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Archive for the ‘Reflection and Insights’ Category

Actually, FUCK YOU, that’s not just uncomfortable… that HURTS.

The morning after my birthday. I was laying in bed, feeling a little randy, and so I started to take advantage of myself. Actually, I didn’t get far with it because suddenly I realized that I wasn’t alone in the bed. While grabbing my breast in a way that should have been naughty, I instead realized I was achy and something was amiss. I called it a lump, but it wasn’t round. It wasn’t a mass either. I wasn’t sure WHAT it was, but it wasn’t there before. It had never been there before. Suddenly it WAS there and all I knew was that I didn’t have insurance.

I had applied for insurance a month earlier and so the day after my house guest moved in, I called for an update on my application.

“Backed up”, they told me.

“A couple more weeks”, they said

So, I waited, and I said nothing. To almost anyone. I didn’t want to worry people needlessly. I didn’t want people fussing if there wasn’t a reason. I didn’t want to TALK about it. I was trying with all my might to just get by until I could get insurance and get tested. Then, last Monday, I called again, assuming that calling three weeks from when I was told that 2 weeks would be a fair estimate for processing…well, that would get me good news, right?

“4 more weeks, ” she said, ” we are short-staffed and backed up over here with processing.”

I couldn’t handle the stress and the silence anymore. I wasn’t sleeping well those previous weeks and now I was crying myself to sleep some nights. I was beyond frustrated. I wanted to tell Type Geek, but I didn’t want to worry him. He just lost his brother last Spring. Cancer. Without some sort of diagnosis, I didn’t even know what to say. Why make people worry and feel helpless? So, I kept quiet and I researched.  By midweek I had located the Women’s Health Network and the lovely woman there put me in contact with Lisa at Cambridge Health Alliance. Lisa hooked me up with Julianna & Coreen who were able to act as my advocates and fast track my insurance application. There was still chaos in that process though, as the insurance company lost the letter they faxed over last week, forcing us to re-fax it this week. Then the insurance agency decided that they would no longer deal with my advocates and I had to go back to calling them. Back and forth, back and forth. They leave me a message Monday late afternoon, only to tell me that, “Oops, you can’t call me back because the offices are now closed.” Making me wait until the morning. By mid Tuesday I finally have insurance. By end of day Tuesday I have an appointment at the Breast Care Center and a new primary care. Exhale.

Wednesday is a lot of waiting. I woke up late. Not concentrating. Appointment regarding my benefits in Downtown Boston, stroll through TJ Maxx for spices (a hidden gem for spices, btw), through Whole Foods for meat, and get home in time to do a bit of research before meeting a friend and her business partner for dinner about a potential business arrangement. Home and exhausted.

I woke this morning with an hour before I needed to be at the hospital. I showered the night before. No deodorant or powder. They can cause false positives on the films is my understanding or at least make reading the films difficult. No jewelry on the neck. Wear separates, so the top can be easily removed. Check Check Check. Got it.

Walking to the train… red line is down. Of course.

Cab stand. Nothing there. Guy hails one as I am trying to. I’m sure he has to go to the hospital to get his balls fondled, fine.

FINALLY I hail a cab…and he turns out to be agro overly caffeinated impatient driver from some townie North Shore part of Boston. Yay! Dude, that’s cool, yell at people for stopping at yellow lights. That’s cool. I might have cancer, but sure, it’s fine to let traffic lights totally ruin your day. He drops me off, finally. Free at last from his clutches!

As I am doing my check in… “But ma’am, your appointment is TOMORROW, the 30th.”

Ha Ha Ha Ha, “Umm, no, it’s THURSDAY, Today. Today is THURSDAY and my appointment is on THURSDAY.”

“But ma’am, it say’s here….”

“I DON’T CARE what THAT says. I made the appointment for THURSDAY”. Did I mention that I cut sugar and coffee weeks ago. Damn, if there was ever a time I could use a triple tall nonfat vanilla latte… it’s fucking right at that moment. BREATHE

They shuffle me off to the Breast Care Center to see if they can do anything. Thank you Lisa at BCC registration for fitting me in with Denise, the NP. Now for the fun part:

An hour undressed with a ridiculously designed gown (thankfully it was cotton, not paper) with arm holes larger than my skull, and lots of where is the lump, which breast, describe how it feels, describe the pain, on a scale from 1-10, where is the pain… ok, arm up.  Thank you Denise for making the clinical exam not too torturous, and having a charming breast side manner. Having not found anything, she offered two options.

  1. I could go home and “watch it”. That means that I would still have the nagging questions in my mind. What if, Could it, Might it?
  2. She could justify to the insurance, while I have it, the reason for further tests, and schedule me a mammogram and ultrasound.

