Wednesday, August 31, 2005

One Lump, Or Two?

Early Tuesday morning, I woke up with this intense pain in the back of my head. I got out of bed, and went into the bathroom to check it. I felt around it, and it was a lump, the size of a golf ball. I never felt anything like this before in the back of my head. It hurt.
“Madelene! Feel this. What is that?”
“Hmm, did you clunk yourself somehow?”
“Did you hit your head on the night stand by accident while you were sleeping?”
“Err, no…I don’t believe so.”
I said, as I kept feeling around this lump.
“Well it’s good that it’s tender to the touch, and not hard as a rock with no feeling whatsoever.” Madelene says.

The day went on, I tried to work, but my eyes started seeing double as the letters scrambled all over my computer like little ballerinas. The pain kept getting more and more intense. I took my temperature, and it was 100 degrees. Hmm. Was it a lymph node on the back of my head? On my skull? Believe me, I was reading every diagnosis on the internet. Bad move! Don’t do it if you have a medical problem. There are so many alarming ~guesses~ on there, enough to give you paranoia. I decided to just take some ibuprofen to reduce the pain and swelling and to lower my fever.

That evening, my pain was pulsing like a heart beat. Madelene came home and I was laying on the couch lifeless. My head, neck and now legs were in pain. (???) I couldn’t make what this thing was. Every part of my body hurt from this big lump on my head. The lump got a little larger and my pain got that much worse.
“We’re going to the doctor now.” Madelene says, as she gets her things.
“Mad, the doctor isn’t open now, it’s 9:30pm.”
“I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

I hope one day Madelene doesn’t decide to become an EMT worker, because we were traveling at the speed of 25 mph on the thruway. Not only was her lack of speed becoming more questionable, but her lack of night vision became a concern too.
“Mad? Do you have night vision? You’re going across the lines here.”
“Don’t talk, let me drive and I will get you there in one piece.”
She says, all angry that I insulted her granny driving skills.
“Thank God I’m not dying here or bleeding profusely.” I said, and chuckled as she had the same posture and driving techniques as Mr. Magoo.

I was dreading going to the ER because they take hours before they even get you into the examination table. The first step is registering, which may take you up to thirty minutes, depending on your insurance and what not. One time I was rushed there due to an allergic reaction to something, my throat was closing up and I nearly fainted right there as I walked in. No one took that as a sign that I ‘may’ be a priority case here.

I walk into the ER, and they immediately took me in. The male nurse took my blood pressure which was 104/62. Hmmm… I’m usually 110/80. This was different. My blood pressure was never that low before. Is it bad that it’s too low? Is that too low? The male nurse didn’t say much about it, so I didn’t concern myself. I started wondering what cologne he was wearing, because he smelled so good. He brought me out to register with this nice, tall skinny lady with big hair. Her heels were almost 'go-go dancer' high, and her outfit was very professional. It was an interesting mix.

“Date of birth?" She asks.
“Two four, seventy four.”
“You’re social security number?”
I mumbled this lowly so no one else on the other side of the cubical would steal my identity. Hell---if they saw me that night, who on God’s green earth would want to anyway?
“In case of emergency, who do we contact?”
I said, chuckling from my delirium at this point.
“No, I’m sorry. Madelene. 555-2323.”
“What relation is Madelene to you?”
“Partner, girlfriend.”
I said, wondering if she was going to think Madelene was a business partner and a gal pal. Lovely. I outed myself in the hospital. Hate that.

They send me over to a room with a T.V. and bathroom. This was within the emergency room. I have never seen such a nice set up before. Everything smelled like cherries, and it was so amazingly quiet. Where was I again? Usually, when I have an episode, or some sort of trauma, this same emergency room is total chaos that smells like crap. No one had a room-like set up with a T.V.and their own bathroom.

Great. I had to go since the whole ride here! I ran straight for the bathroom since I was going to wait an hour for the doc. To my surprise, the toilet had left over remains of vomit in it. The toilet seat had smears of fecal matter all over it.

“Oh…my…sweet…Lord.” I said, slowly, backing up, thinking strategic ways to open that door without touching the handle. I walk out quickly, using the paper towel for a glove. I look up, and saw a black nurse with the biggest eyes I have ever seen in my life. She almost saw right through me; her eyes almost poking at me, even though I was across the room. She must have known my dilemma by the horror on my face, and the fact that there was no sound of the toilet flushing or water running. They're going to think it was me who made that horrific mess! Great. The male doctor walked into my section and asked me to sit on the bed. The nurse fluffed my pillows up, and adjusted it so I can lay upright.

“So what’s the problem.” Doc says, as he folds his arms, hiding his clipboard.
I tell him my situation.
“Is it one lump or two?”
“Just one.”
He starts to feel the side of my head where the lump is, and then feels the other side to compare.
“Hmm, yeah there is a lump here. Does it hurt when I do this?”
“OOOOWWW!!!! Yes!”

Doc pulls out his clipboard and then decides that it was an automatic diagnosis.
“This in an infection of some sort, may be from a spider bite, a mosquito bite, and also from a number of things. The best way we can zap this is to give you a strong antibiotic and a pain killer.”

That’s it? That was all I got? He felt me for five seconds and determined that it was an infection? He couldn’t even see what it was because it was through my hair. How can he make this assumption so quickly? This puzzled me. Was I just a number in that ER? Did they need that luxurious space for someone else more needy? Wait till they see that bathroom.

He walked out to get my prescription.
“See? Don’t you feel better now that you know what it is?” Madelene asks, smiling.
“No! I don't...Do you? Do you feel safe that he was a bit too quick with this?” I said.
“They know right away, Deb.”
“What if it’s this major tumor? What if I am growing another head for the love of God???”
I panicked.

The googly-eyed nurse walked back into my section. She gives me my prescription and pain killers. I couldn’t stop looking at those big eyes. They were so fascinating. She was the nicest nurse, but those eyes! Those eyes! I couldn’t help but stare. In fact, I hardly heard one word she said to me.
“Usually when there is an abscess near the scalp and head, it causes a lot of pain. So the medicine will definitely help. Here, sign here…and if you can, please fill out this survey and bring it up to me. Uh, don’t forget to bring me back my pen.” She says, laughing on her way out.

Was she laughing because she thought it was just a big zit on my scalp? I came all the way to the ER to get a zit checked out? I felt belittled in a sense, I didn’t know whether to laugh or call 911 right in the ER!

"Here's some zit cream, call us in the morning." They might as well have said that!

I am currently writing this in my bedroom, still with this huge lump on my head. I almost decided to make out a will on my blog, (just in case), but that would be a bit dramatic, especially if it was just a zit. Imagine?

I wanted to blog before I take my pain killers and go into lala land. If anyone may know a diagnosis to my problem, please put it in the comment section. I still feel the need to ask another doctor…in fact, I have an appointment with one tomorrow for a second opinion. A little obsessive? Maybe. Will it give me peace of mind? Definitely.

Diagnose away! Give me your advice. I need it.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Left Thankless

Hey Deb,

I was just about to turn off my computer & call it a night when something popped into my head.
I was thinking about what you've been going through lately. It reminded me of something my old roommate went through. For a while, she was getting strong heart palpitations in the middle of the night. It got so bad that she had to wear a heart monitor. I told her to wake me up anytime it got to be too much. I was happy that she took me up on my offer. She's a very private person. We'd watch tv or play this electronic word game I had. (she was much better at it than me even with the palpitations). I'd like to extend the same offer to you. Unfortunately, its a bit of a trek for you to knock on my door like she used to. But I keep my phone by my bed. Please call me anytime you think I'd be the right person to talk to. I know Madelene is there for you. But there may come a time when a goofball like me is the right person at that particular moment. And if I'm too tired to talk, I'll be honest & let you know.

Don't say thanks, but you'd feel too imposing to call. In fact, don't say anything; don't even respond to this email. I'm just offering. Keep it in the back of your mind. That's all.

City Mouse

Okay City Mouse. I’m not saying one word through an e-mail to you. I’m not saying “thank you” over the phone or sending you some cheesy @ss e-card to show you my appreciation for being so understanding, nor will I send you a greeting card through snail mail to tell you how grateful I am that you’re my friend, and how wonderful I think you are. I will not ever tell you how happy that you and I crossed paths.

Don’t think for one minute that I am trying to get across how special of a friend you are to me. I’m not saying “thanks”…AND, no, I would call you up at 2am just to harass you, not for anything else.

I will not tell you how your intellectual wit and sense of humor relieves me of all my stress. No. You will get no appreciation here. I’m not going to say how helpful you have been by making me laugh ever since we met. Nope. Not getting that either.

So here is my blog, to you, City Mouse. It’s a blog of non-appreciation for you. A blog to tell many people out there about this amazing woman, who really made a difference in my life---however, I won’t tell you that, dear City Mouse.

With that—don’t thank me. Don’t even respond to this blog. Hopefully you won’t read this blog, but unfortunately you comment on most…(hehe)

You’re a definite ‘keeper’ and a friend I know I will have for a very long time. I’m not saying a word.

For all who don't quite know me, I suffer from anxiety attacks which then leads me to be lifeless for a day or two sometimes. It has been really bad lately, where I have been getting heart palpitations, chest pains, and it feels like my throat is closing up every single night when I try to go to sleep. I can't figure out what's bothering me though. A lot has transpired with my work and writing--but in a good sense. Nothing at all is really 'stressing' me out. They say it's a chemical imbalance. Well, yeah, so is my OCD manias, but that's only the fun side of me.

Now, since my dear friend does not want me to thank her or tell her that I appreciate her offer, I have to blog this.

For all of you who do suffer from panic attacks, do you have any advice for me? I do see a therapist to 'talk' to, but to tell you the truth, my friends should be billing me instead.

And to all of you who don't know my good friend, visit her blog.

