I'm not a good test taker. . .

Last week, I had a regular check up with my Dr. and he tells me that he wants me to go have a STRESS TEST. A little bit of back story, I discovered I had a heart murmur a couple of years ago – probably due to the Phen-fen that I took about 15 years ago – yeah, I know, nice. I just wanted to be skinny, and as a result I get a murmur and have even GAINED about 40+ pounds from 15 years ago. Swell. Coupled with the fact that I come from a long line of heart disease (stroke, attacks, etc. on my fathers’ side) my doc likes to keep an eye on these things. Then, last month I complained of shortness of breath and just basically felt like an elephant had taken up residence ONTOP of my chest. So, doc did an EKG and sent me on my way.

Which brings me to my visit last week, my doc tells me that I do, indeed, have some sort of heart disease. Of course he told me the name of it, but I don’t remember. What I do remember is this: he said, “If you’re going to get a heart disease, this is the one to have, because it’s usually benign.” Phew, that’s a load off ‘eh? Here I am, 30-something and I have HEART DISEASE. But, luckily, I didn’t draw the short straw and I got the “good kind.” What the efff? So, just to be safe – he decides to send me for a stress test. Did I mention that I’ve complained of excruciating headaches (that won’t ever. Go. Away?) and, am highly stressed out at work right now?

Quick back story again: There’s a management position that’s open at work and I’ve interviewed for it. I guess it’s between me and two other people. My boss just came and told me that it will be ANOTHER week until they decide. The job has been “sort of” approved – it’s now in the hand of the President of our company. Gee, I wonder why I’m stressed. This decision was SUPPOSED to be made like LAST WEEK, but now it’s going to be another week of waiting and hearing everyone ask me: ‘have you heard anything yet?’ (Case in point, as I’m typing this – someone just stopped and asked me if I have, indeed, gotten an update.) AHHHHHHHH!! Stop the madness – my nerves just can’t take it anymore. Really, it’s not my nerves – it’s my patience. And of course, I’m trying to give off that whole “management vibe” and trying not to lose my cool, but people, it’s very, very difficult right now!

So, back to my stress test which was yesterday, I was totally fine about it all last week, no biggie, I thought. I’ll be hooked up to some wires and have to run on a treadmill. Not fun, but not bad either. So I was fine. Until, I got in my car and drove myself (all by myself) to the hospital. It was so weird. I guess you could say I was anxious and nervous, but as I drove there, I was MAD. I was IRRITATED BEYOND BELIEF. I don’t know what happened to me – I just became enraged to have to go through this, and most of all, alone. (I think they may actually call this a psychotic break-down, but I could be wrong) So I got myself to the hospital, checked in and started filling out the paperwork. The aide came and got me, was super sweet and made me feel comfortable as we walked the testing area and I even calmed down – a little. Then, I get in the room and the two ladies (nurses, whatever) are like – ‘you need to take your shirt and bra off so we can hook you up.’ Ok, first of all, we all know that I CANNOT STAND poor customer service, and the way they ordered me to strip down so that could wire me up, could have been done in a much nicer tone. I just bit my lip and didn’t say anything and did as I was told ordered.

Now, I’m already anxious and upset, so imagine how my mood progressed as I sat there naked from the waist up while some strange woman is lifting my breasts to stick sensors on me? Yeah, it was a real morale boost, let me tell you. Finally, she finished and I was told to put one of those hospital gowns back on, not my clothes or even my sports bra! Now peeps, my ‘girls’ are big – even after the reduction I had 10 years ago. So I’m thinking ‘you want me to get on a treadmill and run with no support for my girls? Are you effing kidding me?’ Yes. That’s exactly what they had in mind.

Next up, comes the ultra sound of my heart at rest. The person doing this was ok – still no “wow” in the customer service department. I mean, if you’re going to basically “feel me up” with your ultra sonic device, can’t you at least make a little chit-chat? I mean, I usually get one or four drinks before anything along these lines happens, and since you’re a woman? Yeah, I’m going to need a whole lot of alcohol or at least a little bit of chit-chat. Apparently, they don’t offer that class in ultra sound school, either that, or she failed. Anyhoodle, she’s doing her thing – and then she looks at me and says ‘have you ever had breast surgery?’ Again, I’m lying there, completely exposed, and since I did indeed, have surgery, I said yes. I mean seriously – I’m lying there, in all my glory – breasts exposed for all to see – including the scars.

