Tag Archives: postaweek 2011

Mambo Dating #5

I apologize for the delay in this post.  I was wrestling with old and new demons and have won once again.  Well, I’m getting there.  I need some new ammunition I think.

Well, the saga of my online dating experiences went on.  I think I may have run out of bad guys though so I’ll change it up a bit.  Some good and many bad men have become a part of my history, whether I wanted them to or not.  So like the Mambo #5 song I had various men make an appearance in my life, most very briefly.  I learned from all of them.

One of the things I like about having access to men’s profiles on my selected dating site is the game I’ve had to play to try to read into what they are really talking about.  This isn’t easy in most cases.  The majority of the men I talked about in my last 4 installments had profiles that made them seem like anybody’s dream guy or was so neutral I only found out how bad they were when it was almost too late.

That means, they lie.  Not all do but the many I encountered did.

I wish to give you a few examples and you try to guess the dreamboat I encountered.  All spelling and grammar is included.  Just click on the names and go back to the original post so you can recall their utter charm. I deleted specific mention of places that may identify them.

Example number one:

I am a well balanced man who lives life to the fullest. i enjoy dancing, travel, music, reading, live theatre and much more. my goal/aspirations is to find a woman who is stable who has dealt with past issues/relationships and ready to move forward toward a meaningful relationship. i take pride in myself as a healthy individual without being self absorbed. i am flexable, kind, opened minded, keep up with current affairs and trends. i have no time for negative energy

First Date
i would like to go to a fine outside cafe for lunch and chat to get to know each other. if things clicked, arrangements would be made to meet again to do anything that we’d both feel comfortable doing, spontaneity is cool.

Multiple choice:  a) Pretty Pornographer     b) Bobby or    c) Maxwell


…The women for me needs a sense of humor. I’m a easy going, jovial guy that likes the simple things in life. You know KISS. That’s me, not flashy just plain me. I like people, so it’s very easy for me to make friends. That’s what I’m looking for in a mate. I’m looking for that women that I can connect with.(Maybe need fish finder?)  I’ve never been married, so I don’t have any children. I own a house in — , that I like to keep clean. I like all kinds of sports, however I don’t play too many any more. Golf, Baseball, and working out once in awhile. I like the beach, especially on a real hot calm summer day. Mmmmmmm – frisbee too…

a)  Bobby  b) Creepy 400 lb Stuffie Talker or c) Dreamy Bald Guy

Okay, one more  #3:

I like being active, I really try to pay it forward all the time. I like down to earth people not those who try to impress the heck out of you with all of their accomplishments. I like a healthier type of lifestyle but I am far from obsessed. I do go to the gym lots but right now it is my stress relief and my social network of like minded people. I want to be a good friend first (chemistry) then all the other good stuff will follow i am sure. My answer to that would be ………..fill in your own blank. I like music,kisses,hugs,lots of smiles,dogs and cats, like slimmer people athletic types just people better sized for me. I really like people who can spell at least reasonably well and who have some command of grammar. Typos happen I get that.

First Date
You lead I’ll follow if it sounds good.

a) Bobby  b) Dreamy Bald Guy  or c) Maxwell


1)Bobby   2) Creepy 400 lb Stuffie Talker 3) Dreamy Bald Guy

Those are just a few I had to figure out.

I will end this series with this lovely quote from another dreamy bald guy.  He very kindly gave me his permission to use it.

We have this idea that love is supposed to last forever…… But love isn’t like that… It’s a free-flowing energy that comes and goes when it pleases. Sometimes it stays for life; other times it stays for a second, a day, a month, or a year. So don’t fear love when it comes simply because it makes you vulnerable; But don’t be surprised when it leaves either, Just be glad you had the opportunity to experience it.

We’ve all had that feeling, and its come and gone again, that’s why most of us are here, to try and capture that feeling again, and it is wonderful isn’t it? So if the fates are with us, we will find that person and experience it again, and perhaps, just perhaps it will last forever this time…….here’s hoping.

Oh yeah, I met someone.  He’s pretty dreamy. 🙂

funny stories about bad dates

My sister and I went for our walk tonight.  She wanted the details of my dating experiences I’ve had so far with an on-line dating service.  It was good to tell her about my week; I finally could see the humour in it.

And there was a lot.  Of humour, I mean.

I can sit watching the dating site’s in-box feature where everyone you corresponded with will show up; the site making sure you know they’re online and available to chat.

In my case, since I am a chatty thing, there are lots of names there on any given evening.  Almost all these men shall now become a part of this post.