Her blog is intellectually stimulating and comical at the same time!

Friday, August 26, 2005

Love of My Life

You’re the only one who knows me inside and out. You understand all my manias, my idiosyncrasies, and you stand by me regardless. I remember the evening you called me when we were dating.
“Deb, want some company? I’ll bring some movies over.”
“But it’s raining so hard, it’s left over from a hurricane and they told people to stay off the roads due to the horrible conditions."
I said to you.
You didn’t care. You drove over an hour to see me. I opened the door to let you in, and you looked like the cutest wet & mangiest rat I have ever seen. I let you in. I hugged you regardless of how soggy you were. It was that day, I knew you loved me. It was that day, I fell in love with you, and knew I didn’t want you to ever leave.

Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me

December 10th, 1996, I proposed to you at Bocci’s Italian restaurant. Before I popped the question, you kept b*tching and moaning how I would never commit. You said to me that I will never settle down. You were wrong. In the midst of all your ranting & raving at that table, I just placed the ring right next to your salad dish.
“What’s this?” You asked, perplexed.
“Ah, you know I hate commitments and all, so I was wondering if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.” I said, as I kept eating my salad.
I looked at you, held your hand, and asked you if you would spend the rest of your life with me.
“Oh my God! Yes! I didn’t- I didn’t-I really didn’t- Oh my God!” You stuttered; left speechless.

It wasn’t long after that when you moved in with me. We started out life together. I was twenty-three years old, we had our own place and whether you knew this or not, it was one of the happiest times I can remember. I came home from work, cooked for you, did laundry and you made sure groceries were stocked, we were quite the team. We still are.

Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this…
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me
Sunset sailing on April skies

Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me

You accept me on my bad days, you welcome me with open arms on my good days. You know every part of me; inside and out. I love you even when you’re down or having a sad day. I feel your pain. I want to make it go away, if I can. I want to cheer you up with fresh roses and make you your favorite dish. I want to give you everything you never had. I’m glad that when you are sad, you’re able to come to me. I’ll never leave you, stranded; I would never abandon you—you’re my heart. How can I abandon my own heart? Do you realize how precious you are to me? Do you realize how much I appreciate you? If you don’t…Please know that I do.

I love when you’re happy. My heart gets big when I see that awesome smile of yours. You light up a room. Your positive energy is contagious, making everyone want to be near you. You are an optimist, never seeing the glass half empty, always seeing things in such a positive outlook. You’re amazing to me. I wish I could be more like you. You’re strong, yet you have your ‘soft spots’ where you can be vulnerable. You’re accepting, even though you are tough enough to set your boundaries. You’re a woman who’s truly a gift from God. I thank Him everyday for sending you.

I love that I can be ‘me’ when I am with you. I don’t have to hold back or pretend to put on airs. You love me the way I am, all my flaws and imperfections. I love the fact that you know how to have fun, whether it be out with friends, or just the two of us being home, enjoying one another’s company. Last May, when you and I went to the beach house in Montauk, they said that it would either ‘make us’ or ‘break us’ because there was too much alone time. I never had such a wonderful time, just being with you, sitting on the beach relaxing and talking. On the cold days, we sat next to the fire and cuddled. I was never so happy in my life. I think it made us, and saved us. We’ve been through rough times, which I believe happens for a reason. It only made me appreciate you more. I realize that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I know that you and I were meant to be together.

I’m not sure if you know the extent of my love for you. I’m not sure if I tell you everyday. Sometimes I have problems being more open with my feelings, due to insecurities, so I am telling you here, on my blog, for all to see.

God has truly blessed me. I love you Madelene, and can’t wait to marry you...

Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this my love
Sunset sailing on April skies

Bloodshot fire clouds in her eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you he’s in love with me
Sunset sailing on April skies

Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believeBut if God made you… he’s in love with me… ~Five For Fighting

EYE-Yi-Yi-Yi..! Come on Doc!

Having an eye exam can be an intrusive experience. Why would I say that? See, it’s like this… Even though I had eye surgery to correct my vision two years back, I still have to go for regular check ups, just in case my cornea decides to give up, and fizzle out.

Sitting in that weird electric-chair looking contraption, with all those weird spacey looking equipment devices, you wait for the doctor to come in. You nosey around a tad, you look at all the weird little lenses he has, they’re all piled up so neatly. They even have this headpiece that almost looks as though you are on death row. You notice the huge metal mask-like goggles that can swivel over to where you sit. There are so many buttons and levers on this puppy; enough to make your head spin. The whole office looks as though it’s there to create a robot of some sort.

Now, I’ve been going to this same doctor since I was two years old. He has drawings that I did when I was four. He said to me, “If you ever get engaged Debbie, I am going to give you back your drawings and all your art work, so you can show it to your little ones when you’re married.” That always stuck in my mind. I was surprised he kept them. By the time I was twenty-five years old, I was in his office with my legally blind eyes.

“Doc, I’m engaged.”
“Wow! You are? I had no idea! I didn’t even realize you were dating anyone, Deb!”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know. You did tell me once, that I can get my art work back from when I was little, right?”
I was testing him to see if he really did have my art work, and of course, I was engaged too.
“Of course!” He says, all excited, as he fumbles through the file cabinet and retrieved my drawings.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you still have these!” I started flipping through all of them. Some of them were even writings of when I was six years old, making up weird poems. I was a writer back then too! Amazing. My drawings were of course stick figures, and if anyone knows my art work, they would laugh if they saw these pictures. I was quite the amateur back then.

“So Deb, who’s the lucky man?” Doc asks, as he starts to swivel that scary machine over to my eyes.
“Oh, it’s just Madelene outside in the waiting room.” I said, nonchalantly. Madelene sees him too for regular eye exams, and thinks she's just one of my buddies.
The scary machine gets swiveled back to the other side, away from my face, so that Doc and myself and now eye-to-eye.
“Oh?” He says, with his eyebrows raised up to the sky, looking puzzled as if he was legally blind.
“I’m gay.”
“Doc, it’s okay, examine my eyes.”
I said, to get that awful weird feeling out of the air.
“Well I’m so happy for you!” He says, as he slaps me on the knee. Okay, that was just awkward.
“Thanks Doc.”

The scary machine is back up against my face. My face pressed against this thing, touching its padding. I wonder if he cleans it off with an alcohol swab. So many people he sees, so many germs on this horrifying contraption. A whole slew of Hasidim Jews left the office when I walked in. Don’t they think the same thing I do when they sit here, face pressed against this dirty mask? They don’t even want to touch our hands when exchanging money, how can they think this is cleaner? Awful.

The doctor presses his face against the scary machine on the other side. Here’s my problem with this. Not only is he almost straddling me, maneuvering his legs so it intertwines with mine, but he is breathing right in my mouth and nose area. This is awful. I can smell whatever it was he had for lunch. I think on that particular day, it was tacos with extra onions. Couldn’t he at least pop a breath mint before getting up close and personal? I try holding my breath for a little longer, hoping that he is finished examining that one eye. I breathe in, when he does, so that his breath doesn’t become my oxygen.

“If only….. I can….…just….slip……..breath mint…… into his mouth… would be that much sweeter.” I think to myself, as his halitosis invades every part of my being. Every second feels like an hour. I’m suffocating. Houston, we have a problem. Mayday! Mayday! I’m going down! S.O.S.!!! Someone please help me! I scream this in my head the whole entire time.

The scary metal mask gets swiveled away, and I am in the clear. Fresh air, finally! The one thing I love about my doctor that literally saves me, is that he has been wearing the same cologne since I was two years old. It smells so incredibly good; I just breathe it in with no problem. He never changes it. It’s his trademark. You smell that cologne, you know he is in the general area. I even once tracked him down in an art store with his wife, because I followed my nose. No lie, true story! I just wish he kept up with his breath.

After tons of drops poured into my eyes, he brings over the glaucoma testing machine. This is almost as worse than the scary metal mask thingie. My eyes start to dilate, making me look like a huge crackhead. He moves up right back in my space again and tells me to place my chin on the chinpad. Of course, thoughts swing back to, “Did he swab this down with alcohol? I don’t smell alcohol, this doesn’t smell too clean…I need to disinfect myself when I get the hell outa’ here!”

“Okay……open your eyes wide, and don’t blink.” He says slowly.
Yeah that’s great. Don’t blink. An involuntary action your brain controls. Lovely. Keep in mind, if I do blink, the metal little device is sitting flat on my eyeballs. That would hurt like hell if I did blink. My brain listens to me. My brain obeys the ‘no blinking rule’. The weird florescent, purple hued light shines brightly into my eyes. The eerie thing about this machine is, you can see the doctor’s eyes looking right back at yours. Ew. I’m staring into my doctor’s eyes! This is so awkward.
“Keep looking straight into my eyes.” He says, in a meditative weird, psycho, pedophile-like tone.
Again, the breath. This is so not good. Can he read my mind, since he is looking straight into my eyeballs? He can read my thoughts, my eyes are dilated so much, he can hear me think. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD--GET A BREATH MINT! EYE DOCTORS NEED DENTAL PLANS TOO! A PIECE OF GUM WOULD NOT HURT YOU!!! But I kept quiet. This is way too intrusive. I want out. He moves the machine away from my eyes. I'm now literally blind from the lights that forced its way into my brain.

“Okay. You’re all done! I’ll see you in six months. Let me know if you see any blinking lights, call me if that happens.” He says, as he writes me my next appointment on his business card.
“Great. I’ll call you when I’m in a club, as the strobe lights flicker.” I reply.

He laughs at me, and says, “Don’t ever change Deb, and good luck with your engagement.”

Not only was his ‘best wishes’ very awkward, so was that whole entire visit.

B-Bananas B * A * N * A * N * A * S !!!