What I wanted to say to her was something like this ‘No. Why do you ask? Oh, you mean those huge scars under my breasts (that go from the middle of my chest to the side of my rib cage? Yes, you see, I have a cutting problem, but I’m fine now, no more razor blades for me, my therapist and I have made much progress over the years.” But I didn’t, I politely answered yes. And then, do you know what she did? (Because I'm not feeling exposed, angry, sad and anxious enough already.) She sighed. “Well,” she huffed, “I have to go get the Dr. and see if this picture is going to work” and abruptly left the room. Leaving me lying there, still exposed with the curtain open for anyone walking by the room to see. I would have just gotten up and ran for the hills had I a: not been half nekkid and b: not wired up like the bionic woman.

The Dr. came in and once again, no “wow” in the customer service department. He just stared at me without saying so much as a ‘hello.’ He just grunted to the woman ‘it’s fine.’ “IT.” I’m now an ‘it.’ Not a patient who’s anxious and scared, I’m an it. It’s third grade all over again. NOBODY wants to be an it.

From that point I got onto the treadmill and had to get my heart rate up to something like 150-160. This took about 10 minutes of walking and then fast walking at what felt like a 90 degree angle. I was literally sweating my balls off throughout all of this. Oh yeah, I sweat. A lot. Even in 17 degree (Ohio’s temp yesterday) weather. (Yet another one of my many endearing qualities that begs the question, ‘why am I single?’)

So, I’m barely holding onto the treadmill because my sweaty palms can no longer grasp anything and the nurse is taking my blood pressure – because really? When you’re struggling to stay on a treadmill at a 90 degree incline it’s a GREAT time for that blood pressure cuff to squeeze the life out of your arm. It’s a friggin’ miracle I didn’t just shoot right off the back of the treadmill.

I finally got my heart rate where it needed to be, and then the nurse hit the “kill switch” on the treadmill and I had to immediately jump off and go back, lie down and have another ultra sound of my left boob heart. Oh yeah, and as an extra bonus – I’m told to hold my breath so they can get a clear picture. I’m freaking hyperventilating and they want me to hold my breath? Where did they learn this routine, Guantanamo? After all of that, I was done. Well, they had to rip off the sensors from my exposed chest – that was the icing on the cake.

I got dressed and was able to leave and that’s EXACTLY what I did – I left ran out of the hospital to my car where I had a complete breakdown. I just had a full on sob-fest/pity party of one and I just felt so alone. I know, I have my friends and family, but I don’t have that “someone” who cares if I’m going to be ok or not and that just really makes me sad. I used to get this way whenever I traveled for work. I’d be ok until I got to my hotel room and realized that there was really no one in my life that really cared if I made it to my destination or not. I used to freak out because I’d think ‘if the plane crashes, or if there’s another terrorist attack (I flew into NYC a lot last year), who would the coroners office call to come claim my body. It’s very disturbing, I know, but these are the thoughts that would go through my very emotional fucked up head.

So there I sat, in a parking deck at .50 per 15 minutes and had a full on meltdown and called my best friend. She of course picks up the phone ready for instant comedy from me about this test, only to hear me wailing like her two year old (who, ironically, is named after me and doing just that in the background). Through sobbing and breath-catching I tell her about my whole ordeal and how lonely I am and blah, blah, blah and eventually, like the BFF she is, she has me laughing so hard that now my tears are from laughter and I’m able to drive out of the parking deck before I ran out of money to pay the meter. She stayed with me on the phone and kept me giggling and back to my old-self by the time I pulled into my drive.

And the whole time we chatted and laughed? Her two year old (shopgirl jr.) sat in the background and SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER because mom just couldn’t do anything to make her happy. I guess both shopgirl’s were having bad days. And mom’s customer service? I’m thinking it was not the “wow” that little miss was expecting. I’m just jealous that it’s still acceptable for little miss jr. to have a full-on meltdown anywhere her heart desires. I on the other hand, had to save it until I was in the privacy of my car.

When I finally got home, I let the Daisy Dog lick me up one side and down the other (which I'm REALLY trying to break her of – well, at least on everyone else) but last night? I needed it.

