Confused Woman!

Okay, I know the name sounds weird but there’s logic behind the madness.  I didn’t want to throw the business under the bus so I decided to use a similar-sounding name.  My daughter and I visited this establishment last weekend for her friend’s birthday party.  Great for her, bad for me.

You see, even though I love my child to pieces, I’m not a big kid person.  So, to place me in an environment where I’m surrounded by a sea of children and enough sound effects and lights to cause anyone to seize, is truly painful.   Add a little headache from the previous night of socializing and imbibing, and you have the perfect insanity storm.  Shoot me now.

For my daughter and all the other kids, this is heaven on earth.  A plethora of games to play, pizza and pop to consume, and Ducky Pees to entertain.  Meanwhile, I’m wondering who I pissed off to end up in a place where kids rule and parents open their wallets and turn their brains on idle.

In the end, all the kiddies had a blast and as we were walking out the door my daughter declared, “Mommy, I want to have my birthday party at Ducky Pees!”.  Great.  Note to self: Make doctor appointment to get Prozac prescription refilled.

Hi.  From the bottom of my heart, brain, and self-esteem, I personally want to thank every woman who treated her ex-boyfriend/ex-fiance/ex-husband like complete crap.  Thanks to you, nearly every guy I’ve dated post-divorce has been a damaged dude.

Sometimes, it’s very easy to spot the wounded man.  The first date will start great but by the time you’ve had a drink and appetizer, he’s given you every dirty little detail of the breakup.  They usually don’t realize it’s too much information until I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and don’t come back.

Other guys won’t expose their damaged selves until several dates later.  There are small tidbits or comments that may hint at a wounded ego, but don’t surface until you visit the wrong restaurant or the city they last lived in with “Evil Woman” that the ugly truth emerges.

The worst guy is the one who will lead you to believe everything is great and you’re really connecting but out of the blue several months later states, “I don’t ever want to get married again.  I’m okay being alone.”  Okay…really?  Then why the hell are you here with me?

All I can think is what on earth did this woman do to damage you for life?  Besides pulling a Lorena Bobbitt and chopping off your wienie or draining your bank account, what could possibly be so horrible you wouldn’t give a great woman a chance?  Are you being a chicken or using it as a convenient excuse?

Oh, and to “those” women…well, you can just suck it.

Yep.  I have one.  No, that’s okay…you don’t have to feel sorry for me.  I’m fine.  Really, I’m good.  It was just kind of a shock hearing that from Dr. Magoo as I laid spread eagle on the exam table with the hot resident looking over his shoulder.

I was assuming the worst…cancer, hysterectomy, ectopic pregnancy…nope.  Turns out I’m just getting old and the parts aren’t working like they used to.  Part of me is totally fine with it because I don’t want any more kids.  The shop has closed, the ship has sailed.  However, there’s another part of me that doesn’t want to hear that I’m getting old and things are misfiring.  When the doctor told me there’s only a 10% chance of conceiving naturally at my age I was truly depressed.

It’s crazy.  I don’t want kids, yet I feel horrible that I probably can’t have them anyways.  It’s just the fact that I’m growing out of the young, reproductive phase and into the “I don’t want to go there phase”.  It sucks.  Oh well.  I guess I could have worse things misfiring or falling apart…like my metabolism.  Wait, that already has…damn it!

Today our company was sponsoring a blood drive.  We were strongly encouraged to participate since it’s a wonderful opportunity to give back to the community.  Plus, it didn’t hurt that they were encouraging you to get away from your desk AND providing free candy and snacks.  Sign me up!

After I agreed to donate, I started to panic.  I’ve never donated before.  Soon, the crazy thoughts started going through my head.  What if I pass out?  What if I get sick?  What if they screw up and take too much out and I die of low blood pressure?

It also didn’t help that my co-worker (who didn’t donate by the way) took great pleasure in torturing me and further increasing  my anxiety level.  His “jokes” included:  “What if you don’t come back?  I’ll have to give my friends a call letting them know there will be a job opening.”

By the time he was done mocking me, I was a train-wreck.  I thought, “There’s no way I can do this.”  Then I said to myself, “No.  You signed up.  You are going to do it.”

Once I arrived at the blood mobile, my anxiety eased.  The staff was great and it was actually not that bad.  I did get a little light-headed right after, but other than that, it was a good experience and I will give again.

However, next time I will not tell my co-worker or perhaps, I should just drag his sorry ass out there with me!

Well, they’re not quite doctors yet, but for some reason I get all the male residents checking out my privates.  Of course, they’re not your average doc in training…oh no…they’re the “Zesty Italian Hotter Than Hell” doc in training.  Let me explain.

The first time was when I gave birth to my daughter.  After she was born, I needed to be sewn up.  Who comes in to do the needlework?  Not some sweet, innocent female resident with a 4-H or Girl Scout mastery in quilting.

Nope.  I get Dr. McDreamy in training.  That’s exactly who I want down south after just giving birth and the region looks like it’s been through a Mix Master.

The second time was today at my OB/GYN appointment.  I had an issue and needed to get in right away.  The only doctor available was a male.  Not a huge deal.  I prefer a female doctor but I thought for once, I’ll make an exception and give this guy a try.

Not only was he an hour late, but the nurse informed me he’s a teaching doctor so he has a resident shadowing him today and wondered if that would be okay.  Great.  What am I supposed to say?  I groan and say okay but secretly I’m thinking, “Wonderful.  Now I’ll have two strange guys checking out my va jay jay.”

When they walk in, my stomach turns.  The OB/GYN basically looks like a dad/grandpa.  So far so good.  The resident?  He basically looks like Ben Affleck.  Ugh!  What is it with me and these hot residents?  Why can’t I get some totally nerdy guy or plain/average woman?

The exam went fine.  It was kind of weird though when the OB performed the internal exam and then turned to the resident and said, “Your turn.”

Next time, I’m asking for the female doctor and if there’s a resident they better look like Shrek.