Okay. God has played a cruel joke on me. As I was preparing to get ready to go out with Madelene this evening, I was getting rid of old receipts and tissues from my purse. I noticed that a clump of tissues had brown stains on it.


I started unloading more of my garbage from this deep bottomless pit. I grabbed what looked like an old, disgusting, already been smoked cigar out of my bag. I smelled it. It smelled sweet, almost like brandy. Did I ever purchase a brandy dipped cigars? Hmm.

I dig deeper.

I then grab what appears to be a small black leather case. It almost resembled an eyeglass case, but smaller. It was slimy, and sticky. Why?

I then realized it was a rotted banana. NO LIE! I swear! This was weird, because if you read my previous blog, you will know why this is freaking me out.

The post I wrote about going to the doctor's office for my blood tests, I failed to tell you that I had put a banana in my purse, in case I felt faint and needed something to eat, due to fasting the night before and not eating breakfast. People---this was weeks ago!

Never venture into the rotted banana zone. It's not fun. I had to throw away my purse, and fortunately I had another one to take its place.


Thursday, August 25, 2005

Apple of My Eye

“I brought you a bag of apples from the farm market where I live Deb.”
“Really? Thanks! I’ll eat one tomorrow morning.”
I said, sitting on my bedroom floor, blowing heavenly scented smoke from my lips.
“Well, okay. They’re in my car. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and bring them back.” Madelene says, as her eyes are getting red and glassy.
“Just leave them here tonight, so I can have the apples tomorrow. You don’t have to drive over an hour away, just to bring them back.” I suggested, coughing over the good pot my friend had given me. At the age of twenty, I thought my days of pot were over. This was the first time since I was sixteen that I tried it again.
“No, I’ll come back tomorrow to drop them off.”
“Madelene! They’re in your car, right? We can just get them out tonight. Leave them here, instead of you coming back in the morning to drop them off. It’s senseless.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Madelene replies.
“You’re a fool.” I said, as I started laughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

Madelene and I were hysterical for about a good hour from that conversation alone. It didn’t make sense though. If she has the apples in her car, outside my house, why would she want to drive over an hour away just to bring them back? I really thought she was going insane. I couldn’t make sense of this.

Years later, Madelene admits to the truth of that crazy evening. We were only dating for about two months. I loved my space back then, and only saw her on the weekends—but just for one evening. Sometimes I’d go for two weeks. Madelene explained to me years later after we started living together that the reason she wanted to bring the apples back over the next morning, was to see me again. Why couldn’t she have just said, “Deb, can I see you tomorrow?” I guess she would have known the answer to that. I personally thought it was cute.

Fast forward nine years, my friend Lisa and I were sitting on the couch on a Sunday morning drinking coffee. At that time, Madelene and I were separated for a little bit. Lisa was a really good friend to me back then (still is) and helped me through a lot. We were discussing ~womanly~ things. Both Lisa and I were in the dating pool, and were discussing how unclean some women can be. Yes. I’m talking about ‘that’. Hygiene clean--and what not. I had explained to Lisa that a girl I was seeing had a problem. Lisa was perplexed by this, and didn’t know what I was referring to.

Here’s how I explained it:

Everyday when you walk into your favorite room, it smells like apples. Fresh, clean, and eatable. You’ve become accustom to this fresh scent, and it’s pleasing to you. You look forward to coming back into your favorite room, smelling like fresh apples. It’s ripe, delicious and just magnificent. One day, you come back to your favorite room, and the whole entire place reeks of bad bananas.
“This is not the smell I am used to! It’s way too pungent and strong. What happened to my fresh apples?”
The badly bruised banana scent wafts through the room, up into your nose, making you almost want to gag and throw those puppies out. Who left those rotten bananas out for so long? Where did the fresh apples go?

Get it?


Ask someone to explain it. This blog is rated PG-13.

Lisa got it, started laughing and then asked me if this was true.
“Lisa, I don’t know, but it’s like fruit de jour down there, and it’s becoming alarming. I can’t just ask her what’s up with her fruit basket, it may be a medical problem or something.”
I left Lisa in a state of shock. She has never experienced such a traumatic encounter as I have. The question remains, do you walk back into that room of pungent, bad banana aromas—or do you run away, hoping for the apples to return? Do you ask the room why the fruits have taken a turn for the worse? Or do you simply just let it go, and make the best of what you have? From that day on, Lisa and I refer to 'feminine hygiene', as ‘good apples, and bad apples’. If the woman was older, we would call her a Granny Smith. If she was a hot young thing, we’d say she’d probably have a nice Macintosh.

Sick. I know. It’s all about the apples here.

Picture it. Provincetown, MA. 2003. I’m walking over to Lisa’s suite to see if she was finished getting ready, so we can all go out to dinner. She called from the window and said she would be down in a few minutes. I waited for her outside, near a patio table. Low and behold, there is a huge Granny Smith apple sitting on the table, alone, and looking ripe as ever. I personally thought that Lisa was playing a trick on me, to get me to laugh. This apple looked so amazingly fresh and delicious, I wanted to just pick it up and take a huge bite out of it. It almost appeared as though it was one of those props, like fake fruit that people keep on their dining room table just for show.

Lisa opens the door to walk outside. She is all ready to go out and failed to realize what was sitting on the table. I couldn’t believe she didn’t notice this! Was she blind?
“Lisa. Look!”
“Ha-ha-ha!!! I wanted to see if you would notice it! I was hysterically laughing when I walked back to my room, and purposely left it there, hoping no one would take it!” She said.

Apples are tempting. Some apples are good, and some apples are bad…just ask Eve.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

From Apples to Oranges

A drastic change has taken place for a New York City woman. Instead of attending events held in the ‘Big Apple’, she will now be apart of Orange County’s finest, “Orange Pride Group”. I’m pleased to announce that Tara has been a member of the “Big Apple Club” for a decade or so, and now deciding to venture up to good ol’ Orange County; where she should be.

Tara’s mission is to accomplish peace, an accepting environment, and an atmosphere to educate straight people about our homosexual lifestyle. She wants to inform our native Orange County members of the increasing population of ‘ex’s that emerge in our community. This has become an epidemic and needs to be addressed. Tara also did vast research on the number of cats per household of each lesbian in Orange County. It’s alarming. We need to set limits to one cat per household, or less.

Tara is an open-minded woman who has the ability to make it happen, here in Orange County. It’s about time we see some real effort in supporting our gay and lesbian family, and setting a goal to achieve #1.

Vote Tara for president!
A Christian Republican Lesbian who knows her way around the fruit bowl.

Orange You Glad I Didn't Go There?

“I don’t know Deb, my girlfriend doesn’t kiss me anymore for some reason. The sex is okay, but she refuses to give me a long, passionate kiss.” I just listened and started taking bigger bites of my delicious sushi, so that I couldn’t speak clearly. It kind of reminded me of that Twix commercial, where the woman comes out into the living room and asks her husband, “Honey, does this make my butt look big?” And the only thing he could do was cram his mouth with a huge Twix bar, so that he couldn’t answer her. I looked up at Stacy, acknowledging her complaint. I stared at her slightly crooked, yellow hued teeth, wondering if I would kiss that mouth myself.
“Listen, the only thing to do here is to talk to her. Let her know that this bothers you. Take her face, and kiss her. Maybe she is insecure— I don’t know.”
“Deb, she just gives me short kisses, what is that? It’s not like a real kiss.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her mouth again. There was a major hygiene fiasco brewing in there. I didn’t have the heart to explain the possibilities of ‘why’, and I have no right to judge someone’s dental problems.

I poured Stacy another glass of sake, and poured the rest for myself. I saw the waiter shuffling over to our table.
“Ah, sake good! You wanta’ nutha botto?" He says, nodding his head up and down quickly, looking like one of those bouncy dolls in the back of an old beat up Bonneville.
“Yes. Please. Thank you!” I nod my head—almost bowing to him out of respect. He sort of reminded me of a little Chihuahua—cute, tiny and high strung. I bowed my head to let him know I appreciated his service. As if I know the customs of Japan. I’ve never been there. I do know that bowing is a respectful thing. I think? I also found out from my oldest sister who takes business trips to Japan, that you are not supposed to say “what”, or ask Japanese people to repeat themselves here in America if you do not understand them. It is an insult. But, who knows this? I never knew this.

“I giwoo a speso dis onda’ house!” The nice waiter says, while Stacy looked up at him bewildered.
“That’s nice of you, thank you.”
“What the hell did he say?"
Stacy asked.
“I don’t know.” I kept eating, trying not to look up at her, so I wouldn’t laugh. Moments later, he skips over with this wooden palate of fresh oranges sliced up for dessert. Orange Orange
“See? Never ask a Japanese man to repeat himself, or we would have never got this extra dish.” I smile, looked at Stacy as she stared at him.

“Is it normal that I don’t want to go ‘there’.” Stacy said, and she crouched down and spoke in a low tone.
“Go where?”
I said loudly.
Deb. I can’t do ~that~ with her.”
“Ohhh… Really? Why?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that, umm… She is not well kept.”

I threw my chopsticks down. I lost my appetite. This is a case of TMI. (Too much information) Come on, especially if you are out eating sushi, please, have respect and do not go “THERE”…

“Listen Stacy, everyone has problems in their relationship. Everyone has little gripes about something in their love lives. I guess the only advice that I can give you is to talk to her. Tell her. She probably doesn’t know her cookie looks like a Chia pet.”
We both let out a laugh, and let off this big sigh afterwards---indicating that this conversation was going to be over and done with.


“You know, she doesn’t shave anything hardly.” Stacy goes on to torture me with this lovely topic.
“Anything?” I ask, realizing my eel had little hairs on it (tiny bones). Lost my appetite entirely at this point.
“Yeah, like she just stops after the summer and decides that it’s no longer important to keep up with her grooming in all areas.”
Whenever someone talks about another person I know in that aspect, I can’t help to envision this work of art. Do I want to? Should I? Is it disrespectful to even be listening to all of this?
“Buy her a really good electric trimming shaver, and top-notch razors. She’ll get the hint. In fact, buy her a really good ‘grooming’ kit.” I said.