Tests. I have never done well with test. I hate them.

Well, until I get the results, I guess.

What if . . . and an update

So I want to be a part of the Spin Cycle again!! But, I already had a “What if?” post, when I got the idea from from a contest on Ask Alice back in September. But I want to be in the SC, so I’m going to cheat (a little) and re-post – but I’m going to include a few updates – so it’s less cheating – yes?

So here we go again . . . along with an update . . . . One of my biggest "What if" moments happened about 6 years ago when I went to Maui, HI with my now BFF (then, friend from work) for her wedding over Memorial Day. I wasn't in the wedding but I shared a condo with the maid of honor and best man. We were the only singletons there. It was a very "Real World" meeting at the airport - because we honestly didn't know each other. Well, we’d exchanged phone calls and emails regarding the trip and I had met the maid of honor one or two times when I went back home with BFF, but we really hadn’t truly met and congregate with one another until we all met at the airport as our flights arrived. (The Best Man was from Chicago, Maid of Honor from Michigan and I am from Ohio.)

Side note: The three of us got along GREAT and had the best vacation ever. No fighting/hair pulling or anything – lots o fun! Six years later and every Memorial Day weekend I get out my pictures and just smile remembering the best 9 days in my life.

Anyway - the first night there, after dinner – Best Man and I sat out on the beach with a makeshift cooler (trash can from the room with ice) and a case of Corona's and just talked and talked and drank, and drank. Maid of Honor was invited to join us – but declined because she was tired and full from dinner. Before we knew it, and after hearing many funny and personal stories, taking silly pictures of each other and the MANY sand crabs (one who we named - Big Brutus), it was 5am and the sun was rising. In our drunken state - we tried (unsuccessfully) to actually SEE the sun rise - but we couldn't find it. Yes, the BIG ORANGE/YELLOW CIRCLE in the SKY? - We, (dru-unks) couldn't find it. (I am NOT lying – I wish I was.)

Nothing happened that night - romantically - except that we became great friends and the next week was the literally (VH1 plug here) THE BEST WEEK EVER. (for all 3 of us too). Over the course of the next 7 days we were as thick as thieves and never left each others side.
On our last night in Maui (the Maid of Honor had left for home the night before) Best Man and I had dinner and a little too much to drink - which would usually mean that something ROMANTIC actually DID happen right? Wrong! Way too much alcohol and we just both fell asleep. (or at least, that's all that I remember - we could have had wild and crazy sex - which I hope we didn't, because I sure don't remember it.) I had to leave the next day and wouldn't see him again until the reception back home for the newlyweds.

When we met up at the reception, in the newlywed’s hometown in Michigan, it was as if we never missed a beat, we were reminiscing about the trip – checking out my tattoo. Oh yeah, I always wanted a tattoo – he had a couple and said he’d go with me while we were in Maui – so I have a tattoo to remind me of that trip. At the end of the night Best Man drove me back to my hotel and at a red light I leaned over and planted a big kiss on him and told him that I’d been dying to do that since Maui. He said “me too!” Unfortunately, I was sharing a room with the Maid of Honor and others from the wedding so we would again have to wait to be with each other. The next morning, and after just sleeping and messing around a little/lot (but no sex because, well, I'm not a quiet person) with Best Man in my bed, we had to be up early at the newlywed’s house to watch them open gifts - ugggh!! All I wanted to do was consummate my new relationship with Best Man – not watch someone else open gifts!!

But like a really cheesy romantic comedy – this was not in the works for us. You see, the day went on. And on. And on and on ... and eventually we had to go our separate ways, he back to Chicago and me back to Ohio because (like an IDIOT) I rode to Michigan with the newlyweds and had to leave when they did. We tried to keep in touch via email and phone calls, but you know how that goes. Throw in the fact that Best Man was interviewing and eventually landed a new job, time was sparse. It just never came to fruition.

Except, one night 9 months later, (no I wasn't pregnant - we never actually had sex remember?) he came to visit the newlyweds unexpectedly. At this time, however, I was kind of dating someone else. While Best Man was at the newlyweds house, my BFF’s new Husband told Best Man about this someone else and this sealed the fate of any relationship between me and Best Man. What was he thinking?? I could have started dating Best Man and there wouldn’t have to be any of that ‘learning to like each others friends’ crap that you have to go through in a new relationship.

