A Really Bad Back Attack, Wanting Scott, Wanting Everybody Right Now, and Shaving It All Off Right After Calista Did.
Scott made me promise to take three bites of something green today, darn it, so I'm doing it, for him and for me. He can be such a good manfriend sometimes. I love him so much.
I was mad at him the other night though, and he couldn't possibly have known this, so it isn't his fault (that he completely abandoned me when I was in terrible pain and desperately needed his help
), but I had this really horrible back spasm/attack thing just as he was leaving, and I really needed him to stay and help me. Of course I didn't tell him this. It was so bad though and had been building all day. By the time he was ready to go, probably itching to leave, I was hurting so badly I had to ask him to crack my back, which didn't work, and then I was just kind of doubled over in pain like a human snail girl when he left. I couldn't even make eye contact with him.
I think it was just the cumulative effect of way too much overdoing it and stress but I would rank the pain up there with my top ten worst pain moments of all time, and this includes childbirth, weight loss surgery, major dental work, and bouts of gastroenteritis where you don't know if you're going to barf or go to the bathroom and usually end up having to do both at the same time. Little TMI for you there.
I couldn't find any position to rest in for more than a few seconds without crying or calling out for help. I just kept saying, "Help! Help! Help!" out loud over and over again like a chant or a mantra of some kind. Then I'd scrabble around and try to come up with something, some position, some remedy, anything to stop the pain. Finally after trying meditation techniques, a Deepak Chopra Tibetan breath and sound technique I'd learned, praying, begging, and then resorting to taking one of my few remaining Vicodin and a Valium and borrowing my poor sick cat's heating pad, I was finally able to find a small measure of relief in what Beau calls the corpse pose, (he's taking yoga, my little thirteen year old man, how cool is that?) until the meds kicked in and I passed out for a while.
My back has been really bothering me lately, my back, neck and shoulders. It's weird because you'd think it would the other way around; you have the weight loss surgery and things should get better not worse. But I'm thinking they were bad then and
they're bad now, just in a different kind of way. I think my spine and my muscles are having to adjust to carrying my weight in a completely different way, so it would make sense that things would get a bit out of whack. Then there's the fact that I am completely freaked out about money, more than I can remember being in a really, really, long time.
The part about Scott that I don't get, is that he could be so oblivious in his rush to get back to the safety of his bat cave that he could miss how much pain I was in. He tends to miss a lot of basic important things, (like a galfriend in serious pain), and I wonder how he got through so many relationships like this, but then again maybe that's why he's had so many relationships. God he's going to kill me when he reads this. Maybe most guys are like this, just not too terrific at caretaking unless someone spells it out for them or shouts it in their ears. I honestly don't know. I just think if he were doubled over I'd offer to make him some tea or do something other than backpedal out the door as fast as I could.
I'm really not that upset. I love him so much. He's my best friend, one of the most decent, honest, wonderful, loving, creative human beings I've ever known. I trust him more than I've ever trusted anyone, (and for a gal with major trust issues this is saying a lot), and we've been good together for so many years. I know that if I'd said, "Please stay, I need you," he would have. But sometimes you need your partner to just be tuned in enough to figure this out. Anyway I'm just kind of venting, I never know what's going to come out or how old it might be. This all happened a couple of nights ago. At the moment I'm actually craving my Scott. My sex drive headed south quite some time ago, and not just for the winter, and when it rears it's hot and sweaty head I definitely take notice.
I was even attracted to my Mother's secretary Tina's beautiful lesbian daughter Tamra who came by to give us a bid on the painting. I thought, "Wow, she's hot, I want her." She's twenty-five, and gay, and I'm not, or at least I think I'm not, I'm somewhere in the middle of the sexual spectrum, but when this stuff starts happening I think, "Oh man I'd better grab my small window of hormonal sexual opportunity and get with my man."
This brings me to another concern, how out there I am in terms of sharing the very personal details of my life and how vulnerable this is making me feel. I'm finding that the more back in the world stream I'm getting, the more publicity I kick up around me, the more friends I make, the more people who read my journal, the more I'm wanting to censor it, and I just can't do that, don't want to do that. I started all of this on-line journaling and life share documentation years ago because I was inspired by my dear friend ana voog.