I opted for peace of mind. She agreed that it peace of mind was a good way to proceed and had me wait (there’s a definite trend here with the waiting) while she checked with Lisa. Ten minutes later I am told to go take a walk for an hour and come back for a 12:30 mammogram and 1 pm ultrasound. That’s a super long hour; if you are wondering. How do you think of anything other than what the tests MIGHT find. Even though Denise didn’t find anything, hell, the films could. So, I wandered around and checked out 2 vintage stores, a bookstore, picked up a white tea and wandered back. Lisa directed me to the mammogram suite, where I checked in, stripped again, and waited. YAWN. Of all days to be off coffee.

A quirky woman named Carol came and rescued me from boredom, only to torture me with an iron apron an inch smaller than my waist and the Tit Terrorizer, aka the mammogram machine. If they threatened criminals with mammograms, you’d get confessions sooner. Maybe it hurt so much because I’m petite and between the contorting and the shoving and the pressing, small breasts just hurt so much more when compressed to the size of a small luncheon sandwich. Once the 6 images were taken, and yes, the small paddle does hurt the worst, it was off to sit…and wait.

Sweet Maggie May, with the spasmy back… she rescued me from my waiting room purgatory. Leading me to the ultrasound room, she was quite funny and down to earth. We complained of getting older, my shoulder pain, her spasmy back. I suggested back stretches and arm stretches, and anti-inflammatory diet, and lots of ibuprofen. She poured warm gelatinous gook on my right breast and scanned it. I joked that I deserved a voucher for a really nice dinner after getting my breasts fondled for so many hours. After the scan, Maggie stepped out, I waited (yup) and once the doctor reviewed it, I was cleared to go.

Results? Nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing cancerous. Turns out my breasts have decided to develop their own version of internal cellulite. Pockets of fat. Yay! I love old age. Apparently totally normal for women to have, some even develop like that initially.I guess I can find relief in that my bodies sick idea of symmetry. Cellulite on the thighs, cellulite in the breasts. Top to bottom. Grrar.

I headed back down to give Denise the heads up on results, book a follow-up with her in 3 months regarding the “pain’, and then wander over to make an appointment for a physical with my new primary care so that I can also get a referral for a dermatologist. All of this cancer scare has me wanting to get everything checked out while I have the insurance. So, all those moles and skin spots… be sure as hell I am getting those looked at. I’m also going to get to the bottom of my headaches, once and for all.

As I walked out of the hospital I exhaled and felt a definite sense of relief, but I also was oddly bummed out that it meant I couldn’t get La Perla customized breasts after all. That was my one silver lining. If I was going to have cancer, I would come out with implants and perfect La Perla sized breasts. Oh well, guess I will have to be happy with cancer free breasts instead of manufactured cleavage. In all of this, the best lesson I can find is this… if you have insurance, USE it. Get things checked out people. Been how long since a comprehensive exam? Get one. I know they are [fill in blanks], but they are necessary and they could save your life, or at least, your small and perky, yet imperfectly shaped for La Perla (sigh) breasts.

Thanks everyone.

 

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I hit the pause button. I didn’t delete my profile, I just deactivated it. The idea of dating right now is exhausting and NOT in that fun and thrilling kind of way. The slew of douche bags (hello fiscally conservative guy who feels put upon by the poor), Utopian seeking (hola neuro surfing Aussie who wants pretty smiles and hot kisses BUT no real life), frigid/fickle-tons (flirting in the last 5 seconds of the date and kissing me ONLY then and never touching me… if you like me, touch me, if you don’t, stop calling me…PLEASE), with crazy ex’s (turns out Virginia’s ex was the cause of his flake…and I thank him, as she might have boiled all of my neighbors pets in a Glenn Close move, had he and I actually successfully gone out again)…. has broken me. I’m broken.

With my stalled career, lack of true income, unresolved health issue, and general malaise regarding being 37 and farther behind than I feel I should…I just can’t fake the dating right now. All I have the energy for is the comfort of old dances and familiar hands, as much as you may disagree, it’s the one solace I have at the moment, and it’s good that it came around when it did, because this is what I need.

 

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Another great floodapalooza has hit New England and well, I haven’t posted in a while. I have issues with posting at the moment, it’s not that I haven’t gone out on some dates worthy of the type of attention they would have received pre Type Geek. It’s the snark, I can’t find it. I can’t seem to muster it like I did in the past. I just feel worn out and desnarked I guess. If only deskunking my dog was as easy. But let’s be frank, the last year plus of Type Geek wasn’t exactly easy. I don’t begrudge him that, really. I mean, in some sad little way, perhaps I pity him, because in the end, the cross he needs to bear is much heavier and much lonelier than mine. I offered to help carry it, as others in the past surely have as well, but he can’t see through his windows and past his own distorted mirror to see how much better life would be without that weight and self-inflicted injustice.