It’s been a little of six years now, newlyweds are still married and have 2 children (one even named after me!) and the Maid of Honor is also married with children. Best Man and me?

STILL SINGLE.
NEITHER OF US DATING ANYONE.

Do I think What If? All the time . . . .

Update to this story. In December of ’08, my BFF called to tell me that Best Man is currently looking for a new job and sent his resume to a company that is HERE. IN. MY. HOMETOWN. And, said company, just moved some of its offices in the building RIGHT. NEXT. TO. MINE!!

Of course, he won’t even get an interview – because this little bit of irony, is sooooooo my life. Also, if Best Man and I actually DID ever get together, I would have IMMEDIATELY found everything wrong with him (it’s what I do, I’m going to see a therapist this year, I promise) and the relationship would have ended badly – possibly losing my BFF in the ordeal. So, maybe the what if scenario is really just a story about two people that had a connection for a week in Maui.

Nah, I’m pretty sure this was my soul mate.

One step forward, a half step back?

So, if you've followed my blog for any length of time, you know by now that I have many issues.
· My dog
· My weight
· My Budget - or lack there of
· My patience - or lack there of
· My hair
· The mice that will. Not. Leave. My. House.

This post is about none of the above.

This post is about addiction and therapy.

There are many drugs out there - and I admit, (hey, I went to college) I have tried a lot of them from time to time, but there is one addiction that I just cannot seem to kick. And, it's one that I just get such a high from:

SHOPPING.

Of course, it leads to immediate regret and ultimately guilt because I've got so many credit cards with HUGE balances and a credit score so low that's it's also my goal weight. It's crazy, I don't even keep half the stuff I buy, I just buy it for the high of having something new, oh, and the bag – I just lurve shopping bags, especially the glossy ones, but let's get back to my post. Then, a couple days or weeks ok, maybe even months later, I return it all.

And, no, I'm not a "renter" of new things. I worked in retail for a very long time and we had renters all the time - you know who you they are. They buy an outfit and, um a weekend or two later, they return it because "they changed their mind." Yeah right, they changed their mind after they wore/used it for whatever event they needed it for. (OK - I've actually done this - but it was a long, long time ago - and it was for my senior pictures – well, not that long ago.) My family was broke and I just HAD to have the cutest clothes for my senior pics - so I bought all of my outfits the day before my photo shoot, made sure the tags were tucked in and out of the camera’s view and then returned said outfits to the mall that afternoon. What? I had my senior pictures taken in August - who needs 3 wool sweaters in August at full price? Ok, so we have that out there – I was a renter, but no more.

What I am, I've decided is a bulimic shopper. I binge (shop til I drop) and then I purge (regret, return and credit back to my card.) When I shop, sometimes it IS fun, but mostly, it’s all about chasing that “feel good high” of buying new shoes, clothes or both with one exception – it ALL has to be on sale. I get an even BIGGER rush when I’ve gotten something at an incredibly low price because
a: it justifies me buying 2 or 3 of them and
b: I don’t can’t just buy one.

Instead of one sweater, on sale from $79 marked down to $19.99 (.99 gets me every time) I have to binge buy two, maybe even three. I have to have my basic black, but then I also like red and I look so good in blue. I might as well get three because I’m getting three sweaters for less than the price of one! This, is how I do math. I would make a horrible business woman. I would. No doubt in my mind – whatever business I would run, would be bankrupt in six months time.

Then I purge return. I’ll get home with my three sweaters and then my $100 worth of I-don’t-know-what, that I had-to-have, from Target and IMMEDIATELY guilt/regret will consume me. My high has just ended and I plummet into a deep depression that will keep me awake for nights on end, thinking about my bank balance until I return most, if not everything, I just bought. Binge and purge. Buy and return. They say bulimia is all about control. What am I trying to control by buying stuff and then returning it?

It’s my moms fault. No, really. It is. My parents are much older than most of my friends (and probably yours) parents. They are 79 (my mom had me in her 40’s – yes, I’m still young-ish) and they grew up during the depression. And let me tell you, I have heard about the depression for like My. Entire. Life. I have been called spoiled since I don’t even know when. You know the story you hear from your grandparents (or in my case, my parents) about walking to school, uphill, both ways, in their bare feet? Yeah, well I heard that about everything.