She was my muse and inspired me to come out of my little love addicted little girl shell and make this commitment to being out here as my real uncensored self. I'm passionate about this, being honest here, while at the same time trying to filter out the little voice in my head that says, "What if?" all the time. What if someone reads my journal, copies it and sends it to my Mother? What if one of my Mom's friends reads this and starts a society gossip chain and they're all horrified? What if the nuns down the street somehow make their way in here and discover my real true Conflicted Catholic nature? What if Sister Colette sees me use the word Fuck and her name in the same sentence? I worry about this kind of stuff when I know I really shouldn't.
Then there's the HGTV show we just shot last Saturday. They're going to link to my journal from their website, a link to my journal from a G rated television show -- a show that doesn't allow cleavage. Then today I got a phone call from a producer from Discovery Health who wants to do a story about my bariatric surgery. So I'm kind of confused about what I need to make private for Live Journal friends and family only, and what I can kind of leave out there. I don't feel comfortable talking about, for example, my bikini waxing, in front of everyone, but then again maybe I should. Maybe I should just keep pushing myself to be my honest self and damn the consequences.
Speaking of bikini waxing, I had it all taken off today by, I'll call her the Bikini Wax Fairy or BWF, because I have some depilatory gossip and don't want to get her in trouble with her celebrity clients. For those of you who have been keeping track of this kind of stuff, I started out being very pro-hair. I used to grow out my armpit hair and tell people that I thought all of this female hair removal was part of some great big patriarchal conspiracy to keep women down, keep them as much like prepubescent girls as possible. I also thought and still think that the manufacturers of shaving products got together and tried to figure out how to expand their market and make more money, "Hmmmm, how can we expand our market and make more money? Oh we know, we'll get women to shave off all of their hair."
So while I am totally supportive of women letting it all grow out, and remain staunchly against any kind of anti-hair discrimination, or pressuring of women to remove their God/Goddess given downy softness, I've begun to turn into a, "Hey this is kind of cool and sexy, I like this Brazilian bikini nakedness," kind of gal.
I started by just going for a trim that went so wrong. They took off what I thought at the time was way too much and then I started plucking around the edges. I knew it was time for a touch up and frankly, with Scott coming over tonight and my sex hormones making a sudden and surprising reappearance, I thought, "Hey, might be a good time to neaten this up a bit." So I went to the BWF and who do you think was the client just before me. Why it was none other than Ms. Calista Flockhart and I'm told she likes to have it all taken off or will occasionally allow for a thin little landing strip. I know she must go pretty bare down there because the BWF is known for being very anti-hair and shocking people with how much she takes off. It was more than a little exciting knowing that I was getting the same treatment down there that Mr. Harrison Ford's woman gets.
This was my first time going to see the BWF and she started in on me right away. "Oh you have all your hair removed in the wrong places. This is not clean. This is not pretty or hygienic. Why do you leave the hair all down there and take it from everywhere else? I tell you why, because the other girls do not know how to do this. Taking it from so close to here is very tricky, they do not know how. It takes experience to know to remove from here and leave a little here. I have twenty-five years waxing, I will take it all off, it will be better this way." Then out of the blue she told me that Julia Roberts is her favorite client, and told me a story about her that I can't share, just know that it's about Julia being kind and understanding in the face of an accident when she could have made things really hard for the BWF. That Julia Roberts, she goes to my knit shop, she gets her bikini waxes and her facials at my facial place, she calls my cell phone by mistake and leaves a message. She's like a ghost. One of these days I'm going to run into her in person and give her a hug.
Oh wow Scott's going to be here any second I've gotta go. I kicked all of the cats out of my room. I'm sitting here in the only super short skirt I could find that wouldn't slide right off my hips, (hmm, maybe that's not such a bad thing, but if I can't even stand up in it without it ending up in a heap around my ankles...) I'd better hurry up and put my leopard print bra back on and post this. Wish us luck? We are such oversensitive, complicated, artist beings, that lately it's just not a sure thing whether we'll be able to overcome all of our hang-ups and obstacles and get together or not. Just one of the many joys of being in a long term relationship, some of the pant, pant, throb, throb of the early days goes away and is replaced by something deeper and more lasting, but you need a little of that, "Oh my God you make me so wet, or hard, depending on your sex," to make things work and sustain that all important fire.
Will you guys hate me if I say I feel sorry for Michael Jackson? Scratch that.