Dr. Feelgood

So, I picked my Kaiser Permanente doctor based on his hotness.

Oh, don't you judge. WHY is there a picture of the doctor if they don't want you to judge them on their honest, trust-worthy eyes or come-hither smile?

However, I almost instantly regretted it. I entered the office wearing a snug little electric blue Joan Holloway dress over leggings and boots. The only person who got to appreciate this was the nurse, however. When Dr. Sexy walked in, I'd been ordered to wear a paper gown, and it was some sort of cropped version. So there I was, in a paper belly shirt, leggings and boots. I looked like a Xanadu extra.

Then there was the portion of the exam in which he asked if I lived with someone. I said, "A roommate." And then he wrote something. (Why is this relevant? Is he worried I will slip in the shower, hit my head and bleed out before anyone misses me? Is this a check box on a form?) And then he moved on to "Are you in a relationship?" No, I replied. "Do you want an AIDS test?
" No thank you. "But when did you last have an AIDS test?"

Look buddy, this is not date one questioning.

About a year ago, I say.

"But don't you think we should test you, just in case?"

NO, I reply.

"Have you had sex since you had the AIDS test?"

....(insert weird, babbling, self-deprecating speech which I refuse to type here)

Also, let's just say we fall in love. He can never ask me out, no matter how funny and charming I am during my physical. No doctor/patient shenanigans, right? (Doctor friends, please weigh in.) And believe you me, he was definitely falling in love with me as I joked about my go-to physical ailments. Bunions? What's more alluring than an outgrowth on my toe knuckle that causes me pain whilst tramping around in fuck me heels? Oh, and my goiter? How about my old man back disease that was discovered during my shotput career? I'm sex on a stick!

I think the highlight of the experience was when he told me I could get dressed and I said, "Um, could you look at a weird mole I have on my back?" If that's not foreplay, I don't know what is.

Oh. And then he weighed me.

Case closed.

Ways to Ruin Your Electronic Devices

Anyone who knows me knows that if there is a cell phone to be ruined, I will ruin it. I cannot hold on to them.

My old boss used to tell me that her body physically rejected watches. As in, watch batteries died within days of her placing the watch on her wrist. Well, I am the cell phone equivalent of this. Cell Phone Killa. I'm also not particularly good with laptops or iPods. In the last two months, I have:

1) Had a water bottle leak in my backpack, seeping into my laptop, catalogues on grad school and a book I'd borrowed from someone (luckily I had left my cell at home, adverting crisis but was generally annoying and typical of me).
2) Had same laptop (which did recover after 2 days of laying on a towel with a fan blowing directly one it) literally blow up
3) Had a cell phone jump out of my car

This has inspired me to list ways in which electronics have died for me, and for others.

1) Death by Beer: Sometimes you justify working by kicking back on the couch with a beer and your laptop. And sometimes you have more than one beer, and then your ability to think ahead is diminished. And that is the precise moment that you put the laptop and the beer next to each other on the coffeetable, then get up abruptly when your phone rings, and watch as the beer topples over on your computer. Keyboards rarely recover from this, and those AppleCare Genius Bar guys know what beer smells like.

Lesson: Don't work and drink. Just drink.

2) Death by Rabbit: My Nintendo met this death when I brought the 5th grade class rabbit home. (Even though this was not at all my fault, my mom would not buy me a new machine, even though I saved up the $99 to buy the Nintendo at Toys 'R' Us as the first example of learning to save and budget. Because of the unfairness of this, I have since never truly understood saving up for something, since at any time a rabbit and your mom could destroy your dreams. So just buy it and figure out how to pay for it later. Also, don't read this blog for financial advice.)

But I know someone else whose laptop cord was similiarly destroyed in this manner. The rabbit gnawed away at the $100 power cord, the speaker cords and a USB cord. Not the most expensive loss, but still upsetting.

Lesson: Don't own a rabbit. It is a pointless pet.

3) Vacation via Cab/Possible Entry in Witness Protection Program: My cell phone gets really bored just hanging out in one of the myriad attractive handbags I own. Sometimes it yearns to get out there and see the world. So it plots ahead for a night when I make a responsible decision and decide to take a cab home from a bar. "I know she'll try to drunkenly call someone from the cab," it thinks. "And that's my chance to see what else is out there in this big bad world! Maybe not all phone calls will revolve around bitching about work and wardrobe choices and whether what he said really reflected what he meant!"

Pink razor #3 thought this was a great plan, and thusly is somewhere out there. Out there meaning wherever the cab driver took it.

Lesson: You can't control cell phones when they reach the rebellious stage. Just get cell phone insurance.