“You want a new sweater, Shopgirl? When I was your age, I only had two sweaters and I had to I hand wash them every other night so I had something to wear to school.” Ewww. I would wrinkle my nose, make a face and just storm off when my mother would make that noise. My grandma lived three hours away, and since I grew up in the house of miser, I couldn’t call long distance to confirm or deny the tale of the two sweaters. Instead, I would re-treat to my bedroom and peruse through Newport and Speigel catalogs and Seventeen magazine and daydream about the day when I would be old enough to have my very own credit card and then be able to buy that sweater (or two or three) on my own.

So I think that’s why I am the way I am today. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have many new things, and money was always talked about like it was evil. (Don't get me wrong - I had what I needed - but just not what I wanted and never, ever designer goods.) It seemed like we never had enough, so spending it on anything we wanted as opposed to needed, well it just didn’t happen in my family. I remember one time when I needed new basketball shoes and this displeased my mom to no end. (What? Bench warmer is an IMPORTANT position – what if someone gets hurt? I was there to get in the game if needed)

Anyway, tennis shoes have ALWAYS been expensive and it seems like they’re even MORE expensive when you HAVE to have them. My mom took me shopping and of course she went straight to the sale rack and found a pair of Converse cheap shoes. They actually weren’t that bad looking – they were no Nike’s or Reeboks, but they weren’t that bad. At first sight. When I put them on, however, that’s when the trouble started. You see, these were the only pair of basketball shoes that the store had, and were on sale. All the others were like double the price, so these were the shoes my mom wanted to buy. And she did. Even though they were Two. Sizes. Too. Big. She didn’t say it, but I’m sure she was thinking “you sit the bench anyway, why do they need to be the right size?”

“Oh, I don’t know mom, maybe because a 5’1” girl doesn’t normally have size 9 feet, but hey, I’m sure no one will notice and I won’t be made fun of. No. Not in middle school. The kids are swell and so considerate of everyone’s feelings and fragile egos.” I’m pretty sure this is when all of my self esteem issues started too. But I'll save that tasty treat for another post.

Tonight, however, I made progress. I went to the store to return the sexiest, but I-really-don't-need-another pair of $100 leather high heeled boots that I got on sale for $59 before Christmas, thank you very much. Going in I kept thinking to myself, I can return these way to expensive boots and buy something else because everything is marked down right now. Well, that’s exactly what the old Shopgirl did. (be patient, the progress report is coming)

I picked up four shirts that I thought were cute, but mainly because they were 50% off the original price and then an extra 40% off of that. That’s like almost FREE – right? I didn’t even try them on, I just put them on my credit card. I figured I’d try ‘em on at home, and if they didn’t fit I’d bring them back (and start the whole cycle all over again).

But. Therapy Shopgirl stayed in the store and looked around and thought about what I had just done. (I also found a couple of other things I wanted to try on – but I was thinking about my purchases) So I went to the dressing room with said purchased merchandise and the other items I picked up and began trying everything on. I ended up NOT LIKING ANYTHING and returned my previous purchase and left the store!

Well . . . . I did buy a coat. But listen, it was originally $60 – marked down to $29 and then another 40% off of that brought it to just $17. (you guessed it…99).

Baby steps. It’s all about baby steps.

OMG! The Mouse is back!!!

For those of you that are new here - read this first.

For those of you that are STILL here - well, it hasn't been a great new year yet. I was on vacation the last week of December and returned to work on January 5th. Nothing too major to come back to at work - except they took our work from home (WFH) day away - so that's sad. For the last year, we have been able to telecommute one day each week and let me tell you, it was WONDERFUL!! The sheer fact of not having to comb my hair or get out of my jammies for one full day? It made me LURV my job all that much more. But, now there is no more WFH. I take it back, it's not sad. . . . it SUKS! Really, the price of gas has gone up AGAIN and that one day really did make a difference. And, no, we're not paying $4/gallon - YET - but still, it was nice to NOT leave the house unless absolutely necessary (i.e. lack of fudgsicles).

But, THAT is not what my blog is about tonight. No, my story of HORROR tonight is THIS: Another effing FUCKING mouse is back!!! And THAT's not even the WORST part! OH. MY. GOD. are you ready for this??