Including the guy who posts a picture of himself 200 pounds ago.  Now I knew how big he was before we met so it wasn’t really a surprise.  What surprised me was how much of a predator he was, how full of himself, and pompous.  It was all about the hunt.  Mr. Octopus by the third date.  He had stuffed animal-toys in his house and they all had names and different voices.  Kinda creepy. He tried to change my diet Pepsi habit, my salt intake and what I listen to before I go to sleep at night.  When I sort of broke it off after a date of more fighting him off, saying we could just start over and take our time more, he decided he wasn’t physically attracted to me.  No problem.  and Whew!

Then I talked to a guy on-line for a few days.  He sent me a picture; it was pretty good but I didn’t believe it was really him.  The guy said he won’t post his picture on the dating site because then he gets bombarded with too many unwantables.  Apparently, I was a wantable.  We switched over to a better chat host and he sent me another picture.  This one took my breath away.  He was absolutely gorgeous to look at.  Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt.  I kid you not.  I was amazed I had this guys attention.  So amazed, in fact, that I missed a few key clues along the way to his personality . But I did catch on in time that he was psycho.

Not him but sorta close.

The night before we were going to meet for the first time, he decided for some reason, to bring up porn.  He asked me if I liked porn.  I said no.  He asked why.  I told him why.  He flipped out.  He wrote in all caps (screaming) that I was a victim lover and help make society restrictive and unbearable to live in.  He called me names.  Really bad names.  But none that I hadn’t heard before.

I disconnected and proceeded to block him from anywhere I had talked to him.

Then I went and had a shower.  I had almost met this guy.  Scary stuff out there.

More recently, I found a fellow on the site, who said he had a rare form of arthritis.  I wrote to him to ask him what kind it was.  He answered back and we tried to chat.   I gave him my phone number so he wouldn’t have to type so much with one finger.  We had such a nice time on the phone I agreed to meet him the next day.  Turned out he lived a block or so away from me.  Because of his age (60 to my 50), my safeguards (name, address and phone number to my kids) he picked me up at my place.

Well I was waiting at the agreed upon time when he called to say he would be late by 20 minutes.  Okay with me.  I tried to do something better with my hair.

I went out front of the building to wait for him.  Along comes this van, hurtling itself around the corner to my street, screeching to a halt, backing up to turn around, narrowly missing a parked car.  He sped up to the door, almost resting on the boulevard.

My thought was:  oh dear.

I opened the door and there was this smiling, very wrinkled face looking back at me.  He was practically bouncing up in his seat.  He kept saying”Oh wow, you’re real. Wow what a woman” and checking out every inch of me.  He continued to do this as we were driving, swerving into the other lane jumping the curb once.  I made him stop the van for a moment so he could collect himself.  He turned on all the lights in the van so he could show me his deformities.  They were absolutely severe.  That wasn’t the problem though.

He smelled really bad.

Those who follow my blog know about my sensitivity to odours.  Gooood ones and baaad ones.  This was a bad one but it would get worse.

We got to the pancake house where George announced to everyone that this was our first date.  Everyone made a fuss over us and led us to a quiet table.  I had tea and he had coffee.

Not 5 minutes into the conversation, he suddenly stopped talking about his deformities for the fourth time and asked me what my favourite sexual position was.  He really did.  I didn’t tell him, of course, but did tell him how offensive that was.  He was so sorry but asked again in a different way a few minutes later.  The waitress kept coming over, cooing how cute we were and looking at me like I must be some kind of saint.

George finally left the table to use the washroom so I took the opportunity to frantically text my daughter to please call in a few minutes and ask me to pick her up.

George came back to the table excitedly shouting to the waitress to please save him, bring more coffee.  I sank lower in the booth.  He sat down and started rubbing his leg up against mine.  I told him not to do that.  He said it was an accident.  I kept checking my phone. He kept rubbing my leg and making these grunting noises.  I finally told George that my daughter has to be picked up shortly.  He said he would love to come with me, with a leer on his face and his tongue sticking out from between his missing teeth.

My daughter finally texted me back saying “but mom I’m going to my friend’s house remember?”

Great.  Good job.  We need a code.

We finally got back in the van and were heading back to my place.  I know I was quiet and it was mostly because I was trying not to throw up.  With him drinking the coffee along whatever other smell he had on I was having a hard time not being sick.  I don’t mean to be disrespectful about this or his deformities.  It was so bad and too much for me.

We pulled up to the front of my building, almost hitting the same car.  He put the van in P and flung off his seat belt and held open his arms and said, “c’mere”.  Oh Jeez.  I opened my door, saying I had to run or be late getting my kid.  I nearly ran up the steps.