What else am I supposed to say here?

“This makes you uncomfortable. I can tell. I'm sorry...” She says to me.
“Stacy, if anyone knows me well, I am too open with my life and sexuality, however, when I know someone on a personal level, like your girlfriend, it’s hard for me to digest...literally. It puts pictures in my head. Bad ones. So, next time I see her, I may just call her Chewbacca. Not good.” I start chuckling, so she knows I'm only joking with her.

I wave the jittery waiter over so I can get the check. At this point, I wanted to jet out of there. I’m almost positive that the conservative waspy looking couple sitting behind her heard every word Stacy said. I was mortified.

What are the ‘conversation guidelines’ when sitting in a restaurant where the tables are just way too close together? I felt as though I was being insensitive to my friend’s needs. Even though we’re pretty close friends, I didn’t feel right about this whole topic. I’m friends with both her, and her girlfriend.

The cuisine and conversation did not flow well. Believe me, I talk about the most risqué subject matters, but for the love of God, not over sushi! Sushi

Monday, August 22, 2005

Potluck, Pot Roast, Poker & Picket Party

I couldn’t resist. She has done it again. Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa. My dear friend is stirring up the pot that had already slowed down from the likes of my wooden spoon. The Orange Pride Group has yet another battle to cease.

In case you haven’t read my post, “We’re Not Just Lesbians”, this issue is about my big mouth and sarcasm that went wrong. A lot of these ‘lesbian’ groups like to hold events that will make everyone happy. They have potluck dinners, poker parties, luaus, bowling night and firehouse parties. I wrote an e-mail in jest, ranting off some ideas of what events I think they should accommodate. Bad move. I made some comments (joking around) and some of the ladies took offense. I did apologize, however, I can’t resist poking fun at our community. I’m a bastard. I know.

Anyway, to make a short story long, I get this e-mail from one of the members who I was battling with---which we became cordial afterwards. She writes this to me:

“OK...I thought you and I came to a good place.....we laughed and put it away.......who the hell is this......????At least you had a sense of humor.....geez!I'm not touching this one......Do you know this person? Not asking for a name...just curious if you knewwhat her deal was.......”

Apparently, Alyssa had thrown them an e-mail that was much more crass than mine. She is a very comical, cynical-type of person who is a lot of fun to be around. Her sarcasm can scare anyone, easily, if they are weak in character; however, if you get to know her, she's hysterical. She is a very talented musician, has a set of pipes on her you wouldn't believe (get your minds out of the gutter gals) and she plays a mean guitar. Get to know her- she is a wonderful person in spite of her dangerous e-mails. Yes, a force to be reckoned with!

You can visit her site at: Check one of her shows out.

I had gut feeling I knew who e-mailed this. I chuckled for a bit, and then thought, “Eeeek! What if these ladies think it’s me?” However, that thought passed, and humor took its place. I guess it is extremely hard to find events to hold and cater to people who do have addictions with alcohol (hence going to a bar or restaurant) and being sensitive to all of that.

Question: If you hold a poker party, is that considered gambling? It’s an addiction, right? They even have gamblers anonymous. Now I can be a real jackass and go back into their website and rant & rave like a lesbian lunatic screaming, “I have a gambling addiction! How can you be so insensitive?” But, maturity is rising in my blood. I will remain quiet and let them have their poker parties. I do plan to attend one of these 'meetings' and 'social gatherings'...beware ladies! Remember, take everything with a grain of salt, right?

Okay, let’s have some firehouse fun, shall we? It’s free to hold parties there, it’s a big room, and we can put a pole in between our legs, if so desired. I hope one of these girls is a stripper. Now that’s what I call a fired up party! They even indicated that it will be “BYOB”. They answered my prayers. Being that I am an alcoholic, (not recovering or former alcoholic) but an enjoyable one at that, I appreciated their efforts in enabling my addiction.

Aside from all the tit for tat bickering that our luau lesbians have set forth, I am hoping to meet all of them, in a neutral meeting venue, which will provide sensitivity for all. Sense of humor is a must, and no weak links---or you’re out! Let’s all have fun, joke around, and take light of this situation that is set before us. Our gay & lesbian community not only needs a drink, but a good laugh to go along with it!

I’ll say cheers to that!!!

God bless!

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday to you...
Happy birthday to yooooouuuu...
Happy birthday dear Dawn...
Happy birthday to you!!!!

It’s my sister’s birthday. No, I can’t reveal her age, even though she is in her early twenties, (hehe) … Dawn’s my oldest sister. She basically brought me up while I was a baby. She would crawl into the crib with me to stop me from crying, she would feed and change me- she was like a mother to me. Now she is one of my best friends, just like my other two older sisters are. All of them are unique, different, and special in their own ways. All of them are my best friends.

Dawn is married and has a child who is similar to me. She is reliving the whole ‘mother’ thing all over again. Sometimes, Dawn will call out, “Debbie!”---when she actually means to call for her daughter, Sophia. If Sophia is going to be anything like me, Dawn’s got a lot of work ahead of her when the teen years abrupt.

I appreciate everything Dawn has done for me. She has given me encouraging words when I was down, she has giving me wonderful advice with my life, and has helped me get some terrific jobs. Dawn was very accepting when I came out and told her I was gay. This didn't change her view one bit, in fact, she would come out with me to the gay clubs to go dancing, and mingled with everybody--without feeling uncomfortable. She is truly an incredible woman.

Happy birthday Dawn!


“There’s something wrong with that tree.”
“Which one? That tall one over there?”
I ask, looking up at this skyscraping tree.
“Yeah. There’s just something wrong with it.” Sam looks up, in deep thought of what mysterious event may have taken place there.
I get my ~psychic-voo-doo-pretend to be a ghostly medium~ hat on, and walk over to the deck, to where the tree was.
“Oh dear. This is bad, Sam. Wow. Hmm, the feeling I get with this tree, is that someone was buried here. Hold on… I’m feeling something else….Yes. Someone was buried here under negative circumstances back in the late 1800’s.” I tell him, in this meditative hocus-pocus voice.
“Really? You feel that?” He asked, still staring up at this eerie looking tree.
“Yes. Hmm…The branches are full of life from another soul from the past, that’s why you get those vibes.”

Come on Sammy boy! Have another drink! (I thought to myself) How can I tell him I had absolutely no psychic or medium powers whatsoever? This was too good.

Sam lives in a house that is very old. This mansion-like house has so many rooms, cellars, secret compartments and other mysterious doorways, I wouldn’t be surprised if you touched one of his books in his library, and the whole wall turns around and grabs you into another room. This house was owned by one of the men who died on the Titanic. Even before that time, this house was owned by governors back in the early 1900’s and possibly even earlier. Of course one can say it’s haunted, being that it has so much history to it, however, just to tease Sam until he is scared to go to sleep at night, is my source of getting a recreational high.

“Which room do you feel you have more spirits in?” I ask.
“Oh, the living room, definitely. I can’t sit in there by myself; I have to have people in there with me.” He replies.
“You know something Sam? I felt the very same thing! I walked in there, and I got goose bumps!” I tell him, with a straight face. It couldn’t have been the central air that made the room go down to twenty below.... Brrrrr!

See Sam scared. See Sam run. See Sam sell his house for a million and one. Money

Being that Sam secretly reads my blogs, (I found this out recently) He must have read the post, “My Sweet OCD”. It basically tells you how I am a little hesitant to drink out of someone else’s glass, or share a drink with someone, or to take a bite out of someone else’s sandwich—vise/versa. I’ve always been like that. The thought of someone drinking milk out of a milk carton in the fridge makes me queasy. That milk is now theirs…

Sam was gracious enough to share a bottle of wine from his cellar. It was a very good vintage wine---which I appreciated very much. As we all sat there talking, having a good time, I can see Sam was up to no good. His eyes had a mischievous glare about them. Was he drunk? Was he still thinking about this God forsaken tree? What was brewing? I then see him take the bottle of wine, and start drinking out of it. Lovely. This is so not what I wanted to see. This will be my last, and final glass, unless he opens another one of these puppies up. He takes another slug out of this expensive wine bottle as he stares me down to see my reaction. Bastard. I can only think this, because I was now a guest at his home. Little bastard is secretly going into my blogs to check out my pet peeves and other disorders I have. I hope he gets to read this blog---bastard! Of course I could have ran inside to grab a beer, however, wine and beer together? Just doesn’t go.

I have something in mind for you, Sam, my dear friend. Next time you are in my territory, just beware my friend. I know what irks you too. Revenge is mine.

You’ve just been blogged! I'm hoping on this beautiful Sunday morning, you are enjoying your delicious bloody mary to take good care of that wine induced hangover. Cheers!

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Another Day, Another Zit

“You look so beautiful!” Madelene says, as I step out of the bathroom all ready to go out to dinner.
“Are you crazy? I look like sh*t, my hair is awful, and I had nothing else to wear because I haven’t had time to go shopping for nice clothes!” I replied, ranting like a lunatic.
“Well you never listen to me. You don’t believe anything I say. Nothing I say matters, does it?” Madelene asked.
I didn’t say anything in return; I went back in the bathroom to fix my hair a third time around. In my head, my partner was just trying to make me feel better about myself. She had to have noticed the extra ten pounds I put on, she couldn’t have missed the huge zit near my chin—which the cover-up couldn’t even hide, and she had to have seen the three grays that stuck out like a sore thumb. I looked hideous (in my eyes). Why would she even want to take me out the house looking like a sack of potatoes with an acne problem? My self-esteem had a lot to be desired. It still does. Why do we put ourselves through this constant self-torture of not loving ourselves? I think most people do this, and it’s sad, because why should we care about what other people think of us? Does it matter what I think of you? Does it matter what you think of me? Of course not. What matters is; what you think of yourself. When you ‘believe’ that you look good, your demeanor has this certain glow. People will pick this ‘good vibe’ signal up, and automatically flock to you.

