Swine Flu and Other Tragedies

When I majored in Biology, the notion that a virus could jump species was unheard of.  I didn't do so great after transferring to the Molecular Dept.  "The Recombinant DNA does what?"  You want me to splice it?  Where's my lab partner?

Oh yea, he dumped me after I that stupid Chlorine gas accident.

I once faked a car crash in order to get out of taking my Organic Chemistry final.  I smeared white makeup on my face so I would appear more... "tragic".

"Professor, I simply can't go on.  Can't you see the blood has drained from my face? I'm going to faint.

Then, once, I missed a Ballet final.  My professor was from the ABT.  "If you miss one performance you're out," he said.  I missed a performance and went to see him afterward, head hung sorrowfully to announce, "I'm sorry I missed the performance.  I have cancer," I said.
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I belonged in the Drama Department. 
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As a child I directed plays on the front lawn.  My reluctant cast included my younger sisters.  I staged bike crashes, poured ketchup on their faces, turned their bikes upside down...spinned the wheels to convey a sence of immediacy.  I positioned their little heads hanging over the curb.

Eventually I was in a community theatre play.  My sister, in retaliation, sat in the front row.

The Denver Post and The Rocky Mountain News were there. It was review time.

I had a death scene. It was my moment. I had to die in an evening gown, rolling out of a chair, onto my head and ultimately collapsing. It was ludicrous.  Eventually she was howling.  I was dead on stage and joined her, laughing so hard I cried.  Ahh ha ha ha. Snort.

The audience was silent. My howling sister and the snorting corpse on center stage pierced the quiet.

I don't know which is more painful... watching a video of that performance or the procedure, filmed by my gynocologist to treat Endometriosis that featured my ovaries through a laprascope.  Ewe.

(Faints)

I Had a Dream

Nighmare really. I dreamt you were dead.
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I know…it’s a terrible thing to say and confess.
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In my dream, one of your kids called me. I showed up at the funeral. I felt out of place and stood in the back.
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I know you think I’m stupid. If you’re ever in the hospital in real life, you’ll appreciate this stupid Molecular Biology drop out. Test me. No don’t…I can save you.  I've done it before.
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Then the procession. People walked by the casket. Open casket. We all stood in line.
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When I reached you, I climbed in.
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I grabbed your arms and tried to make them go around me.

It wasn't easy to get in there.  I was wearing heels.  And looked terrific, by the way.
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Someone screamed.

It was just a dream.  Don't get all crazy.

Oh, here she is again.  The Golden Retriever from next door. (Like she knew I was feeling a little blue.)  She's in my bedroom with a pair of underwear in her mouth.  She's trying to escape to the front yard. 

I'm tackling her.  We're in a tug of war.  "Cassie, let GO of my underwear"...tug tug tug...

She looks at me, I look at her...we both crash into the wall beside the door.  Wha...now she's fleeing with my flip flop...kerplunk down the stairs...she wants me to chase her.

I love that dog.

Sonnet # 9.

Let's start with my favorite sonnet, shall we?

I'm so excited.

Here we go. It's just Shakespeare...not rocket science.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may kee
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.

Here's what it means, according to me:

Are you afraid of dying dumb ass?  If you are, that's fine.  But people will still morn you. 

If you forgot to have children...you're supid.  In a childs eyes we live forever.  Don't you know that?

As a woman, your beauty is fading minute by minute.  The fact that you don't use it to hook some man is a crying shame.  You murder your own importance by not using it.  It's a crime. You don't love anyone...bitch.

Okay, next time we'll go line by line.  I'll be more literary.  I'll tell you what each word means, like "issueless" in this sonnet.  It means childless.

I won't swear next Friday.  I swear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdXGC3UL6kg

"Don't," he said.

"Don't come back here" he said, arm outstretched and hand flexed like a traffic cop trying to stop a truck.

He was in my bedroom, dressing after a shower.

"How sweet," I thought.  He's afraid if I go back there he will be overcome by desire and we'll be late for dinner.

I tried to go back three (3) more times. 

"Stop" he said.

Then I smelled it.
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I'm the only person in America that could turn a fart into a romantic fantasy.

Tune in tomorrow, won't you.  I'm going to recite (write down) a Shakespearean sonnet every Friday.  Are you still there?

You won't get bored cuz I'm going to explain them.

Don't roll your eyes at me. It will be fun.

Is it Friday yet?

I'm so excited...I'm watching the clock.  Tick tick...what's taking so long?

The sonnets are all about love. And loss. Regret, adoration and tragedy. Things we experience yet never speak of.

In other words, life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbQPxJ10KWs

What's YOUR Motto?

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark.

Okay. I’ve altered. So shoot me. You still have to love me. It’s the rules. Didn’t you go to the school of Shakespeare?

I noticed I was the only one there. I hoped you were invisible… like everyone else.

I knew you weren’t there. But I felt you coming. It’s the reason I checked out of the school of Shakespeare. I had to find you. I had to.

Too much literature and romance can screw a person up.

Now you’re here and I don’t know how to deal with you. I guess you’re love. I’ve been in the dark for so long; maybe my eyes can’t see anymore? ...is that you? Then I retreat to my friend…darkness. (He’s a bastard, by the way.)