The next day he sent me an email saying he thought about it but he didn’t feel we would work out.

Double whew.

The next guy is a whole post on his own.  So this will be at least a 2 parter if not a series.  Stay tuned.  It does get better.

Depending how many frogs I keep almost kissing.

I’m not even going to pretend to know what these guys are thinking.  This has been a whole different world for me.  When I met my last fella on the same site he was the second guy I met.  It’s not so simple now.

Later, I’ll tell you all about Bobby (not his real name).


I know what I’ve written may read rather all over the place.  I’ve edited as much as I’m able to.  I’m satisfied though, that my message is clear.  I ask not to be judged and appreciate your support.

When will this ridiculous disorder decide what it’s going to do already?  I’ve had enough of new or exaggerated symptoms.  I want a way out of this prison that is holding my brain hostage and my life in limbo.

I’ve experienced the deep, dark blue of depression where it was all I could do to hold on to my life.  I’ve even lived through the highs: racing thoughts, reckless abandon with money, big ideas.    What I was not prepared for was the all encompassing consumption of this disease, even while on meds.


I’ve been consumed with various things for weeks, none being productive nor good for me.  I mentioned my racing mind.  That’s a huge symptom and the springboard for the others.

The worst times are the nights.

I stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning.  Every day.  Not easy getting up at 7:30.  Not good either, considering I’ve been going to a wonderful program and working at my contract part-time job.  The job was only for 2 weeks and I did lousy at it.  I’ll be lucky if they call me again.  Both the program and the job ended this past weekend.

What do I do during the night?  Why, I’m right here.  For weeks not writing in my blog  as some of you may have noticed.  Not researching jobs I should be applying for.


I’m on dating sites.  Talking to strangers who really aren’t pretending to want to know me except in the carnal sense of the word.  I could think of nothing else but to see whether anyone had messaged me.  I even checked my phone while at work, taking more breaks than allowed.  Even as I write this I’m peeking at the other page to see who’s on.

Men messaged me, saying all the nice things I wanted to hear.  Good thing there was SOME judgement left in me where I made sure to talk to them for quite a while before meeting them.  I even had a safe plan if I was to meet anyone.   One guy went ballistic when I gave my view on porn after he asked.  A real bully and potential emotional terrorist.  Didn’t meet that one, but it was close.

Another man seemed to be perfect.  He was very spiritual and funny.  So amazing looking in his pictures; what could he possibly want with me?  He didn’t talk about sex at all until about a week of talking online and then it was for one evening and, charmingly,  he was filled with regret the next day.  I made the mistake of letting him read my blog.  So here is this stranger reading about the most vulnerable times in my life.  I was so anxious I did the wrong thing.  He assured me otherwise.  He felt closer to me than ever.

Then, a few days later, he stopped answering my messages and emails.  I only sent 3 as I did not want to look more pathetic.  I was devastated.  We were just about to meet in person. He played me like some kind of stringed instrument with a background of primal african drums. When I got to my Sara Riel program the next day I couldn’t focus and I cried throughout the class.  The other participants and the facilitator were so wonderful.  I stayed until the end of the day and wallowed for a couple more but went on with my life, as it was. One morning, I woke up and it was done.  But now the other symptoms were becoming more apparent.  In hindsight that is.

I only met one fellow in person and ended up hurting and confusing him with my scattered thinking and poor judgement.  I felt nothing for the guy except that he was funny, made me laugh and feel good.  As a matter of fact I felt shocked that this was the first time in my history with men that I didn’t imagine I was in love with someone I was with or even turned on with HIM.  I was clingy and paranoid.  I accused him of things that were ridiculous.

Sex had consumed me and my every thought and movement. There seemed to be no way to stop.  It was destroying my life.

This had never, ever happened to me before. “Hypersexuality” it’s called. Thank god it’s ending now. Unfortunately, that usually means a crash. I hope I’m ready for it.

I was also drinking.  Every day.  Weeks of it.  Never giving a thought as to how this fucks up my meds.  It wasn’t until tonight I realized there is something definitely wrong with me and did some research.  I found out that not only does alcohol retard the effects of the medication I take, it also can cause death, and not rarely either.  My meds affect my central nervous system and, mixed with alcohol, are lethal.

For those of you who are living with bi-polar disorder or who love someone who is, please visit this website here.  Read it, read it, read it.