Positive energy holds a certain power. People are drawn to other people who have positive attitudes, a fun-loving personality and a good sense of self-esteem. As humans, we all have our good days, as well as our bad days. When I’m feeling really crappy about myself, I tend to get a little introverted and shy. Sometimes, I become a royal b*tch, making you feel as though you’re the only reason for my madness. Self-esteem has a lot to do with how we treat other people around us. If someone doesn’t feel good about themselves, they’re certainly not going to try to make you feel good. Think about it.

I remember this girl Jamie in high-school. She was a funny girl who told a lot of jokes. She was different; she possessed features that weren’t the same as your average school girl. She had a few characteristics that made one think, “Hmm, was she born that way? Is something wrong with her?” Now I say this, because she did have deformities of certain degrees, which were from when she was a child. Jamie’s speech was a bit muffled, due to a problem with her mouth, so she talked differently. She was very short, a little heavy, and her facial features showed unique traits, but nobody could figure out what the problem was. She laughed and joked, while others were laughing right along with her. Her jokes mainly focused on ‘making fun of other people’.

I knew way back in high school that she *may be* gay, or had more attractions towards girls. She wore a lot of clothes that were from the 'boy's department' and had interests in boy-related activities... I even realized when she had a crush on one of our art teachers. She was obsessed with this woman. Never, did the word “gay” or “lesbian” spew out of her mouth, unless she was calling ‘you’ that out of anger. “Fricken dyke!” She would go on to say that about someone who wasn’t even gay! The day she found out I was gay, her first words were, “Ew.” Now, this girl had nothing to say “ew” about, because she wasn’t the prettiest flower in the garden, but people liked her because she made others laugh---but at ‘other people’s’ expense. All her jokes were of other people. She never had anything nice to say about others—she would just continue mocking them, so that all of her friends would laugh. This is how she gained friends, but in the end, she lost a lot of them too.

I’ll never forget the day she finally realized what other people really thought of her. I was six-teen years old, and I was at my boyfriend’s house. (Yes I dated boys back then) Jamie called us and asked what we were doing. I told her to come over and hang out with us. Now, my boyfriend and I were watching a video from a party we held the previous week before. We had no clue what was on this video tape. It was fun watching everyone having fun, some not realizing we were taping, and other people grabbing the camera to take videos of other people (which we were clueless about).

Jamie knocks on the door. She comes in, and we were sitting on the couch laughing at the video.
“Jamie! You gotta see this!” I said, chuckling at all the idiots drinking and falling all over one another.
“Ah ha ha ha, what a dork he is!” Jamie says, as she makes fun at some guy trying to slur his words into the camera.
The video then went fuzzy, and then returned with another clip. It wasn’t the party though. It was one of the football players in our school---he was one of the most popular guys, and every girl, including Jamie was in awe of him. The video showed him and another popular guy eating globs of peanut butter, so that when they went home, they wouldn’t smell like liquor when their parents interrogated them. The guy put so much peanut butter in his mouth, he started saying, “WooK! I’m Jamie! Go wout wit me puweeez Craig!”

As these two guys were laughing and making fun of Jamie, my heart sunk. I felt awful. I had no clue that this was going to be on the video. I couldn’t even look at Jamie’s face. I felt her pain so intensely, because it hurt me to see that she was watching this. I never, ever felt bad for Jamie, since she was full of criticism for others, but at that moment, my heart went out to her. I slowly looked over at Jamie, and her eyes were glassy, staring at the television. I didn’t say a word, because I was waiting for her to comment, or leave out of there crying. I didn’t want to ‘console’ her, because that’s just not what you would do for her. She didn’t need consoling, because she was 'tough'; she was the one who destroyed you with her words. I didn’t know how to approach her. I felt like hugging her---but then she would say, “Get off me- you dyke!”

“F*cking a-hole! He should talk! His nose is bigger than his d*ck!” She blurted out, and then started laughing. She lashed out by retaliating with words, instead of giving into her pain. Jamie’s self-defense mechanism kicked in, and she was back to being “Jamie”… But I wonder, if she went home crying that night. I still wonder, even though it’s fifteen years later. Does she keep that in her ‘bad memory’ file? I think everyone has a ‘bad memory’ file we store in our brains. We’re human, it’s only natural.

My point here is, she didn’t have enough self love, in order to make friends, by not making fun of other people. I felt so self-conscious around her, because I knew that at some point, I would be the brunt of her jokes at the lunch table. I probably already have been, and I just don’t know it. I now realize, being in my thirties, that some people criticize others, because they are not happy with themselves.

It’s sometimes hard for us to realize, that people aren’t noticing the flaws that only ‘we’ can see in ourselves. I’ll rant and rave over a zit that I discovered in the morning, when in fact, sometimes other people won’t even have a clue that it’s there. I still go through it. Sometimes I have ‘fat’ days, and other days, I’m the hottest thing going. (ha-ha) JOKE! You know what I mean though, we have our days where we feel so good about ourselves, and others, where we just want to stick our heads in the sand. Those days when you feel good about yourself, take notice of how many people will compliment you. For the days you feel bad about yourself, take notice how many times you criticize someone, or simply, go into a ‘bad mood’…

Judgment is only for God. Don’t worry about what others may think about you, worry about what God thinks of you, as well as what “you” think of yourself.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Are You Two Sisters?

Beyond numerous occasions, my partner and I have been asked if we were sisters. In my opinion, we don’t look anything alike, but in a way, I can see how they may come to that conclusion. We both have dark hair, dark eyes, wear similar clothes (wear each other’s clothes sometimes) and pretty much think alike most of the time. Being with the same woman for eleven years now, I guess I took on some of her traits, and she has taken on some of mine. (Sadly to say)

Madelene is one of a kind. She is absolutely heaven-sent in my eyes. She really helps me with a lot of things that I am clueless about. Even with my finances, I come to her, because she is the ‘brains’ of this relationship, where I am more into the practical, artistic way of looking at things. She is more ‘book smart’, and I am more ‘street smart’… We compliment one another very much. Her attitude is more reserved and conscientious, whereas I have an attitude of speaking my mind too freely sometimes, without reservations. We’re both very outgoing and extroverted, however our personalities differ in the aspect of, you would probably hear my laugh on the other side of the room; where as Madelene will talk to everyone and anyone, but with a more conservative touch.

It was a Monday morning, and Madelene and I went to the bank to deposit some money. There were a few checks from different sources, and my mind was frazzled a bit that day, so I asked her if she would come up and do the processing with the teller. I wasn’t feeling too well, had an awful headache, had my dark sunglasses on even while I was in the bank, and I remained quiet, as she proceeded with the transaction that was needed for my account.
“Well hello again, Debbie.” The teller says, as she darts her eyes back and forth between Madelene and me.
“Good morning, how are you?” I asked.
“Wonderful! Just wonderful! And who is this, doing your transactions for you?” She asked inquisitively.
Oh, this is my partner Madelene.” I introduced them.
“Oh how nice, what type of business are you in?” She asks, thinking that “partner” meant, partner in a business.
“No no no, she is my life partner, my girlfriend…sorry for the misunderstanding.” I said, as I chuckled of how embarrassing that was, since I noticed the pretty teller next to her had just glanced over. Lovely. I’m outed at my bank now. I can see that my teller got a little red in the face after receiving this information.

I guess you can say it’s awkward when you get outed without expecting it. I tell, if asked. I am a bit uncomfortable holding hands with Madelene walking through Shoprite, but if it’s a gay-friendly atmosphere, I am thrilled to walk around having Madelene under my arm.

Another incident like this, was when I was getting the lasik surgery for my eyes to be corrected. I was excited that I would no longer have to wear contact lenses, or wear glasses anymore. This was a very big step for me to take, because I’m squeamish with things such as this. It took me a long time to even put a contact lens in my eye, no less having someone poke and prod my eyeball with a laser.

We went into TLC in White Plains to go ahead with this surgery. They had to do numerous testing before the actual procedure can take place. The doctor came in. It was a beautiful female doctor. I was pleasantly surprised to see a woman in this line of work. She informed me that my cornea was too thin to have this procedure be guaranteed a success. Great. My corneas are too thin, and my thighs are too fat. What next?

She explained to me that she performed surgery on Tiger Woods. He had the same vision as me---legally blind, and his corneas were way too thin as well. Now, he sees 20/20. She went on to explain that every case is different though. She wanted me to make a decision if I still wanted to go ahead with this, because the risks involved were serious. I can go blind---and if that happens, I would need a cornea transplant.

I sat there in the doctor’s office to think about this, and to talk it over with Madelene.
“Deb, this is a really dangerous thing, we can leave if you want to.” Madelene says in a reassuring way.
“No. I am so sick and tired of cleaning my contact lenses, making sure that I have them when I go on vacation or travel, I’m so sick and tired of waking up in the morning and not being able to see what time it is. I’m doing it.”

The lovely doctor walks back in with a questioning smile on her face, and asked,
“Have you made up your mind? Or do you need more time to think it through Debbie?”
“Let’s do this.”
I said, with a frustrated tone.
Okay, well first of all, since you are such a high risk candidate, you are going to have to sign a few forms for us.” She says as she hands me not just a few forms, triplicates upon triplicates! I signed all of them; knowing that they are not responsible for lawsuits if I do become blind, bumping into walls for the rest of my life. Great.