With that said, let’s sum up the last two dates I went on.

Date 1: Passive Aggressive Resent Man.

Prior to meeting Type Geek, I had conversed with PARM briefly. We talked about getting together and even set a date, Feb 13. Now, we didn’t actually go on said date because I believe something came up with me and I left him a message and said that I needed to cancel. ALTHOUGH, maybe back then there was a hint and I bailed because I thought that it wouldn’t work, I just don’t remember. So, over a year and a half later, post Type Geek, he says hi online, I say hi back. We agree to meet for dinner. He lives in New Hampshire, but works near me, so … we meet up. In the course of 2 hours… each time one of us uses the rest room or goes to do something, he says “oh, you are still here” or “oh, you came back”. First time, cute. 4th time, makes me think you are not so awesome.  Sure, his mom was GREAT at the deep Jewish guilt and apparently he learned a bit in return. Add to that the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and oh yes…5th time he brought up that I stood him up on February 13th, 2010…but added in, each time, that he wasn’t upset about it, really. Hmm. Really. Guess what, I don’t feel guilty.

Date finally comes to a close and he offers a ride home. He’s really meek and harmless, so I agree. You know how I am odd and don’t love brown shoes with black pants? Sneakers with jeans? Oyster slurpers? Ok, please add on men (or really anyone) that drive white cars. I think it’s silly. White cars are almost worse than red for attention, and they get filthy, so they are super high maintenance. Telling me that your white car cost $60k. Sigh. Lastly, vanity plates?! He had a vanity plate. I can’t say what it was, cause that gives away too much, but I will say this… it was the equivalent of a little boy playing with his Matchbox cars. I’m not sure whether it would have been better, the same, or worse, if he had a vanity plate that said… “vrrr-oooom”. Get what I am saying? Good. So, we haven’t talked since and that was weeks ago. I think we can finally close that page and probably assume that I knew better on Feb 13, 2010, but somehow forgot over time.

Date 2: Last Minute Meh

He was a nice Asian guy… nice. Nothing that really amazed me or moved me, but agreeable and nice. Black car, non athletic shoes that matched his clothing, didn’t smell like sour fermented baby, and has a decent career doing something he decently enjoys. The date was last minute, we were both online, both hungry and bored. We ran an errand together on our way to go grab sushi. Felt like friends, haven’t gotten together since, even though we did the blanketed response of yeah sures. I’m not interested enough to bother. Nothing against him, but he’s just a different cup of tea than what I prefer.

That’s the up to date on all recent dates.

I did however re-sign up for Match and out of bitter annoyance at the service because the first match it came back with…was Type Geek….grrrrrrumble, I agreed to let my friend MidCenturyMuppit set me up with a friend. That, in and of itself was funny enough. Then I find out she has typecast me and I’m now going out with another 5’8 bald former pro bass player who is divorced. Awesome. She laughed at the typecasting. I found it mildly annoying, but I adore her, and so far, he is pretty funny. We are going on tomorrow. I have no clever name for him yet. He has a young daughter and lives an hour a way. If these are the worst of his complications, after a year and a half of Type Geek’s, I think I will be fine.

 

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I’ve been writing this blog for almost 2 years. It started as a funny commentary on the ridiculousness of dating, with a side story being that I was a long term lesbian who woke up one day liking cock, and having no interest in women any longer. So, the serious would sometimes wiggle its way into the snark, into the one liners, and bring a bit of reality into the escapism that my site was for many people. Only, eventually I fell in love. That was unexpected.

The timing, the individual, the situation, my falling in love was fraught with everything messy and complicated. It was all innately human and filled with roadblocks, human drama, insecurity, egos, errors in judgement, scars, death, sex and tears. In the middle of summer we ended it. But I still talked to him. I still told him I loved him, because I did and because we didn’t stop dating because he didn’t care, but because he’s too afraid that he’ll destroy someone if they get to close. Shatter their illusion of him with the reality. Only thing is, I know the reality, and even with the nasty ugly details, he is still the most beautiful man I know. He is still my choice. So, I stand tall and still and I don’t falter, I don’t run.

Two nights ago, nearly two months since we “stopped dating”, we found ourselves in each others arms again. The drink, that becomes two, that becomes dinner and two more drinks, that becomes two hours of intense conversation at his kitchen table and then, becomes us wrapped around each other in his bed. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with him being terrified. I’m at peace with him and his fear.