Now for my plan:

  • It’s cold outside but I am going to walk at least a block every day and slowly add to it.
  • Somehow I have to limit my time on the Web.  That’s so hard to do since my life is so isolated.
  • I will read more and even watch TV.
  • I have to stay off that dating website as much as possible.
  • I will eat better and buy groceries.
  • I will NOT drink alcohol at all.

Thank you all for being here with me and making it all the way through this post.

I wasn’t sure I was going to.


How do I feel right now?

I’ve been racking my brains about what to write with no inspiration at all.  Most of my starts were lame this week; usually this doesn’t happen to me.  Then, I thought of my favourite print a woman I used to know owned of a bed with rumpled white, white sheets under a window that looked out upon a summer morning.  I couldn’t find it online but this one felt almost the same.

From both photos, I get the sense that something wonderful happened in that bed.  It didn’t have to be sex at all (although that would be nice) but a night filled with whispers in the dark, secret touches, breaths colliding in unison, and two minds exploring the dreams of the other.

Then a morning escape for a day with a future.

Makes one sigh.  I sure did.

Naps Are Not Allowed

I am overwhelmed by the response my last post had on you people.  What an outpouring of love and support from those who have never met me and only know me through my writing.  I am humbled, more than I was before.  More truthfully, I am affected like you can’t believe.  I’ve had emails, twitter DMs and, of course, comments here on my site, all rooting for me to win and get back into the land of living. Today, I opened the curtains for the first time since “Black Wednesday” as my beloved sister calls it.  The sun came pouring in, warm and friendly against my skin.  I even let the cat sit beside me on the window sill (it’s a no-no as “no pets allowed” in my apartment).  I feel more connected with the world than I did a few days ago.  Hell, better than yesterday even.  Today was the day to get moving.

I woke up in time to take my daughter and her friends to a VERY early volleyball practice.  I wore my PJs as I planned to go right back to my bed.  Which I did, setting my alarm first.  I had an appointment at Sara Riel for 10:00.

Now I thought I had the right day, time and location as had I entered it all into my phone immediately after talking to the intake worker last week.  Today my mind was still in a state of disorientation and, man, was I ever shaking.  I googled everything so many times and even wrote down the directions (my printer is out of ink) and left in plenty of time.

I found the part of town the building was in easily enough but there was no such address.  My worker, Christy, had said it was on the fourth floor at 410 Kenny.  There was nothing but garages where I was.  I circled around but everything remained the same….wrong.  I pulled over and tried to google map it on my phone.  I could not see the little map-thing, it was so tiny.  I was in the right spot but it was still wrong.  Checked the time.  10 minutes before the appointment.  Luckily I had programmed their number into the phone already.

Try getting a real person.  I tried 4 times.  Not even pressing “0” brought me to a real live breathing, direction-giving person.  I finally went through the directory until I found someone named “Christy”.  No answer, voice mail.  ARGH.

I couldn’t hold the phone any more as my quaking was making me do ridiculous mistakes on the keyboard.  Times like this I wish I still smoked, even though I quit in 1987.  It would give me something to do while I tried to figure out what to do.

I eventually reached Christy, who informed me our appointment was supposed to be the hour before, the address was at 210 not 410 and she was on the second floor.

I had the day right.

I arrived, finally, signed in and didn’t know what to do next, only because there was no one there to greet me.  I didn’t dare venture out of the waiting area so I started reading posters and calendars. A staff person approached me and asked who I was seeing.  Then she asked me if I was cold.  I wasn’t, as I was in the middle of a quaking, stupid hot flash.  What a sight I must have been.

Finally I was sent upstairs, no elevator, where the first staff person must have warned the second staff person that I was pathetic/suspicious and she waited for me at the top of the stairs.  I was led into a waiting room where I was told to sit in a specific chair.  I sat in the other one.  The woman grinned at me and asked me if I wanted anything to drink.

Well. the other chair was closer and my wobbly legs were giving me trouble.

I met my worker, Christy.  She’s wonderful.  She had to fill out a form about me but we talked about so much other stuff that didn’t make it onto the form.  She gave me facts, she showed me what was real in my thinking, and she really seemed to care.  She recognized my skills.  She tolerated my shaking, asking, just once, if I was coming down from anything.  She knew how the world worked for someone with my mental illness, that bipolar disorder did work in the regular world and I would be able to work in that world too.

She was shocked at the things I revealed,   She had heard it all before, of course, but the speed of my transference, my show of  trust in her and how matter-of-fact I could tell my stories. She felt I should do public speaking.

I left there, two hours later, still shaking but hungry for the first time in days.  Carly and I had a lovely supper later.  We went and saw my son for a while when I got a call from a very nice woman I met recently.