Seriously - this SHIT is NOT for the faint of heart.

I found the mouse "evidence" (sigh) In. My. Car!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh. Holy. Fucking. Baby. Jesus!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

People, seriously - I think I may have been driving around with this rodent for quite some time now! And? Let's get real here - where there's one there's more than one - yes? Anyone want to buy a 2006 Conv. Beetle Bug? I mean, I haven't really actually cleaned my car out in a really (read: never) long time.

So tonight, I decided that it would be a good night to clean everything out of my car and I discovered my CAR MATS had been CHEWED on (and NOT by Daisy!!!) And there was torn up napkins with little "teeth marks", and it was when I took my car mats out to actually VIEW the chew marks - that's when the "evidence" mouse shit fell out all over the snow!! So, I cleaned it all out - vacuumed like I've NEVER vacuumed before, and I even - oh my god - put a mouse trap INSIDE my car.

Ok - this is how tomorrow is going to go down, so for those of you that read my blog and live in the same town as me - take note. If I go out to my car tomorrow morning and there's a dead mouse (or god forbid), a LIVE mouse in the mouse trap, I. Will. Die. Literally, I will pass out and FREEZE TO DEATH in my garage. So, my fellow peeps, if you don't hear from me by 9am, call 911 and send them to the MOUSE HOUSE.

If you have any ideas on how to get rid of this NIGHTMARE that I'm living right now, please let me know!

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Happy Festivus! Yada Yada Yada!!

I just want to send out to all of you from the Daisy Dog and Shopgirl, a very Merry Christmas or Holiday or Festivus!! Below is my Christmas Card that I sent out to my friends and family IRL and I'd like to share it with my "blogging" friends too!

I hope Santa is good to all of you and your familys and I hope the Economy is good to all of us in 2009!!

The caption reads: Dear Santa: Dis is Daisy Dog. I no Elf. Mom dress me like Elf. You no send Elf presents. Send Dog stuff!

Merry Christmas everyone!!

Shopgirl

You do WHAT at your job?

So, I'm perusing through the hundreds of resumes that I should have perused days ago, and I came across on application in particular that made me do a double take.

This person is from UT - but it's not the infamous Stinky Bee (I don't think anyway!) and that's all I'll disclose about the candidate. Don't need to lose my jobs here my peeps!

Anyway - I'm looking through the application (see? not even going to say if it's a he or SHE - whoops!). So the work history is good - been at their job longer than 2 days - er, a year, yeah - that's what I look for. Anyway - they have the mad skillz I'm looking for. And then I get to their description of their job duties. This is what they put: Sales ass and the Assistant manager.

I swear, it's true - I didn't make this up! She also QUIT her job - who could blame her? I've been known to make an ASS of myself on an occasion or twenty. But to make it my profession? I guess I'd quit too (or I'd like to think my friends would step in and conduct an intervention.)

This Wacky Wednesday Witticism has been brought to you by my wonderful job that I must get back to!

Part Deux - Is he or isn't he?

For those of you that are new or simply don't remember (because it's been that long since I first posted this story) - read this first.

So, you really want to know ‘eh? Is he or isn’t he? My boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, LOVER, husband, wasband, or indeed: GAY?? Well, you’ll just have to continue reading to find out. Don’t bother skipping to the end – because I’ll put it somewhere in the middle, sorry – my sandbox, my rules!

Picking up where I left off, I went back to work on Monday at the station more confused than ever. Was he or wasn’t he? Could he be interested in me or am I just working a (very low paying) job at a radio station because I think some boy is cute? CD’s and concert ticket, while fun for a college student, do not pay the rent nor help you move out of your parents’ house any faster. Well, days turned into weeks which turned into months before I got anywhere with him. Turns out though, I liked my job and was quite good at it.

After the wedding, the two of us became friends – we’d go out occasionally but it was always work related. He’d have a “nite-out” that he was DJ’ing and I’d always go – you know, to support (stalk) a co-worker. I’d like to say I was always calm, cool, and collected during these times – yeah, I’d LIKE to say that. I was more like a psychotic jealous girlfriend who would watch him like it was my JOB or something. Seriously, if any girl came up to him I would give her the evil eye and immediately appear by his side asking if he “needed anything.” (umm? Hello jealous head, he was a DJ at the local radio station so he was kinda popular so girls would come up to him.) It’s a wonder he became my friend at all, looking back – god, I’m a mess!