4) Death by Toilet: Since the death of my Razor phone by these means, I have learned that many have lost phones in this manner. I find some comfort in this communal experience of loss. This situation typically happens in a bar situation. You may be expecting a call from a friend, or a potential lover, or you plan on texting your ex when you reach the 6 drink minimum. So you put your phone in the back of your jeans, and suddenly, you realize the seal must be broken. By the time you've waited in the bathroom line at the dirty, dirty bar, your phone is the last thing your mind. Until you do your patented hover move over the pot and hear the telltale splash. Your phone is literally swimming with the fishes, and ne'er shall work again.

Lesson: Prevent loss by toilet by arranging booty calls ahead of time. Be a planner.

5) Death by Chinese Irish Acrobat Piss: My friend Robert tells me this story is true, and I guess I have to believe him although he tends to be somewhat hyperbolic. At one time, he was dating a Chinese Irish acrobat. On one special sleepaway situation, the acrobat woke up from a drunken stupor and, not remembering the basics of human life, relieved himself on Robert's desk. In the morning, Robert discovered that Macs and Chinese Irish acrobat piss don't mix. And that no amount of money is worth the humilitation of admitting to tech support that your boyfriend urinated on your laptop.

Lesson: Date Chinese Irish acrobats that are on the wagon, or that have family money to replace what their urine destroys.

*Special Section: When It Is Ok to Let It Go
6) Death by Bullet Train Toilet:A passenger on a French train had to be rescued by firemen after having his arm sucked down the on-board toilet. The 26-year-old victim was trapped when he tried to fish out his mobile phone, which had fallen into the toilet bowl, and fell foul of the suction system. The high-speed TGV train had to stop for two hours while firemen cut through the train's pipework. The man was carried away by emergency services, with the toilet still attached to his arm. "He came out on a stretcher, with his hand still jammed in the toilet bowl, which they had to saw clean off," said Benoit Gigou, a witness to the man's plight.

Lesson: French people don't know how to invent toilets that don't eat your arm. Avoid France.

Wise Words From My Friend's 9 Year-Old Stepson

"Mostly, if people want a baby they can get one. It's kind of like Santa Claus except you don't have to be good."

Rest In Peace, Bitch

From the Vallejo Times Herald:

Dolores Aguilar
1929 - Aug. 7, 2008

Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008. She will be met in the afterlife by her husband, Raymond, her son, Paul Jr., and daughter, Ruby.

She is survived by her daughters Marietta, Mitzi, Stella, Beatrice, Virginia and Ramona, and son Billy; grandchildren, Donnelle, Joe, Mitzie, Maria, Mario, Marty, Tynette, Tania, Leta, Alexandria, Tommy, Billy, Mathew, Raymond, Kenny, Javier, Lisa, Ashlie and Michael; great-grandchildren, Brendan, Joseph, Karissa, Jacob, Delaney, Shawn, Cienna, Bailey, Christian, Andre Jr., Andrea, Keith, Saeed, Nujaymah, Salma, Merissa, Emily, Jayci, Isabella, Samantha and Emily. I apologize if I missed anyone.

Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

The guy next to me in Philz Coffee is literally breaking up with someone on the phone.

"I'm sorry I mislead you. I didn't mean to."

"Do you want to still meet up or just talk on the phone?"

This, to me, doesn't seem to be appropriate banter for the coffeeshop. Now, I have definitely lost my shiz in a public place before (See: Drunken, crying rant at boring, bad-in-bed chef in San Jose in front of his restaurant...I felt he wasn't sad enough about me breaking up with him, and I was also sad I'd upped my "number" by sleeping with him, so I started crying). But this seemed like a planned phone call. He called her (I assume it's a her, but I have no real evidence, and this IS San Francisco). He chose to end something amongst hipsters and Phil'z Aromatic Tesora beans. Next to him a dog is licking his owner's leg over and over.

How meaningful could this of been? This is like the time I told my friend Anne to break up with some guy she met at the racetrack. They'd gone on several dates, and it was heating up, but she was over it. She kept putting it off, so I ordered her, at a party, to go in my bedroom and make the call, and that when she came out, I would pour her a drink and we could watch some shitty TV with our friends. Later, I thought, poor guy. But really: is it worse to breakup with someone in a flippant, inappropriate place or to not do it at all?

Or, to take it one step further: what about inappropriate methods of breakup? My worst, by far, has to be Brad, a pasty, sun-fearing, Hawaiian shirt-wearing lump of a UCSD engineering student. Brad suffered from some depression issues, and a bit of paranoia (more annoyingly, he hated a lot of types of food, which I could not stand for).