Sue.  She has written comments on my blog fairly frequently lately.  She’s one of the people who had contacted me with words of support outside this blog too.  She was trying so hard to help.  Tonight she came by with a bag of groceries (it had ice cream in it!) and a heart full of hope and experience for me.

We talked about many things we have in common and some things we don’t.  As most of my readers may know, I don’t seem to attract friends very easily but Sue has gone above and beyond.

My sister called tonight too, trying to find a way for me to make money from my writing.  Books maybe or have my blog make money.  I just said it was a lot of work right now.  I would love to write a children’s book on her three-legged dog. 

So there you have it.  I’m ill and most people still accept me.  Apparently in the working world this will be true as well.  I was told by the wise Christy that most of her clients are encouraged not hide the fact they have a mental illness.  This would be a new thing for me.  Not to be ashamed of who I am and also know that this is not all who I am.

I hope tomorrow is good too.  I’m very busy and hope I have the energy to go all day.  Hard not to take a nap/  I see my GP tomorrow for test results she wants to talk to me about.  After that is orientation at welfare then over to my son’s to weed his yard as he is putting his house on the market right away.  Then Carly and I are off to a program she started in Grade 6, meant to get kids into university who have the smarts but not necessarily the means.  They regroup them in Grade 9 then again in Grade 11, offering them paid work to do capacity building with kids in Grade 6.  She balked at first but I’ve been talking up university for a while, looking up courses.  She’s headed in the right direction.  I only wish I had the opportunity when I was her age.  My life would be very different now.

Oh yes, I had a chance to make a train wish this morning.  All I wished for was for something good to happen.  I also found my mother’s rings that I couldn’t find before.  I put on one of them and have been wearing it ever since.

Tomorrow,  I think I’m ready for you now.

To learn more about Sara Riel click here

A Love So New

We are so new together

So good together in our new life

It was hard to leave you even for a little while

Thinking I feel your fingers digging

pulsating deeper


Your steamy breath filling my senses

as you caress every part of my body

I have no shame and

cry out for release

I know you could go all night

but I will only get dizzy and spent.

So with my skin red and tingling and almost bruised

I finally step out of the shower.

Welcome home, you said.

Welcome home.

A Little Bounce Goes a Long Way

We had boxes.  We had bags. Even a little furniture. They were on time.  We were as ready as we were gonna be.  It was hot and humid and my deodorant was missing.

The moving men were really just boys but really big, really strong boys.  I saw one pick up my box spring and hoist it on his shoulder like he was carrying a ghetto blaster.  Then he went whistling out the door to toss it to his buddy who then placed it on the truck.  My fella and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.  We watched as one of them picked up three boxes of my books at once and carried them like they weighed nothing.

Amazing.  Youth is amazing.

So the gigantic men/boys climbed into their truck while we climbed into our car/truck and headed for our new digs.  Carly and I were very excited; I think I was more so as I couldn’t stop an occasion squeal from sneaking out of my throat.

We arrived and climbed the stairs to the caretaker’s apartment.  Interesting woman and I would need a whole post just to tell you about her.  This post shall give you a glimpse of what she was like the day I moved into my new life.

Greta was so pleased to see us and invited us in for tea.  umm, we came for keys, Greta.  “Oh no,” she said “you moving in tomorrow.”  Carly’s face = white.  I felt like I was going to faint.  Greta is from Croatia and hasn’t been in Canada all that long.  She got out the lease; I asked for a calendar and hauled out my shiny new phone.  I showed her the date on the lease, the date on the calendar and, finally, the date showing on my phone.

“Oh, Marie! Move in today! Oh Marie I not realize this”  She found a pen and Carly giggled at me while I jumped up and down and signed the lease and the other papers landlords seem to need. Downstairs we went to our new place where Greta knocked and knocked on the door, muttering that she hoped she doesn’t wake them up.

Huh?  Eh?

After several minutes of this she finally left us to go back upstairs to get a key


Finally, the door opened to our new home.  Carly ran from room to room checking everything out.  It was clean and ours.  It smelt funny though.  And it was hot.  Humid.  The movers arrived and started the business of moving.

I asked Greta for our keys.  She didn’t have one.  I patiently said I would wait until she got one from her place.  She said she had no more keys.  No keys for the apartment.


