounds old. This year its looking like I'll be alone on my birthday. With nothing to do. Sad, right? I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who's ever spent a birthday alone--so that in itself helps a teeny bit. But not much.

Sure, I'll probably go to work. But I'm the manager with the birthday list--so I"m the one in charge of birthdays. Who's in charge of making sure I get the card signed by all 20 people who really could care less it's my birthday? I was thinking I may take the day off--go do something fun, like kayaking or wine tasting. Alone. I've even thought--well don't stay home, go to a nice dinner and drink champagne! Alone. Maybe I'll get some waiter who feels completely sorry for me and comps the champagne?

My mom is the best person I know. She's offered to drive 2 hours to meet me for lunch--just so I won't be alone. But I don't want her on these crazy roads during rush hour. She's 70. There are a couple people I can call. But why? The past two years I did that. If no one solicits a "hey let's do something for your birthday" invite--maybe you're supposed to be alone?

I like to make a big deal over birthdays. When Mr. PP turned 40 I got a private party room and invited 10 of his friends for drinks and a fancy cake. The next year I took him kayaking in Monterey--which was a gift I got for MY birthday from old friends. I got a hotel room and paid for a nice dinner. He always used to kid me about my birthday obsession. But now that I think of it--maybe he's right. I am a little obsessed with the celebration--so much, I never noticed--he really didn't do anything special for mine. The first year we went to a nice restaurant--but I had a free dinner because I interviewed the owner. The next year--we argued because he decided to go on a massive ski trek in the Sierras and was going to miss my birthday. He did suprise me and come home for it and took me to lunch--but he was angry about it. And never let me feel okay about being upset he chose skiing over his girlfriend's birthday. Big.

We broke up in May. A couple of weeks before my birthday. You can imagine what a wonderful birthday travel companion I was for my best friend who went to Tahoe with me that year. Not good. That and it was a milestone--45. So I literally thought my world was ending. Seriously. I got a bad sunburn and thought I was having a heart attack. Break-up sunburn. Everything hurts. So this year I'm going to Tahoe again with her a couple of weeks after my birthday. I plan to make up for that bad breakup bday--for her and for me. I'm so lucky to have a friend like that--who sees you at your worst--but still will love you on your birthday and beyond. I just gotta watch the gambling--according to Madame Minerva's insight about my credit card debt.

So. 48. Single. Fat. Job I hate. Hernia. And yes, I know the drill about being in gratitude--and I know that's what you're thinking. But please don't think I"m not. Grateful. I just told you about my best friend and my beautiful mom--these are things I'm extremely thankful for--oh--and my three sisters--they always make a big deal about my birthday. Oh and the fact that pretty much everyone's jaw drops when I tell them my age. But gratefulness aside. Birthdays are probably the only time it's OKAY to feel pity...for waking up alone on your birthday and not having someone to kiss after blowing out the candles. Maybe next year. That's what Horoscopes and candle wishes are for right? Hope.