They rushed me off to the operating room which was across the hall from her little office. They had a television monitor for loved ones to watch the procedure take place.
Madelene, can you watch the procedure for me—just in case.” I asked, for reasons of ‘feeling safer’. Don’t ask. I needed her to watch for some odd reason, as if she would know if they did something wrong!

There were literally eight girls in the operating room. I looked like I was going to get my hair and nails done, but no. They put ten million drops to numb my eyes, and magic markered my eyeballs!!! X marks the spot where they’re gonna cut! Oh lovely.
“Here, take this.” The doctor says, as she hands me a valium.
“Now we’re talking! Where’s my martini????” I asked, laughing out of nervousness.
She handed me a teddy bear to hold, in case I needed to squeeze something… They even gave me a blanket too, in case I got cold in the room. I felt like a three year old at this point.

“Okay, for ten seconds you will go blind---and then you'll regain your vision again.” They said to me, as it was no big deal.
“BLIND?” I ask.
“Blind, yes, for a short period of time so we can make the incision. You’ll be okay…I promise.”
“Ten….Nine….Eight….” They began to count down as my vision blurred, and the darkness had set in. I was officially blind for those ten seconds. My heart was racing. This valium was a sugar pill; I needed something much stronger at this point. I had no clue what they were doing, all I can see were lights; one bright white light, (no not the tunnel to heaven) and the red laser lights flickering.
“Wait, what’s that awful smoky smell? Something’s burning.” I said.
All the doctors laughed and chuckled when I said that.
“Deb, that’s your eyes being cut by the laser…it’s normal.”
“Ah, okay, great. Thanks for telling me that. You could have lied!”
I said, hoping they were.

This process normally takes people about twenty seconds. It took them five minutes---way over the normal standard time to finish this process. It hurt- I don’t care what anyone says, “Oh you’ll be back to work the next day!” WRONG! It took me one week to recover and another two months to regain my 20/20 vision.

They lifted me up from the operating table, and continued to put those drops in my eyes. I saw fog and I saw images that were clear, however it looked like there was a huge cloud in the way. The surgery was officially done.

One of the nurse’s outside was hugging Madelene. I had no clue what was going on, but I can see from the big window, Madelene appeared as though she was crying. Did they give me valium or LSD???? The nurse came inside the operating room to talk to me.
“Your sister out there is crying, I had to console her. I think the surgery was a bit too much for her to watch.” She said to me through the thick fog.
“Oh, tell her I’m fine, but the only thing she has to worry about now is that I will finally see what she really looks like.” I reply.

They literally thought we were sisters this whole time. I come outside the operating room, and go over to Madelene. Sniffling and blowing her nose, I held her hand to make sure she was okay. She guided me back to the office to sit for a while.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“I saw them peel off the top layer of your eye to get to your cornea, and it hit me, those were your eyes, and I started crying hysterically.” She says, as she blows her nose from all her crying. The nurse comes back in to make sure I’m okay, and I thank her for being so gentle and considerate, as well as inform her about my beautiful girlfriend getting upset because of my procedure. It was at that moment I was not ashamed to say, “She’s my life partner.”

I believe when two people are together for a long period of time, the love matures in a way that is almost to the level as ‘family’. Assumptions made by others around us are only observations they see of how unconditional love can be. We share so much of each other, that we almost become as ‘one’, as a couple should be; yet we have our own identities. Madelene completes me, she balances me out, and we both understand our differences as well. Am I a pain in her in @ss? Sure. She wouldn't have me any other way...(unless Angelina Jolie crosses her path) Let's hope that doesn't happen!

As far as the laser eye surgery, I now see 20/20, and I am able to wake up, and see Madelene's beautiful face as clear as day. It was definitely worth the risk!

Thursday, August 18, 2005


A deadly batch of heroin is to blame for the six deaths of people within five days in downtown Manhattan. This heroin that just came in is supposedly too pure, or has an additive substance to potentially kill.

Have we gone nuts people? My friend Lisa calls me up today.
“Deb, be careful, because there is a bad batch of heroin that is being distributed throughout Manhatten!” She says, as she laughs at how absurd that sounds, since I never do drugs.

It is devastating that those people were killed by this substance; however, heroin does not come with a Surgeon General’s warning. When you get caught up in this stuff, you are fully aware that this drug may kill you. Do people actually assume that taking heroin is safe? Isn’t it known that it’s a deadly drug? I’m confused. Please enlighten me here.

Ironically enough, I’m watching the news, and the anchorwoman comes on and says,
“Ibuprofen and other pain relievers other than aspirin can cause heart attacks. Up next, when we come back.”
So I waited. Either this segment was two seconds long, or they didn’t even feel the need to give us that warning; however, this ‘bad batch of heroin’ gets plastered all over the news, warning people not to take it. Haven’t they already been warned?

Please don’t get me wrong, I have sympathy for people who have this addiction, because it is the hardest addiction to recover from, but just because some major corporation asks the news not to ‘talk too much’ regarding this newfound warning on their product, they are hesitant to elaborate on why the pain reliever causes heart attacks. It’s all about money, isn’t it? Millions and millions of people take pain relievers such as ibuprofen, and naproxen sodium for headaches, back aches, and menstrual cramps. I have to take 800 mg of ibuprofen to get rid of my cramps, and they fail to elaborate about this heart attack warning?

Maybe if I get a ‘good batch’ of heroin, I can relieve my cramps, because I am reassured that the heroin will be good this time, since they keep such good monitoring on this stuff, rather to be concerned about pain killers that everyone and their mother takes.

Think about it!

If anyone has the news regarding pain relievers other than aspirin, causing heart attacks, please comment and fill me in on this. If you have an article about it, please post it in my comments.


The Beauty of a Man

“What?” You ask, as you gasp at my title. I had this thought today. I wonder, if a straight woman is curious about being with another woman, then she is called, “bi-curious”, right? What if a lesbian is curious about being with a man? Is she called “bi-curious” too? There are so many labels that people tag on to individuals with different tastes, different views and preferences in the gender of their partner(s). I dislike labeling anyone, including myself. Yes, I have been with my partner for eleven years, however, my thoughts are, I fall in love with ‘the person inside’---not gender per se. I do tend to fall for women more so, but who’s to say if I were single, and some man were to steal my heart away? You just never know. Some straight women don’t even realize that they are gay, until they are well into their forties or fifties, and leave their husband for another woman, who they fell in love with unexpectedly. How do you explain that?

“I never knew I was gay, until I met her.” I have heard this time and time again. In my beliefs, I do feel that two people who connect emotionally and spiritually will tune in to one another, leaving a gray area for ‘love’ to happen. It’s up to those two people if they want to pursue it further.

Okay Deb, where you going with this?” I hear my friends yelling at me through this post. Shush. Listen. Be open.

The other day, I decided that I was going to run a few miles on my treadmill downstairs. I had the windows open for air, and the shades up so I can see the outside. It was a beautiful day, I should have been outside running, but the neighbors vicious dogs sometimes strays our roads, so I have a little concern there... Listening to my I-Pod, getting a good pace up, I realize that my nose is itching. I start sniffling and then began to sneeze a few times. It was at that moment that I smelled freshly cut grass. I love that smell, but it doesn’t agree with my allergies. I kept on running and didn’t think about it. Then I started to hear engines of some sort. Oh! My landscapers are here! Totally forgot that today was the day they cut the grass.

Now here’s the deal. There are about five guys who work on my yard. Most of them work with either a guinea tee, or just no shirt at all. The last few times while I was sitting in my office, I caught myself staring at one of the landscapers as he was working. He was well built, beautiful skin that glowed, and he had very dark skin—yet you can see that his tattoos were visible on his upper arm. I believe it was a vine that wrapped around his huge arm. I don’t know why I was staring at him so long, since I’m a lesbian, so I shook it off and just started working again. Fine. Done. I was probably just in a daze.

Back to the treadmill. Windows open, freshly cut grass irritating the hell out of me, I see “him”. He is right outside my window. Oh my God! He can see me. I can see him. We actually caught each other’s eyes. GASP! Keep running, keep running, don’t look, don’t look… He was weed wacking near the side of the window where I was at. I saw him up close and personal. Wow! This man is absolutely a work of art. His sculpted physique that glistened in the sun had me mesmerized. Each ripple on his six-pack abs were just amazing; as if some artist sculpted him. We caught eyes again. He waves…I wave back. Oh God what did I do? Forget it, he’s the landscaper, so he’s just saying hi because he works for us. Whatever. Wow look at those back muscles!

Today was a new day. I went to the gym to get a different atmosphere, and to also get a good work out. I grab my water at the counter and head for the stairmaster. Now, the stairmaster is placed right in the front, near the juice bar and membership/sales center. You can see everyone who walks in and walks out. Great for 'people watching'. I’m also near a huge window as well, so I keep busy watching shoppers pass by, people are smoking on the sidewalk, and other people are walking inside the gym. One person walking inside looked familiar. It was him! My landscaper! What? He works out here? Don’t look, don’t look, keep stepping, keep stepping….

I slowly look back up, and I see him going behind the counter, as if he was an employee there. Oh come on! He works here? He looked beautiful as ever, although he was wearing a nice short sleeved shirt. I could still see all the muscles that were protruding out. Our eyes didn’t meet, because I was too scared to look over.

After my work out, I headed into the bathroom to clean up. I couldn’t believe that my landscaper who I was apparently checking out was an employee at my gym. I walked outside the bathroom, to the counter to grab my keys that were swimming with everyone else’s keys and I heard someone say, “Hey.” It was him, my landscaper.
“Hi!" I said back.
“You’re non-stop with the cardio, huh?” He asks me.
“I’m trying! I thought you looked familiar! It’s nice seeing you! Didn't know you worked here.” I said, trying to end this conversation that can lead absolutely NOWHERE…
"I only work on Thursdays and the weekends here..." He replies.
“Enjoy your day, I’ll see you around then.” I said, as I was making my way quickly to the door as if I had an emergency.
“Okay, bye! See you soon!” He says, with this big smile—and these big white beautiful teeth.