She was stuck on what she was supposed to do about that. Luckily I had my shiny new phone, where Carly found the email the former tenant sent me about the sublet.  Well, first she found the email from him about erectile dysfunction (I truly believe the poor man was a victim of a scam, he has 4 children and would have been  horrified to know I received this).  Of course Carly wanted to know what erectile dysfunction was.  Wanting her to find the other email fast, I just said it was for guys who couldn’t get it up.  She had no idea what I was talking about. Thank goodness.  I told her I would explain it to her when she was 18.  My mom used to say that to me too.  A lot.  I usually knew by then.

Finally, the correct email made its appearance and I phoned the former tenant.  He said he would be right over with the keys.  Carly’s face was visibly more relaxed and set to directing the movers like a pro.  Until I realized she was having them bring all her stuff to her room but everything else to the living room or my room.  In other words, if it ain’t her’s who the heck cares?


The former tenant arrived, all smiles and happy to see us. He had keys. I told him Greta wanted to see him so off he went and returned with Greta (and the keys!) a few minutes later. They had to do the move-out report form.

While they did that, I tried to fish out the canned goods from my bedroom and my underwear from the kitchen.  Then I got the royal tour from the former tenant.  Greta went back upstairs, saying she will be back to do a move in report with me.  I told her I had to leave for work by 3:00.

Since I had to work that night I struggled to get some order to the kitchen.  I found the kitchen garbage can, lined it with a bag and pulled open the cupboard door under the sink only to have it come right off in my hand.  Meantime, Carly was starving so I suggested grilled cheese. 

GD stove didn’t work.

A horrendous screeching and wailing came from down the hall.  It was the bathroom fan.  It was so loud one couldn’t hear what another person was saying.  It was a truly frightening sound and kinda snuck up on you while you were in there. Carly took her bedside lamp in so she can have a shower without screaming in fright whenever the fan decided to go bonkers.

I made a list for Greta.  She arrived the next morning while I was frantically getting ready for work.  She said the things on my list would be fixed in 2 days.

Our apartment is so nice and all the rooms are huge.  The only thing about it is the smell.  One storage closet smelled of cabbage and feet so bad.  I had Carly put fresh bounce sheets up in there and it worked like a charm.

And it’s so damned hot. Hopefully payday I will be able to buy a couple of fans.  We’re in a basement apartment so there’s not much air movement.

Moving day did go well. I was imagining all kinds of things that could have gone wrong and only a few of them actually did and those were easily fixed.  What I didn’t anticipate, though, was going to work that night and finding out I would have no more work at my second job for the month of August.  So now its a struggle again financially but I feel I am taking it in stride.  Carly has to get used to me saying “no” once again and she’s used to that already. 

To wake up in my own home without someone trying make my life as miserable as possible is so absolutely wonderful.  I smile every time I wake up in the morning.

I just need time to unpack and absorb it all.  🙂

Packing Tape

I couldn’t concentrate anymore.  The pounding in my head was what was going on as I tried to worked.  I made it for 4 hours at one job and 3 for the other.  The pain was too much to bear.  “You do look awful” said the well-meaning senior interviewer (oops that should be in caps, they are tres important you know) and said to go home and don’t forget to get a doctor’s note for tonight.  Doctors note?  It was 9:30.  Something to worry about tomorrow.

I walked into the house where my daughter and I have been staying since September.  This is also the house I grew up in.  Every corner of every room screamed memories at me.  Good, wonderful, horrible and just bad.

Instead of lying down I decided to empty the dishwasher.  I realized I had to empty the dishes directly into a box. I stopped in the middle of this simple chore, held my head in my hands and wept.  Like a baby.

We are moving.  We are packing and we’re moving from the home that sheltered me all of my life.  If I wasn’t living in it, my parents were and they were always there to make things better.  They were my rock.  They kept it a home.  In different ways they’re both gone now; my Mom died in 2007 and my Dad has vascular dementia so where he is on earth never seems to be the same as where I am.

I wandered throughout the rooms where there was a box half-filled with possessions.  Each room had a significant meaning for me.  I could smell the flavour that made up this place for over 55 years.  Many doors I had closed were all standing open and naked for me to relive and re-conquer.  The doors I kept open were there too. Those doors feel like an open window on a breezy day filled with the scents of simple times, happy places and bold adventures.  I like those the best.  Those doors will stay open and with me for always.  The other doors I know will be closed eventually and then re-opened when that lesson must be learned again.  More often than I want but valuable just the same.

My fella called me.  I feel better.  He sweet-talked me as only he can do.  He made me laugh about me.  I laughed about him too.  I just laughed.  It felt wonderful.  The sound echoed throughout my home.