It was obvious to the staff that we were friends and probably I that I was DIGGING him big time. I’d like to think that it wasn’t that OBVIOUS – but the word subtle is not in my vocabulary. (Then or now even.) Rumors were also flying around the station that he was INDEED gay. This just made me sick. The more I got to know him, the more I wanted to make him mine. (“I will love him and squeeze him and call him George.”) I just passed it off because most of the rumors were coming from one of the sales guy – Ron – who if he WASN’T gay, then my ‘gay-dar’ is seriously off. Yes, Ron was married – but, he was so cute and pretty (yes, I said HE – Ron was cute and pretty – boy-band pretty.) and his wife, well, she was just plain – not ugly, but not what you’d expect him to be with. Plus, Ron was such a girl – he gossiped like a girl, worried about his looks, weight and hair like a girl. A complete mo. This was all I needed really, to dismiss his theory that MY Dave was gay. Ron, I thought to myself, "YOU are just jealous and want Dave for yourself."

But, these rumors got the best of me and I just couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it was true. One day, Dave came by my office and I don’t remember what he did or said exactly, but my reaction to him was “You’re such a faaaaaa------” (Side bar: I called EVERYONE a FAG back then – I know, it’s not PC but whatever, if you were being a duechebag, you got called a fag by me – male/female anyone really.) I didn’t actually say the whole word, I only got out faaaaaa and caught myself. (too late however. ) he stopped, dead in his tracks and “looked” at me and I just said (I really did) “I’m not calling you a FAG, but you’re being one.” He just smiled at me and on he went and I just knew, DAMMIT, he IS.

And that was that, I would now be his friend, which let me tell you, took A LOT of pressure off of me. I didn’t worry about “looking cute” every day (well, yes I did – I don’t care who you are, I’m going to look cute everywhere I go.) But I didn’t have to look “cute” for him. I also didn’t care if I talked with him every day or not – I think I actually became a better employee at this point, because I wasn’t constantly walking around to make sure he saw how cute I looked or talking to him to make sure I got enough “face time” with him. Don’t get me wrong here, I still “hoped” he wasn’t and I was naïve enough back then to think that he might “change”, but we all know that that did not happen. So, friends we became.

He had a party not long after that. A couple of people from the station were invited and once we met his boyfriend K, it was no longer a mystery. K was awesome and I immediately liked him – which is odd, thinking about it now. Here was this guy, who was making out with, sleeping with and doing everything that I wanted to with Dave and I didn’t want to scratch his eyeballs out or pull out all of his hair. How big of me! Of course, there was LOTS of alcohol involved that night, but even so, I just thought K was the best. They of course had the cutest house, decorated very hip and they collected antiques. I OBVIOUSLY didn’t see all of this when I was there before the night of Lynn’s wedding – it’s impossible now, to ever think he was straight. No 25 year old STRAIGHT guy would have such a well put together house. Again, I was naïve and didn’t know any better. That night I met all the gays and the lesbian neighbors too – it was so fabulous.

I worked with Dave at the radio station for about 2-3 years – I had moved onto outside sales with the station and let me tell you – selling AIR TIME is the hardest thing in the world to sell. I gave it a year and then I quit, took a job about an hour away, completely out of radio. I would listen to Dave during his time slot on my drive home but we didn’t really stay in touch. I’d see him out and about, here and there but we actually lost touch for about 3-4 years.

I don’t know how or when it happened but I was at my current job (which was about 8 years ago) and Dave and I started hanging out and meeting up for drinks again. He had quit radio completely, which I really thought was sad, because he does have an awesome radio voice. We both had jobs now where we got to call the shots with the radio sales people. It was great.
Dave and I would meet every week at a restaurant/bar downtown after work for drinks/dinner or mostly drinks. This is when our fun REALLY began. Like for instance, did Dave and I get married to make our mothers happy? Did we go on separate honeymoons? Did Dave and I fight over the same guy(s)? Why didn’t Dave want me to meet our now infamous “Jerry?” Did Dave have a boyfriend that NOBODY liked? Were there man-capri’s involved? I guess you’ll just have to tune in for Part III!