Not only was he beautiful, he seemed as though he had a very warm personality; although I didn’t get to talk to him long enough. I just felt warm vibes…

My point of this is, that some people seem to limit themselves on what they think is ‘beautiful’. Just because one girl is straight, doesn’t mean she cannot find another woman attractive, and just because a lesbian found a man attractive, does not mean she is hopping the fence to become a heterosexual. And in some cases, some people do hop over the fence, due to an attraction to a gender they had no clue they were interested in.

And no, you can’t have the number for my landscapers.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Passion in Life

Did you ever have a day, where you’re listening to someone speak, or hear someone else talk, and you say to yourself, “Wow, I really needed to hear that message today?” Well today was one of those days; a self discovery in which I found in the words of one woman, who has made her life and her art—her passion. Rachel, a woman I help out at a gallery nearby, is a huge inspiration to me. Not only has she overcome certain goals in her life that I can only dream of, but she showed me that if you have the mindset to do something, anything is possible.

Rachel works practically 24/7 in her gallery, from paintings, to sculptures, from jewelry, to organizing art shows. It is never a dull moment in her world. There is not a day she takes off. I asked her today, “Rachel, aren’t you tired? You work till 2am sometimes, and then you wake up early to get up, and do it all over again.”
She says, with her eyes lightened up. “This is not work! This is my passion! My love; this is me! Everywhere you look is an expression of who I am. When you love to do something, it is definitely not considered work. People go on vacation, so they don’t have to work. I don’t have to go on vacation, because I love it here! This is my home, my gallery, and my life—which I love!”
I was awed by her enthusiasm. I was shocked that I heard these words come out of someone’s mouth. I was thrilled, because she was inspiring me.

Today I had to make a big decision. I was offered to publish my book with Amazon. The one thing that irked me a tad was that I had to invest a little money into it. My thinking was, “Well why should I invest, when it’s “my” book to sell?” Ideally, yes...but it has been quite the struggle finding the right publisher and venue to market my book. Amazon offers me a deal where every book that gets sold, I receive 70%. I explained my situation to Rachel, and she said something very profound. She explained that with anything you love to do, with any business, with anything you want to make money from, you have to invest a little to get a lot. The investment is a small step to where you want to be. Once you know you are ready to move up to that step, you make that conscious decision to pursue it further. Anything sold in an artistic form has a lot of work to go behind it—as with anything. For artists, it is a little more challenging due to the demand in what you are trying to sell. You are basically ‘selling yourself’ so to speak. This is an expression of “you”.

My true passion in life is writing, art, and music. I started working on my third book, and I sometimes spend hours upon hours without even realizing the time that has passed. Even while I play guitar and write music, hours can go by without me realizing it. This is the same for Rachel. Her work is done at 2am a lot of the times, but she doesn’t even realize how many hours pass, because of her love for it all.

I made the decision based on her talk with me. I am investing in my book. Hopefully a good outcome will result.

Rachel was also explaining how people these days are brought up to ‘get a job, go to school, and eat fast food’ etc. Nothing was really ever said about following your passion in life. It seems to be a trend where people starve for instant gratification, not realizing their needs for the big picture, as well as our future. We can get a quick fix from alcohol, food, drugs, sex, and smoking; however, how long do any of those last for? The effects and good feelings we get from those wear off rather quickly. Even to make a quick dollar has become more popular today, oppose from doing something you love & getting paid for it. We need to do something for 'us' that will last much longer, not just for a moment; something that will enable us to give us a lifetime of satisfaction...

What truly makes you tick? Do you count the hours when you are at work, wishing it was quitting time? I know I used to, until I got fed up with it. I always felt guilty for doing something I loved, and with her being so positive about the arts, I see things in a new light again.

I just want to thank Rachel for all her encouraging words today. It’s rare these days to find someone who truly believes in what they do for a living; to make her work---an image of herself. Not only has she molded herself into her art, but she has become vulnerable to opening herself up in the form of expression, by her creative work.

I really believe that sometimes God puts people in our lives, so that we can lean towards a certain path in our life---to make big or small decisions. Today God has done that very thing, and I am grateful.

Always be conscious and aware of what people tell you. It may be God’s way of trying to get a message across. God works in mysterious ways, and He communicates with us in various forms. Be alert!

What’s your passion in life?

I Need Health Advice!

This morning I get my mail, and I received my blood results from a physical I got from the doctor. (Refer to “What’s Up Doc” post) Turns out, everything is fine. Clean bill of health, with the exception that my cholesterol level is “mildly elevated”…222.
“222?????" I said out loud. That's not mildly elevated to me!

Now, if you know me personally, you know my diet is #1. meager, #2. full of vegetables, fish, chicken, and tons of salads. Where am I going wrong here folks? Of course, on the weekend I will have that occasional steak or burger, but once a week. At the age of thirty-one, my cholesterol is rising and so is my weight. This scares me. I was actually hoping it was a thyroid problem. Quick fix, right? Take pills, lose weight and tone down the LDL (bad cholesterol).

I went online, and this is what it said:

Tips for a heart-healthy diet

*Eat less fat (especially butter, coconut and palm oil, saturated or hydrogenated vegetable fats such as Crisco, animal fats in meats and fats in dairy products).
First of all, I never use butter, never use any sort of oil except for olive oil, and I use Pam cooking spray if I make something on a pan.

*Use nonstick vegetable oil cooking sprays instead of oils.
Done. Did that.

*Buy lean cuts of meat, and eat fish, skinless chicken and turkey instead of beef.
Super! What next? This is something I have been doing all along!

*Try low-fat snacks that have been baked instead of fried, such as pretzels.
Low fat snacks to me, are carrots, grapes and yogurts. I do that all the time.

*Choose low-fat dairy products, such as skim milk, and low-fat cheese, yogurt and margarine. Done. Nothing I haven’t been doing for years.

*Try to limit how many sweets you eat.
Hmm…okay, well on the weekend I will grab one of this Dixie cup ice-creams (those small baby cups) so I can limit my intake. I don’t want to deprive myself, but come on!

*Eat no more than 4 egg yolks a week (use egg whites oregg substitutes).
I eat egg whites if anything…one full egg per week.

*Bake, broil, steam or grill foods instead of frying them.I never fry.
Eat fewer "fast foods" (burgers, fried foods), which are high in fat. Instead, eat more fruits, vegetables and carbohydrates (rice, pasta, breads, grains).
Never do I eat fast foods, it makes me sick. Rice, pasta, breads, grains, I’ve been told to stay away from carbs, but I do occasionally have my pasta. Grains, forget it- I am an oatmeal fanatic.

*Drink low-calorie beverages, such as unsweetened tea or diet soda pop.
I drink coffee—no sugar or cream. No soda, just water and Gatorade.

Where am I going wrong here??? If it has anything to do with having a few beers or wine on the weekend, then just shoot me please. Millions of people are able to go on drinking beer, drinking wine, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle. (all in moderation of courses)

Another thing that really bugs me, is that I run/jog 3-4 miles per day, and do weights for one hour at the gym, and at my home. Even when I’m on the stairmaster, I’m on there for one full hour sweating my butt off. I drink more than eight glasses of water per day and make sure that I take my vitamins.

Any advice you can give me, I’d appreciate it greatly. I need help here people!


Shut your overhead light, lock your cabinets, and don’t forget to have your “I’m on vacation” automated email response ready when you run like a bat out of hell from your job. It’s vacation time. You have anticipated this vacation all year, this is your time to relax, and do whatever it is you want. You and your partner have picked a beautiful place to stay, you dream of the sites, the dining ventures and of course the daily activities.

If this is your first trip with your partner, this can either make, or break the relationship. Vacations are tricky. A lot of things can go wrong. I remember when I first started dating Madelene, we planned our very first trip to Provincetown, MA. I booked us a room at this really nice bed and breakfast. Online, this place looked magnificent! We were all excited and ready to go. As we pulled up to the B&B, there was hardly any parking---due to the lack of driveway they had. We practically parked the car on the owner’s flowerbed! We walked in at first to sign in. The place was cute, quaint, but definitely not what I saw on the internet virtual tour. They made it out to be some lavish and fancy B&B-- not only that, they made it out to be this huge mansion type of place. Misleading.

“You’ll be staying at the ‘Mia Angelou’ room.” The keeper said, as she handed us the key.
“Great…they themed this with poetry… how lovely.” I mumbled sarcastically and just chuckled. We start unloading the truck, and headed for our room. Jiggling the key each and every way to get this damn door open, it finally comes ajar. The room was dark still, so I felt for a light. Before I could even turn a light on, I tripped over the bed.
“What the @*&%????” I was furious that the room was smaller than a box of tissues.
“This is NOT what they displayed online, let me tell you!” I ranted, as I made my way to the bathroom.
“Look! The fricken bathroom is larger than the bedroom! That’s ridiculous.” On and on I kept on bitching like a big baby.
“Oh, well I think it’s charming.” Madelene replies, content in her settings.
“Well, we better me out a lot, or this is just not going to work. I can’t believe we paid so much for this dump!”
“Deb, they have a personalized hot tub for each room outside the courtyard.”
Madelene says, to try and relieve my anger at this point.

To me, my ‘base’ of where I am staying has to be nicer than anything that the town has to offer. I want my vacation home—if you will---to exceed my expectations of anything that this whole vacation can offer me. Madelene on the other hand is content anywhere, as long as we go out and do a lot of activities and have fun. Fine. Let’s have fun. What about when you get home? I felt icky and I didn’t want to be in that small room- I was getting claustrophobic.