What could have happened to make me so melancholy about leaving?  Losing my childhood home forever would do it for sure but that doesn’t seem like the whole story.  Feelings of being overwhelmed is just not a good fit for me.

I shall look forward towards my new life with my Carly, open the boxes of our new life together and fill each room of our apartment with new memories, scents and adventures.  It will be home.

That’s a very good way to feel overwhelmed.  I’m going to work on that.

Day and night.

Rip and Buzz

Many young woman face a certain phase in their lives.  Some do nothing and just let nature take its course, maybe take the easy way, while others will stare at it, head on, with vision, bravery and, yes, a little naivtey.  How best to meet this problem?  It’s one that always comes back so a good plan is important, and it will, hopefully, be used throughout womanhood.  My Daisy* was faced with an unspeakable suffering yesterday.  I let it happen.  I couldn’t stop it.  My poor, brave, agonized Daisy.

No this is not about her period.  She would kill me.  She will anyway because I said “period”.

This is what I heard almost as soon as I got home from the hospital:  “MOM!!!!  I’m going to CAMP for a WEEK and how the HECK am I supposed to SHAVE my LEGS?  Can we buy the wax strips, please?”  This conversation had been going on for a while now with me telling her she had to grow the hair on her legs first and she was horrified she would have to wait a week or two.

I explained to her how painful it would be.  I don’t think she believed me.  So off we went to the store and bought wax strips that wouldn’t need to be microwaved.  Not that it matters.  Belatedly, I checked her legs.  Two days of stubble.  Oh boy.  She was sheepish and pointed out the strips were made for short hair.  Of course, what did I know; I’ve only waxed, sugared, tweezed, shaved, buffed and epilated for years.

“Sure sweetie, worth a try.”

She insisted on no help from me at all.  So, armed with her box of strips she locked herself in the bathroom.  I waited.  I waited some more.  I thought maybe she changed her mind.

“Mom?”  “Yes, sweetheart?”  “So how bad will it hurt?  I’m afraid.”  I told her she could do it and it would hurt like hell but her leg will be bald.  “okay” she said in a teeny tiny voice.


I hear my poor baby gasping for air.  I was at the door in an instant but she would not let me in.  Seconds later I hear AAAAAAAAIIIIIIII.  Wow.  She did it again.  And then she did it again.  I stood outside that door listening to my little girl scream and realized how, more and more, she is becoming a very strong woman.  She faced this problem along with its pain and stuck with it to the end.  I was so proud of her at that moment.  Listening to her cries, I beamed with pride.

Crazy momma.

“Mom, not all the hair came off! And I still have to do my armpits.  What do I do now?”  I told her I had an epilator.  “What does it do?”  I didn’t have the heart to tell her but I did.  She actually went white.

“Get it for me please Mom”  I did, set it up, gave it to her.  This time I stood outside her bedroom door listening to buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzOWowowowOWOWZZZZZZOWOWowowzzzowOWowowow

Yep, she did the pits too.  And no bad words at all.  She walks like Frankenstein now.  But she is gonna look great at camp once the rashes go away.

*Name changed to protect me from you-know-who.

A Stint, A Strip and Veronica

I’m a people watcher (nosy).  It’s just the way I am.  I had the perfect opportunity in the last 24 hours.  Best seat in the house even though I did change seats a few times.

I watched a group of people who came and went, sat and stared, stood and suffered.  The elderly woman with her arm in a homemade sling and bruises on her chin with her son by her side.  There were three then four toddlers at different phases of crankiness, one with a weeping cut on her head that made my own head ache.  There was the young woman who was so sunburnt I thought I could see melanoma appear before my eyes.  Then there was a young woman who came out of the emergency room to the waiting room where I sat.  She was crying with so much anguish, so openly and with everything she had, all the while searching for someone.  A staff person quickly found her and led her to the family room connected to this waiting room.  She was soon joined by at least 10 others, all young like herself, women and men  crying so hard, the staff member had to lead them by the hand into the room.  In groups of threes they were led back through the emergency department doors where they, mysteriously, did not come out again.

I watched this tragic drama unfold from my seat directly under the plasma TV blaring a Max and Ruby cartoon. I was so overwhelmed by this family’s anguish.  Eventually the cartoon turned into a simple melody with words that were so suited to these moments I was choked up.  I sat there and wept for all the hurt in this place and tried to convince myself I was just wasting everyone’s time.

“Not a chance Momma” says my first-born.  He came with me to make sure I went this time.  And that I stayed too.  My kids are great.

