- 7:11 p.m.
I’m back again.
SORRY to be gone so long.
Been dealing with…
and meditating about...
and plotting …
and hugging …
and listening …
and crying some more….
Working on the healing.
It’s going to be a long road. Keep on Truckin’.
I NEED THIS PLACE to survive.
I MUST put my words and thoughts HERE… otherwise,
I’m NOT PUTTING THEM ANYWHERE…. at all.
And… believe me—
I NEED to put my words somewhere.
Some catching up.
Okay: Here’s One
Spent the day on Friday with a veryclose friend who has NOT YET been mentioned HERE because I needed to think of a good way to CAMOFLAUGE HER… she has chosen her ALIAS, and she will now be known as “JUDY”.
Everyone, meet “JUDY”.
“JUDY”… these be my online peeps. Give ‘em some love.
Okay, so “JUDY” (that’s gonna take some getting used to) and I took a veryspecial MENTAL-HEALTH DAY on Friday and spent it SHOPPING (I know, it seems cliché, and yet, when you’re in the midst of it, there’s nothing quite like it).
My AMAZING girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/not-a-fan-of-shopping/non-shopper was ONLY TOO HAPPY to send me off with “JUDY” for our day of fun and frolic. Imagine: My AMAZING girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/ not-a-fan-of-shopping/non-shopper would have HOURS, possibly THE WHOLE DAY to herself, without hearing me breathing and sighing and oy-ing and vey-ing across the hallway from her.
This, this would be a GIFT for her. Oh, the SELFLESSNESS involved in a day of shopping.
I did, however, offer to BRA-SHOP for her. (actually, BRA re-stock, as we had only recently been BRA SHOPPING… hello Victorias Secret) and would just be replenishing her favorites with ALL NEW, never-been-worn versions of themselves. She jumped at the chance to NOT have to be involved with a retail scenario. So, I took a reference sample, put it in a Ziploc baggy (for sanitary purposes) and headed out to meet “JUDY”.
We met, we glee-ed, we giggled, we shopped, we perused…
We started at a specialty store called TOMMY BAHAMAS(ish) where she had a gift to return. Neither of us had ever been a consumer in or consumed anything from that store, as it seems like the kind of place that you’d go into to try and buy something for your father-in-law or a business associate with no style… or both. It screams, “Relax!” “The Islands” “Golf” “Manufactured Tiki” and “Suntan-Lotion-Flavored-Margaritas”. We discreetly (maybe) mocked most/some of the merchandise and could find NO REPLACEMENT for the ill-fitting/ill-advised gift someone had gotten for her HUSBAND (that’s right, I said husband.. and not a LESBIAN HUSBAND… but an actual Boy/Man/Hunky Husband.
Yes. “JUDY” has a husband. Believe me, it’s taken some getting used to, as “JUDY” used to have… well, I guess… quite frankly,.. A WOMAN… and before that… well, then... she had a Husband… and now,…. Now she’s got a Husband again. The Boy/Man/Hunky type. Trust me: JUDY rocks! So, instead of a replacement gift for her HUSBAND, JUDY found a discreet, non-logo-ed item for herself… when she’s in the mood to be wearing something that screams “Relax”, “The Islands”, “Golf”, “Manufactured Tiki” and “Suntan-Lotion-Flavored-Margaritas”. What fun!
Next: Victoria’s Secret (and the secret is: The panties are being sewn in sweatshops… SEXY, right?) I picked up the BRAS for my AMAZING girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/bra-wearer…. plus a few for myself (how can you not? Especially knowing that “Tina” the sales girl needed the extra commission to help pay for her GENITAL HERPES CREME (“….it’s more of an itching than a burning…”).
Next, “JUDY” and I saw a flick (Sofia Coppola’s new “Lost in Translation”. Visually amazing, short on words, but moody and moving). Highly enjoyed in a low-key, afternoon movie kind of way.
Ah… so, here’s where the day/night took a turn. I had been BRAGGING (ish) about my major accomplishment as-of-late, especially considering all the stressful circumstances we’ve been slathered with: I’ve stopped with THE NAIL BITING.
Yes. A biter. I’ve been a nail-biter since before I had nails. I bit my embryonic gel. I probably gnawed on the umbilical cord. Worrying and nail biting go hand in hand (pun intended). So, since I was worrying waaaaaaaaay before birth (no, please… don’t send me to THOSE people)… I obviously did some chewing in the pre-earth life… possibly on a white robe. (whatever).
Back to the NON-BITING.