Needless to say, the whole vacation was bickering over this awful room. We even saw a receipt for whips and chains and other ‘interesting’ devices that some other couple had purchased in the dresser drawer while staying in the ~Mia Angelou~ room. Ew. Better believe I checked the sheets and bedding for anything other than clean bleached sheets that smelled like daisies. That alone, made me think even more. Luckily this town was full of a lot of things to do, art galleries, museums, all different types of restaurants, different events and the beach. It was the 4th of July, so anywhere you went, had a party—but now it was a matter of going back to your room, which I dreaded.

Now I reserve a suite, one year in advanced at this huge Inn that we love very much. This place has its own bistro, a spa where you can get your hair done, get a manicure or pedicure, sit in their hot tubs, (instead of the one they provide you with in your room) and they even have a cocktail lounge now. The suite is large, has its own kitchen, dining room, living room, and a separate bedroom—plus they have dry cleaning right on the premises… I can just stay at the place the whole day if I wanted to. They serve gourmet breakfasts, whether you want it taken to your suite, or just eat it out on the enclosed patio dining room with the other guests. This place is amazing; in fact, I want to even suggest it to you all if you ever decide to go to Provincetown. * * * * *

A while back, when Madelene and I were having a few problems, we decided to still go on vacation in Montauk, where we stay each year in May. Again, I thought, this will either make or break our relationship. Surprisingly enough, the alone time at the beach house was what we needed. We ended up having the best time, because we were out of our elements, and there was no one to disturb us, no phones ringing, no work that needed tending to, just her and I enjoying the ocean. It was extremely theraputic for both of us, and enchanced our relationship that much more.

Tip: Throw away your damn cell phones, do not check messages, do not check e-mail and never, ever call your job to check what’s going on.

A vacation means, “to get away”. It does not entail going to a place that will cause you stress or cause anxiety. You are supposed to enjoy your time away, as well as your time together, and not worry about any of your surroundings. If your surroundings are something to be of concern with, then it’s just not going to be a vacation for you. In fact, you may just end up single after it- who knows... A vacation is a crucial part of your health—no matter where it is, however, make sure that you are completely away from whatever it is that stresses you out the most.

Bon Voyage!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

The Emotional Rollercoaster

I think it’s safe to say that we have all experienced emotional individuals that tend to lean more on the issue-problematic side that tend to scare us off a little. Everyone has their own issues and skeletons in their closets, and meds in their drawers, but what I am referring to are the woman who get caught up in the ‘emotional rollercoaster’ of a relationship or friendship. It’s a true fact that women hold much more emotional issues than men do—due to their high levels of estrogen. Some women even carry more of this hormone making them extremely sensitive to matters of the heart. I guess that is why some people think men don’t have feelings---this is not true, it’s the way they handle their issues. Men work and think very differently thank women do because of their hormonal differences- just grab a cold beer and tune her out! (Sounds much better the way men can handle certain situations, huh?)

There are women out there that have more testosterone levels in their system making them less emotional due to the lack of estrogen—also leaving them to possibly have hair on their chest or a few whiskers on their chin…hmm... It depends on each individual. In my lifetime I have come across women who basically frightened me with their up and down moods. I have encountered manic depressives, bi-polar to even extreme cases of emotional problems. Sometimes it can be very frightening when it comes to an argument. I came to a point where I had to be insensitive to my ex-girlfriend’s manipulating ways of trying to get me to understand her. She would not hear my side of how I felt; the only thing that was important was the way she felt. She felt that her feelings were more valid than mine due to her crying episodes---and the lack of emotional signs on my end. (Grabbing a beer and tuning her out…) Believe me, I am very emotional and I have feelings, but in the midst of arguing with my partner, I try to be more reasonable and resolve what the conflict is. (By grabbing a beer and tuning her out.) My downfall is my temper. I tend to get so frustrated that I will say hurtful things in order to shut the other person up from her tantrums. I may even throw a few things around, (but never my beer) however, I never physically abused my ex or my current partner.

One of the biggest signs to look for emotional unstableness is when someone is crying to you about something that she truly feels deeply about, and then the next minute she is laughing, giggling and all happy out of the blue. Sudden mood changes can be alarming if the other person doesn’t know what’s going on. Being educated on how people behave and different emotional disorders is a *must* when dating other women. Two women being together as an intimate relationship can be a huge emotional rollercoaster. Usually one is more emotional than the other, and the other distances themselves from her partner appearing as if they were ‘cold’ or ‘insensitive’. This may leave the other person in a depression thinking they are going to lose their partner.

It’s ironic that many lesbians use the word ‘drama’. Of course that word is going to be the word of the community. Why wouldn’t it be? There is tons of drama in the lesbian community due to emotional issues. Straight people have ‘drama’ as well---don’t get me wrong, but think about two women being together in an intimate relationship—all those feelings; love, depression, jealousy, resentment, lack of trust and past issues all rise up to the surface and bubble up so that their partner can now see the ‘true identity’ of their partner. Now the question is, now that you have seen this side of your partner, do you continue to pursue a long-term relationship with her; or do you try and resolve whatever problems arise? What if two women in the relationship are similar; both having emotional break down one after the other? Time to call the guys with the white coats! This makes for an unhealthy relationship (and lots of medication!) Is it safe to say that these two women will have more problems in the future if they don’t seek professional help together? Professional psychotherapy alone is a good idea as well if you are dealing with emotional issues or if just your partner is overemotional. Regardless, professional help is needed in these types of circumstances.

There was a time when I was trying to go to sleep, and my ex-girlfriend was lying down next to me. We didn’t fight that evening nor did we argue or disagree about anything. I went to sleep without knowing anything was bothering her. An hour or so later, I hear her sniffling. “Oh Lord!” I thought to myself. She was lying down next to me crying hysterically. I honestly didn’t know how to handle this. I rubbed her shoulder and asked her what was wrong and she basically nudged me off and said, “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong! Don’t even bother!”
At this point, after a few of these episodes, I was a bit perturbed and I wasn’t feeling any sympathy over this due to her lashing out at me. I rolled over and went to sleep--or tried to. The next morning she had a puss on her face, smoking one cigarette after the other, and being extremely silent with me. I made coffee and told her to sit outside with me to have breakfast so we could talk. We sat their in complete silence on this beautiful Sunday morning. I tried talking to her, but the only thing I got out of her was ‘one worded responses.’ I finally gave up and ignored her. I would have grabbed a beer, but it was too early… Her communication had a lot to be desired at this point, and I withdrew from her. I kept myself distant because I couldn’t handle her unstable personality.

Was it me that she was unhappy with? Did I do something to hurt her? Was I being insensitive to an issue that she was dealing with? Did she think I was flirting with someone? What was the problem? I had all these questions in my mind leaving me to be very insecure about my relationship and how ‘stable’ she and I were. I was scared so I pushed her away and didn’t talk to her for one week. Yes, this is another unhealthy way to deal with issues in a relationship, but I was hurt because I felt insecure of her love at this point. I honestly felt she did not love me and that she resented the fact that she was ‘stuck’ with me. In my heart, I could only imagine what was bothering her, what was going on in her head, why we were so bad at communicating.

We spoke a few days later and she told me that she was very upset due to the fact that her cat was sick. She had been stressing over her cat for a bit because she brought her to the vet and they told her that her cat needed to be on medication and that she was getting a bit old—so it was a big concern. Having not known this on my end, I felt a bit angry that she couldn’t tell me this herself. Why was it so hard to tell me, “Hey, I’m really stressing over my cat being sick and it hurts me to see her like that…?” Why couldn’t she come to me as if I was her best friend? She no longer considered me her ‘best friend’ anymore; she now considered me her partner who was only good for intimacy and sexual encounters. I wasn’t good enough to talk to as a friend (in my mind at that time) This hurt me terribly because now not only have I lost my best friend, but I felt as though I was losing her totally. Of course there were a lot of other hidden issues that were underlying why she wasn’t able to communicate with me, but the emotional unstableness of the way she handled things hurt me deeply. I was the blame for everything in her eyes. I was the one who ‘hurt her’ in her eyes. I was the bad ‘guy’ of course.

I wonder how many stories have been told that I was the seed that went bad in the relationship. Everyone has their own side to their stories of course, but sometimes it’s sad to see when someone you truly loved and cared for hurts you deeply like that; doesn’t want to communicate with you any longer on a friendship level—which is essential in any intimate relationship. Trust and communication had been thrown out the door and anger and resentment had taken its place. It was time to make a decision at that point. Sadly enough, I had to end it with her, and end our friendship as well during that time. This hurt me, as well as her. I tried communicating with her months after the relationship had ended to see if a friendship could still be mended, but she chose not to ever talk to me again, leaving me to now think that we’ll never cross paths again and say, “Hello” civilly. I always forgave her, but it was difficult to forget some things I must admit. I was willing to take her back into my life as a friend and work on things—but I know that would have been a bad idea. I didn’t want to go around the same mountain again facing the same problems as we did before.

When emotions get stored up in your heart and you let it fester, not only will it come pouring out, but it will pour out on your loved one leaving them hurt and feeling insecure about the relationship with you. It’s scary when one party of the relationship doesn’t have a clue what is going on with their partner emotionally. You can try to help all you want; try to be the most understanding person, but the truth is-- they have to work it out on their own. It may have nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with how they are feeling and it is up to them whether they choose to share what’s bothering them, it’s their decision to communicate with you. Or you can just throw them into a mental institution! I sometimes tried to force her to talk to me; to explain her feelings of depression and tried to help her. I’m not a professional psychiatrist; I only have my own opinions, so in reality, I wouldn’t have been a great source of help. She finally did get help, but at this point it was too late. Our relationship had ended, and we both went our separate ways. Till this day, I still pray for her and wish her well.

Growth Spurts

Yesterday, someone shared a quote with me that resonated with me so much. She said, "Just remember, trying to hurt me by bringing up my...