In six weeks, roughly, a new chapter begins in all of this. In this story of my crazy casual dating with many turned love affair with one, an emotionally fragile man whom I nicknamed Type Geek. Recently, he was offered a HUGE promotion, in the Bay Area. He is taking it, as he should. He told me Wednesday night. He might never get a chance like this again. I never questioned whether he should, but I admitted that I feared he would evaporate, as if he never existed. An irrational fear, I know. He exists here, he will continue to exist. Will I? I haven’t let him let me go yet, have I? I can be creative. He may date others when he moves, but he won’t find  me and what I offer in any of them, and I won’t let him forget that I am here, in Boston.

Boston. So, what is my long term goal here? I’m going to continue to love him and tell him that and send him love notes in the mail, meanwhile, I am going to save every dollar, work insane schedules, pick up freelance jobs if possible, and I am going to network, on the hope that he will let me come to him in Spring. Why spring? It is after his office is set up, after he is a bit more settled, after I show that I don’t forget about him, just because he is thousands of miles away. It’s long enough for him to miss me. To remember me. To want me.

Sure, there is a HUGE what if here, what if he doesn’t? He’s the pessimist here, I am not. I am the oddly optimistic one who believes that love isn’t a film with Meg Ryan, that there is a bit of Fellini and Woody Allen in there. A little heavy metal, a little Miles Davis and maybe even a little Electric Six. I’m not a typical romantic. I am a realist, but in this unclear situation, I choose the brighter future. I choose the future that has he and I, in our 80’s, drinking rum drinks and laughing about “kids these days” while I still admire his perfect little tush, still bite-able after 40 years.

Because the purpose of this blog isn’t to document my daily quest to save for a move out west, I’m going to change direction a bit. I’ll show up in it here and there, but I will be moving into a wider area of focus from now on. This will, in theory, bring back some levity and hilarity. I’m open to topics, things to explore, reviews on products, etc. However, the day to day drear needs to be swept out to sea if I am keeping my eye on the bridge, so to speak and while occasional updates into Type Geek are fine and good, this was never a blog about one man.

Meanwhile, for almost two years, I have kept this blog from being monetized, cause I hate ad heavy sites. They no longer smell genuine, you never know what is done for ad sense dollars and what is done for the reader. The time has come though, with my future looking pricey, that I try to find some funding for this site. Because of this, and my quest, I have created a “chipin” that everyone can donate to. A dollar, ten dollars, heck..more (please), will all help. These dollars will go directly into a separate wish/travel fund for San Fransisco. Spread the word on the chipin and the blog. Thank you for reading all this time.

 

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I have two first dates this week, on my only nights off. I don’t really know much about either, perhaps that is what I have resorted to now. I know that I found them “interesting” enough to contact them, but it’s a mental block I can’t get past. I’m not retaining details about them. My heart doesn’t want to.

Last week, I went on one first date. This gentleman, the Legal Design Guy, doesn’t know my ex like I thought he might (thankfully), he was getting into the music school as Type Geek was leaving. Also, it turns out he knows a circle of people who I know, which also don’t know Type Geek, so that explains it. So, we had oysters, we had drinks, we had pâté and confit and more drinks. Conversation was fine, but it felt more friend than anything. There is something slightly smarmy that I can’t get past, that I don’t find sexy. I can’t pin point it exactly, but it’s there.

Remember my Jewish Sex God from the very beginning? The one who ushered me into the folds? Well, we were having a conversation the other night, our friendship never really being the same since my trip to visit him that weekend. In the course of the dialogue he mentions that we had no sexual connection and proceeded to tell me why. Now, it’s fine that he didn’t feel a connection to me, but it isn’t fine that he decided to tell me that my being nervous at the reality of having sex with a well endowed man after 12 years of non penetrative lesbian sex translated into being a horrible lay who he felt ashamed to touch. WHAT? Yeah, so, he said that I was largely unresponsive, behaving as a victim of sexual abuse does, because I didn’t make much noise, because I didn’t show him how much I was enjoying sex with him. That I was too inside myself and didn’t give much to my partner, that he felt awful continuing to touch me because he felt that I must have been abused because I seemed to be in another place. Ok, once again, WHAT? Again, 12 years…non penetrative lesbian… flies to Seattle to have weekend sex romp with well endowed male friend… maybe, just MAYBE, I was nervous and shy and insecure about the entire thing?! What a dick, and I am NOT talking about his dick. I felt shitty afterwards, so I ended up emailing Type Geek for his take on my sexual style and he confirmed that Seattle is a DICK, and that I should NEVER give another thought to it, because I was obviously nervous and that he had zero concerns with my style. Thank you Type Geek. Grrr, Seattle. Seattle had no idea why I was angry, which at first I wasn’t. After I thought about it though, that is when I started to get angry, and offended.