So, they’ve grown. Enough. Enough to start making a big deal about it to those who will listen. (ex: “Paper or plastic, Maam/Miss?”. “Plastic… oh, and.. don’t my nails look amazingly long?”)
However… I ALWAYS have a WONDERFUL PEDICURE.... My pedicurist ---(that’s right: girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/PEDICURIST) does a great job… Spic. Span. Red. Pink. Orange. Whatever….but never gets the chance with the hands because of… yeah, the nail biting…. And yet again, the chance would NOT be hers, because “JUDY” decided, post-shopping, post-movie-viewing, post additional wandering and chatting, that WE were going to go get MANICURES.
Me. A Stranger. Touching. Me. My. Hands. No. Not enough personal space.
Sorry…. “JUDY” would NOT take NO for an ANSWER.
Manicures! We were going to find a nail salon, open at 8pm on a Friday night.
So….We drove. She found. “Lynne’s Nails” (lovely graphic on the window of a giant acrylic-nailed-hand holding a rose) and the owner (I’m guessing “Lynne”?) said she was closing, but would take us… but it must be CASH ONLY. (first warning flag).
“JUDY” settled in with “Lynne”, owner of “Lynne’s nails” (and negotiator of the “It’s late/Cash Only” Policy). “JUDY” quickly assimilated, then chose her color (apparently that’s the first thing you do when you come in… pick the polish color) and I was assigned to… ummmm…. “Lynne’s NIECE”, who will NOT be given a name, because that would imply she was HUMAN. She was… a manicuring ROBOT… who did NOT want to stay late on a Friday night...even for the extra $10.00... even if it was cash!
I'm willing to admit that I didn’t understand WHAT they were saying to each other, but it was “Lynne’s tone” and "flushed face", and her “NEICES” tone and "zombie-like/non-flushed face" in return that concerned me.
FOR GODS SAKE, this was my first time! I should be coddled! It should be gentle. Quiet. White light. Soft music. Candles. Instead, I was being assigned to “NIECE”, a mid-twenties, bitter, manicuring robot who grunted, hated me and beat the shit out of my arms (apparently THAT was supposed to be some sort of soothing massage?).
She ravaged my cuticles (my what?). I was clipped, sanded, chopped and chipped.
She used tools that she must have bought on the Internet from doctors/hacks who were no longer using them for “back alley abortions”. Scary/Metal/Probing tools.
My DNA was everywhere. Pieces of my newly-achieved-growth were stuck to the front of her BLACK SMOCK. I think I saw a piece of my calcium-filled-shavings on her eyebrow. I was EVERYWHERE!! Everywhere but on the ends of what were formerly my newly-achieved-growth/Lady-nails.
I sobbed inside. I wept for my inner-child, who only moments earlier had been running in a field filled with the millions of choices of nail polish colors, and now looked down at all her hard work scattered…. tiny pieces of human-nail-like-shrapnel…. Everywhere.
Meanwhile, “JUDY” enjoyed a LUXURIOUS MANICURE from a “Manicuring Master”.
Surely “Lynne” of “Lynne’s Nails” had won some awards… and her walls were adorned with SIGNED HEADSHOTS of UNFAMILLIAR ACTRESSES who, obviously, had received WONDERFUL, memorable manicures from “Lynne”.
I made a mental note that NONE of the headshots were made out to “NIECE”.
“JUDY” observed me as HORROR filled my face. She didn’t understand. She watched and wondered.
I’m pretty sure that “NIECE” leaned forward at one point during THE INHUMANITY and BIT a hang-nail-like skin attachment off of my pinkie finger (right hand, I think).
I felt like “AN INNOCENT” who just had their MANICURE VIRGINITY TAKEN…STOLEN… by an angry, bitter, ROBOT-WHORE/MANICURIST.
At the end, when it was finally over….“JUDY” tipped “Lynne” of “Lynne’s Nails” and “NIECE” $3.00/each.
THAT was gracious.
I was sure that “NIECE” would use her tip money to run to the newsstand and buy “Manicurist Torture Monthly” and look at the centerfold of a kind-virgin-like patron being tortured (not me, someone else). Good for her. Sicko.
Anyway…It was a lovely gesture… the whole “First Manicure” thing.
I wish it had been different. I wish I’d waited. And now… now I can’t get it back.
You can never go back to your first time.
But… the day—the day was great. Time spent with My WONDERFUL FRIEND “JUDY”, shopping, loads of laughs and some lost skin tissue. What’s not to love about that?
And to you… all my ON-LINERS…. I’m back. Wordy and rambling as I ever was.
I’ve missed you.
Xoxoxo even more… soon.