Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Channeling My Inner Diva

So today I went and had the bootwagga checked out. It was the standard P&P, and not the dreaded colp. I was worried. I hate the colp. I despise the colp. For guys who don't know what a colposcopy is...just imagine taking tiny little sharp cutting tool and cutting a tiny chunk out of the head of your penis. Then, slather something on it that looks like hot mustard to stop the bleeding.

Like I said, I hate the colp. If I had to pick between a root canal, a visit to my retina specialist, or a colp...I would chose to do the root canal and a visit to the retina specialist. In the same day.

My doctor wondered why I was slow moving around, I explained that two straight days of raking, blowing, and bagging leaves left me with a strained muscle in my upper back. Feeling sorry for me, she wrote me a prescription for Flexaril. I love my gynecologist.

(On a side note, she didn't see anything abnormal. Test results will come back in a week or so to be certain.)

After that, I called Indy and we agreed to meet at Houlihans for dinner...but he was running behind (an additional nap after 13 hours of sleep will do that to a person), so he had to shower first and all that other guy-stuff.

To kill time, I stopped by Barnes and Noble, found a cool coffee table book in the clearance section. It's all about Japan, with neat pictures and some insight into their culture. I'm a Japanophile. I admit it. I also bought The Count of Monte Cristo to read, because I'm not a huge reader of female fluff books, which apparently is the new trend with writing. I'll stick with the classics, thank you very much.

Indy and I meet at Houlihans and sit on the bar side because in order to get the happy hour specials, you have to sit on the bar side. They are currently running a promotion tied in with Sex and the City. I don't really watch this show (I've only see a few episodes), but Indy is a huge fan. He orders the Mr. Big drink, which is a big Lemon Drop type drink (sweet and sour, on then off). I think this drink is appropriate for him. He is a lot like Mr. Big, but not as tall.

I order Charlotte's drink (whatever they called it), and as mentioned by Erin, it came with a tiny lip gloss attached to the stem of the glass. At some point, a lady comes in and sets up shop in a corner. She is offering free eyebrow waxing to anyone who is interested. Or chin hair or lip waxing...whatever is needed most, I guess. I decline. The lighting in there is too dark for such a thing, especially since I have blonde eyebrows. Lord only knows what I would walk out of that restaurant looking like. Indy strongly encourages me to do it anyway. I tell him that if he gets his back hair waxed, I will get my eyebrows done.

We have appetizers for dinner, and talk about nothing important. I don't know if what happened on my birthday has made things awkward or what. He claims he doesn't remember. I'm still calling bullshit on that excuse.

After dinner, we walk around Town Center Plaza, look at clothing that's way too ugly, and way too overpriced. My knee, naturally, stiffens up because that is now what happens when I walk for too long. I can do an hour on a elliptical machine with zero problems. How is it that I can't window shop without being in excruciating pain by the time we reach Bath and Body Works????

Not only does my knee hurt, so does my back, and not one pain med in my system. I am teetering dangerously close to raging bitch. Indy makes a couple remarks about some of his other girl-friends, which make me realize he is a player and has a nurse on each floor of the hospital. I also realize I'm not as special as I had hoped I would be, and I slide into the funk of depressed and hormonal.

It was a short trip.

Limping back to the car, Indy cracks a joke about my knee and go off. I declare the date to be over, and I drop him off at his car, but not before tossing him a porno flick that was sent to me in the mail, telling him to go home and jack off to it. He laughs nervously and tells me he will call me later on this evening. My friends say that he tolerates my behavior because he loves me and is too chicken shit to face it. I say he's just a glutton for punishment.

Men...they just don't get it. Is there ever a time when they do?? Does it come upon them like a revelation where the heavens open up and angels sing?? Or does it just come upon them like farts after a beer drinking contest???

My personal life is pathetic. At least I still have the Flexaril.


Joe said...

No, we never get it. Unless its spelled out for us reeeeeallllly slowly. Then, we might.

Melinda said...

I second that - guys You have to be very direct with them so then they do get it. And don't waste your time on guys to scared to own up to their feelings. He can't handle your watermelonness (sorry, watched The Birdcage and I love it!)? Move on, baby. Somebody else can.

Dan said...

Umm, uhh, yeah, I think this guy does get it. Let's see - this guy left someone you describe as teetering close to raging bitch, and depressed and hormonal, and got to go home with a porn video. You went home mad, he went home happy. I think he got it just fine . . .

Midtown Miscreant said...

Im not commenting on the men dont get it part of your post. To be honest I didnt really get it, but I did want to thank you for making me aware of yet another name for a womans WhoHaa. Bootwagga, now that is classy! must be a medical term, I've never heard of.

IDigSmartLadies said...

We don't get it. Simply put, when the topic of discussion is in the language of attraction, we humans speak in wildly different languages. Some of us have realized that, and spent a good deal of time in analyzing and understanding it to become conversant, if not fluent, in the other's language.

You twirl hair, we suck in the gut. You cast an upwards-sideways glance, we furtively creepy stare. You touch your face, we stare confusedly.

You're dead on that we don't get it. But then, you ladies don't always pick up on our signals, mostly because you don't understand grunts and belches.