So, yeah, Type Geek, we have texted. I apologized to him for not being able to pretend I don’t care and just cut ties. I’m not done with him. I can’t shake that a huge part of me believes that our story hasn’t ended yet. It’s just not our time. But, I want it to be. I know I can’t rush it, but I want to. I want the life with him that I know we can have, but he doesn’t have enough balls yet to have faith, to let go, to grasp something unknown, rather than his own fear. He needs time, he needs some self work, and I just need to live my life, which includes dating other people, while he does his work. Someday I will try again.

If you all think I am foolish, honestly, fuck you. I’m not on this journey for any of you, for how you would do it. It isn’t a choose your own adventure, and you don’t have the right to be angry at the roads I choose to take, because they are different from the paths and methods you would. This is MY story, and when I am laying in my final hours, I owe explanations to only my heart and the hearts of those I have chosen to embrace into my own.  I thank you all for reading, for getting involved and attached and relating, but in the end, this story is uniquely my own and I have no regrets about how I am living it and loving through it, even if that means I am just filling the spaces between Type Geek. Even if that means I am frustrating the hell out of my readers.

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I’ve been ok, I have been surviving. Sad, yes. Finding the whole thing senseless, yes. Missing this man who I still believe in my gut I am to grow old with and trying to give him space. Then, like he snuck into my room over night, I realized that I had left our glasses on the nightstand. I missed them for days, just sitting there like little memorials, that is how busy I have tried to stay.

I sighed and picked them up. Finding myself a bit overwhelmed with emotion, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared off, missing his smell, missing his face, the feel of his body hair, arms, chest, head, how tactiley different each is under my fingers. I cried at the realization that I will probably never touch him again. Then, in my hand, I looked at the glass and saw his lip print. Before washing it, I took one photo and placed it to my lips in a sad moment of trying to connect. He’s not there though, it’s just a glass. My pillow didn’t smell like him after he left and my skin, my shoulder, only retained his scent for an hour after we last made love, and god how I hate that phrase, but I realized that it had changed that night. That what started out as fucking took a decidedly different turn shortly after it began. For those last few hours we were together, sharing space, he actually took down the walls.

Jesus Christ, I miss him.

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When I was a little girl I loved John Cougar (Mellencamp). I still do in fact. Even when I was (my stylist loves this bit) GOTH (yes, you can stop laughing now), even then, I secretly rocked out to the simplicity of JCM’s world. If you liked someone, you just hung out at ice cream shops in the summer, it wasn’t so hard. But JCM’s world didn’t have lesbians that suddenly find themselves in love with the barnyard after swimming with the fishes for the majority of their adult romantic life. JCM’s world didn’t have complex behavioral disorders that resulted in emotional detachments. It had Jack and Diane, Link Pink Houses, and in his later years, it had him asking us to dance naked for him. None of these are so bad. I’d dance naked for Type Geek anytime. SIGH.

Apparently some people, other than Type Geek, wanted me to dance naked for them. The other night at work I was hit on by 2 people. Often I will get flirted with by one gentleman in an evening. Two is above normal though, especially considering that one was a woman. I must have sent out some sort of vibes, because that just doesn’t happen. I did tell both that I am seeing someone, which made the man respond that he was “fine with that”. French men, geez. I then said that I was in love with this other person and that I needed to decline his advances, which made him slip me $20. Huh, what? Apparently I do tricks for money, like give out numbers or get so impressed I will leave someone whom I am crazy about, for a French schoolteacher with piercings. Maybe I would have considered it once, before Type Geek, but not now. The girl? She was an adorable sweetheart, and IF not for TG, and had I still been interested in the ladies, if I could pull any interest together, I would have  jumped at a date with her.

So, I’m yearning for easy. For simple. A Saturday afternoon drive to a boardwalk, barefoot stroll through damp sand, with a cherry dipped vanilla soft serve in my hand. That isn’t what I am getting though. There is something I am not telling you all, that I may eventually, but that at this time, I believe needs to remain out of this blog. There is something I know now about Type Geek that keeps me here, keeps me trying, even on days most people would walk away. Trust then that while I may not completely know what I am doing, I am not completely walking blindly down a dangerous path.

With all of that said, I am on google+ and would like to invite you all to come say hello. You can find me by the name “Jane Michaels”, another pen name which I use. Hope to see you all on google+, and I hope that you are all enjoying your summers, replete with cherry dipped softserve.

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