Night of the breakup, we attend an opening night gala for a play written by a friend of mine. I'd done the PR and knew most people at the party. Brad sat in a corner, very hungry despite all the piles of food (didn't meet his needs, apparently), telling me that "people were staring at him." In a group of theatre people, it would have been shocking if Brad was the most interesting thing to stare at...but anyway. We go into the show, and at the intermission, I look at Brad, who is sweating and shaking. I ask him what's wrong and he says that he is "FINE. I am FINE." I ask if he wants to leave. "No."

So the second act goes on, and at the end, I turn to him and tell him that we get to meet Sheryl Crow, who is a sponsor of the piece. We are standing up to go backstage and Brad demands that we leave. Ooookay.

We drive home and I offer to get him food. He refuses. He climbs into my bed and I go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I come out, he's gone. I go outside. His car is gone.

Being the sensible person that I am, I assume he has gone to kill himself. This is a time before everyone had cell phones, and he didn't have one. I stay up all night, calling the CHP, worrying and worrying. At 6am, I call his parents' house (I wish I could say this is the only person I've dated who lived with his parents, post-college, but that would be a "no.") and wake up his poor father. Who says Brad is sleeping and fine. (I then think that he is going to WISH that he'd gone to kill himself.)

Brad comes to phone, half asleep. After a lot of unattractive mumbling, I gather that he'd gone to the car because he was crying. And since I never cry (ha ha), he didn't want to lose it in front of me. So he drove home. TO CARLSBAD (about an hour away). Sweet. Oh, and never wondered if I might be worried about him.

I then basically have to FORCE him to break up with me. It was amazing. He finally says, "I thought you could make me happy but you can't." Put that in your pocket, Ms. Mac!

So that, I'd have to say, was the pussiest breakup ever. Shortly after, the SATC "Berger-Breaks-Up-With-Carrie-In-A-Post-It" episode airs. Would that I'd gotten a Post-it. It almost Austen-ian compared to the alien abduction Brad scenario.

My friends are full of great breakups stories. (If you're good, I'll tell you more. I have soooo many more.) So, let's hear it. What's your worst, lamest, cop-out breakup story, ladies and gents?

PS - I never met Sheryl Crow, but that's ok, since I sort of hate her music. Still, I'm such a star fucker, I feel robbed. ROBBED.

Just wondering...

Why I've never been set-up by my friends. Is it because I'm not on the Jew Network? I'd give anything for a bubbe. Or wait. That's not the right word. Yenta. (Side note: I was on JDate for a month. Turns out that saying "My grandmother has been doing a genealogy project and thinks we might be Jewish" isn't legit enough. Also, writing emails to men saying, "Wow, a Jewish doctor. Will I have my eyes scratched out by actual Jewish girls if we go on a date?" didn't seem to work.)

I'm curious, friends. Do tell. Is it that it's really difficult to match me? Or it's too much trouble? Messy? Is it...the goiter?

People complain about this set-up business and I felt left out. I love new things to bitch about.

Now it really begins.

What I mean to say is that it didn't really being back in October. Oh, yeah, I moved, I settled into my basement apartment with my faithful roommate. I started at Yahoo!, and slowly adjusted to life in Middle Earth, editing boring, boring documents. I fell asleep every day at on the shuttle. I made one friend (thanks, Luke!) and watched "Ugly Betty" online while copying and pasting links into Excel. And then, I got laid off, 3 months in.

That was in February. Now we're in July. I've been lonely, I've made friends, I've made out, I've been disappointed. I've gained 20 lbs. 10 couples have gotten engaged. One couple is one their way to welcoming their first child. And through it all, I've been unemployed.

The one thing I always had on some other people was that I was damn good at my job. I didn't make much money, but I was always working and people saw me as somebody who got shit done. But the work environment was bad, and my relationship was worse. I could do better, I thought.

So I moved away. I already felt my confidence crumbling at Yahoo, as I felt more and more useless. And then they canned me, put me in a taxi with all my boxes (full of cube decorations I'd used to create an environment of warmth--a replacement for human contact), and sent me on an hour's drive on the 101. At 11am on a Tuesday, I was home for good.

These six months have been full of missed opportunities, almost hires and failure. And slowly, but effectively, I've become this new person. A person who has very little faith left that she can do any job. And meanwhile, while I was working all those hours and settling for kissing boys in bars, or a perma-student, 24 year-old boyfriend, I forgot to meet someone with whom to register for ramekins.

Engagement, marriage, pregnancy. The 30s are all about celebrating others' relationship success. Which is awesome. But easier to swallow if you've got ANY portion of your life together.

I feel like I'm the beginning of some shite romantic comedy, and it's not remotely funny.

So, it begins again. Let's go.