You’re smarter then me. Not in the classic sense, the streetwise sense.

I run away. You tolerate this. It’s a ridiculous habit. I don’t want to repeat this mistake. But I do because there is something you don’t know about me.

Something I’m trying to say…

Okay, I’ll just say it. The only reason I feel like I’m alive at ALL is because I became good, a long time ago, at keeping an emotional distance. “I don’t care what you do, do whatever, it’s nothing to me. You can’t hurt me.”

That’s my Motto.

I don’t feel that way anymore. Still, I want my Motto back. It’s hiding under the couch, down the ally or beneath the bed…I can’t find it. You keep cleaning my house so my Motto is running out of places to hide.
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Stupid Motto.

Never-around-when-you-need-it Motto.

When you come back, Motto, things are going to be different around here.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWaKbGPilPQ&feature=related

Dr. Cop-A-Feel

This is a re-posting of my third or fourth date...a timeless classic.

I charmed the 59 year old physician from India with my spectacular knowledge of his country, Salman Rushdie, Ganges River issues and the whole Hindu/Muslim thing.

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I fascinated him with my understanding of Nehru, Lord Mountbatten and Edwina. (I studied, uh hem…prepared for the date.)
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My Uncle (an Irish intellectual/physician) called to offer relevant material such as current events in India and Pakistan so I would "have something to talk about”. (Dating for me… it takes a village).

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I added my own unique contributions such as reciting Shakespearean sonnets.

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“Why would you memorize sonnets for no reason? " he asked. Trying to sound like an intellectual I responded, “Just cuz”.

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He was smiling, grabbed my hands and rubbing my arms. “I had no idea we would have so much in common” he said.

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There would definitely be a second date.

Doctor Cop-A-Feel picked me up for Date two (2)  in his shiny Lexus. I slipped into the car and met a confident grin that insinuated…."You think I'm sexy, don't you?”

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One had to admire his confidence. (He was a nice but "sexy" did not spring to mind.)

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Soon we were gliding down the Pacific Coast Highway. I adjusted my passenger climate settings, jacking down the temperature because I was sweating. I already knew he was too old for me.  I did not, however, know I was having a hot flash. 
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We arrived at Sapphire Grill in Laguna Beach, a hip new restaurant. Rivers of women, alone and in pairs watched...looked, strolled and trolled.No one was getting their hands on my doctor.
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We drank wine for hours waiting for our table. We had an excellent meal. The doctor was giggling and enjoying my sparkling conversation.
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He ended dinner with “Would you like to come to my house for a night-cap” “or was it “would you like to see my etchings”? I don’t recall because of the wine haze. "Sure…hiccup…why not? " I replied.  I forced myself. I HAD to get over my shyness.  (You have no idea what an uptight prude I am.  Really, you don't.)
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He gave me a tour of his overly decorated mini-mansion.

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After pouring two amber glasses of desert wine we strolled to the tiny couch in front of a gargantuan plasma screen.

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Then…it happened.

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It’s what I dread, the second date kiss.

I’ve been known to bob, weave, accidentally trip...ANYTHING to dodge the terrifying second date kiss.

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This time I was going for it. My date had been married for 24 years. It would be a well rehearsed kiss.

Seconds after our lips touched, with the focus of a pit bull, the doctor attempted to suck every last drop of blood from my lower lip. I couldn’t believe it. The sheer pain of it.

I moved, adjusted, pulled back and in every manner available to me... tried to shake him loose.

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If you can visualize me pulling away from his face…my lower lip stretching out between us because he would NOT LET GO.

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I thought for a second, maybe this is some new technique?  But my eyes started tearing up… I couldn’t take it.

After extricating myself and tracing my lips with my fingers to check for blood, he looked at me seriously and inquired, “Are you breasts real?”

I tilted my head to the side like a dog responding to a high-pitched whistle.  Uh...“yes”.
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Then, in a moment I replay in slow motion in my head, the man reached out and grabbed my right breast.

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It was no fondle or any manner of caress, it was a grab.

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“You are correct” he said. "They are real".

My mind was in a swirl. I didn’t know how to respond. I was speechless. I looked him in the eye and said intelligently, “I can't believe you grabbed my breast”!

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With a considerable Indian accent he retorted, “Eets ok. Omm a doctor”.

I laughed out loud.

Then I went home.

The next morning I saw it in the mirror as I was brushing my teeth. There was a purple bruise on my lower lip.

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Doctor Cop-A-Feel gave me a lip hicky. Wha the?

Restaurant Date Review
Sapphire Laguna
http://www.sapphirellc.com/

It's a place to be and be seen. Just try to get a reservation on Friday night. Go ahead. Try.

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The vibe is cool and casual. Lot's of locals. I had the braised short rib perched above a potato and celery root puree peppered with pieces of caramelized parsnip and carrot. It was lightly perfumed with clove and melted off the bone. Despite devouring it completely, the effects of drinking wine for 2 hours straight were upon me. I might have actually had the Duck.

My Dad

Hey Dad.  How are you?

Why are you dead? I thought I'd never get over it.  You know, when you died? Just the thought of you  missing my entire life. It makes me mad.

I tried to sue the moronic Cardiogist that killed you. I did all I could. I was too young.

Mom's okay.