He eventually had to go and I was trusted to stay there and get checked out.  Soon it was my turn to go through the big bad door, get blood work done, have my painfully swollen legs poked and my feet prodded, my heart hooked to monitors that not only reported every beat it took but every move I made as well.

I never knew anyone as brazen as the nurses who attached my heart monitor.  Nor have I ever had my clothes ripped off me quite like this.  As ordered, I undid the top string of my gown and lay back on the bed waiting for the expected discreet maneuverings under my gown.  They each grabbed a side of the gown and literally whipped it off me and, before I could protest or attempt to cover myself, they began sticking their own kind of sticker things all over my upper body.  One lifted a boob while the other shoved the other one out of the way.  Then the electrodes were attached, both nurses working at lightning speed.  I was laughing so hard at how it must look.  It got even better when they started ripping the sticker-things off me.  ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!  I think I said it 14 times and laughing the whole time.  Oh it was funny but I guess you had to be there.  I’m glad you weren’t though.  When the one nurse came back later I asked her if she was going to rip my clothes off again.  She smiled and did just that.

She gave me more stickers which stayed on for a while. Have I mentioned before I’m a fidgety person?  The monitor would scream every time I moved and even when I tried not to move which convinced me I was going to die. It was drama if I had to go to the bathroom; I would tell one nurse, she would yell out to “Lance” that #6 had to pee. 

Nurses, doctors and residents and even some guy with a broom just passing by cubicle #6, oohed and ahhed over the size, shape and the glorious shade of red that were my legs and feet.  The visit would usually end with a quick poke and some with downright ferocity.  I don’t think the guy with the broom poked, he did look though.  I wished I had shaved my legs before getting there.

After months of swelling legs and now heart palpitations I had finally relented about getting it checked.  After 5 hours with my feet up and actually resting, my symptoms were easing a lot.  I kept telling people how much better it was now but no one said anything about sending me home. 

No, I had to stay the night.  Without my cPAP.  Crap. Can’t sleep without it and I will for sure snore in an “unholy” manner (quote from my friend Corrie who has lived though a few nights of my snoring).  My best son had gone home and had a couple too many beers so couldn’t bring it to me.  I organized my daughter’s immediate life for her by secretly texting then called my fella to tell him the latest.

He’d had a couple of beers too and had no idea what I was talking about; insisting I told him I was just going to the doctor.  I know I had told him earlier in the day I couldn’t get into the doctor and was going to the hospital. So he was shocked to learn I was in the hospital. Great, here I was thinking he was worried about me.  That would be a FAIL I guess.  Good thing he’s so cute.  I keep telling him that.

I was put in the observation room and told I would have a real bed, my own light to turn on or off and peace and quiet for the night.

The bed was nice with a thicker mattress than the gurney and heated blankets to further relax my still thumping heart.  I was put on a portable monitor so I could get up whenever I liked and sleep better.  I prepared myself for the embarrassment that will come when my snoring wakes everyone, including me.

I did fall asleep for a while, waking up with a snort or two echoing in my ears.  At one point I woke to someone saying, from the very next cubicle, “Veronica” over and over and very fast.  This went on for about 10 minutes.  I could hear the other person breathing but not waking up.

Then I heard “Code Blue Observation 6.  Code Blue Obv 6”.  Now wait a minute.  I think I am cubicle 6.  Oh boy, this is too much to think about at 3:30 in the morning.  Soon the formerly peaceful area that was the Observation room was in chaos.  Well to me it looked like chaos.  My curtains/walls that looked so solid in the gloom of my room now billowed everywhere.  Lights came on with a glare, carts of all kinds were being transported at the speed of light.  All the while I heard the patient breathing and the nurse repeating “Veronica” over and over.

I was in cubicle 5.

I had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t help glancing that way.  There was Veronica, eyes wide open and still breathing that snore-like breath.  When I came back I eavesdropped of course and found out the medical term for what Veronica was going through was “unresponsive”.  She eventually woke up with absolutely no memory but had the best sleep in a long time, she told me later.

There was another Code Blue an hour later.  This time I heard the all to familiar “CLEAR”.  After awhile everyone clapped and the patient talked.  Seeing both of these patients later, I was kind of creeped out how one can be dead then not be dead or, like Veronica, go somewhere else completely.  These people should have badges.  Not just the staff but the patients.  They worked hard to get back too.

My tests eventually cleared the way for me to go home by lunchtime.  All major things were ruled out and I left with a prescription for a diuretic.  In less than 8 hours of taking that, my feet are looking good.

Not the way I planned the day.  You know? I’ve started a few of posts with that line.  I guess I should stop planning my day.