NEWLOVE

ivy and i went shopping at target in pasadena. i only spent like $80 and i left the store with half a dozen items. it’s amazing!

we finally found a bathing suit that fits my boobs. too bad it was made for old mother hubbard!

notice how it hangs to my knees…

then i saw the cutest little top and held it up to my boob. i was trying to be discreet (yes, i know - very unlike me) so as i was remarking in a loud enough voice to reach ivy 4 aisles away i accidentally muted the wrong words. i meant to shout “OH MY GOD ivy this top is so micro it doesn’t even cover ___ ___!” but what i ended up shouting was “OH MY GOD ivy this top is so micro it ___ ___ ___ MY NIPPLE!!”

oy

there was a pretty perturbed older woman standing next to ivy who gave us nasty looks at that point.

heather complimented me in front of the bosses’ niece on my “sneak out of the house without locking it” tactics and i had to re-enact the moment.  unfortunately i did better the first time than during my re-enactment.  last night in showing them how cool i am while running through a garage and hurdling over a laser-beam sensor in a mini skirt and high heels, i accidentally slammed my thigh at 90 miles an hour into the cement wall in front of their house and almost fell over in pain.  i hid it well and had to excuse myself immediately in order to get myself home and CRY BECAUSE I WAS IN SO MUCH PAIN.  and all the while, i could feel the pulsing throbbing blood pushing through my skin forming the most incredible bumpy disgusting bruise ever.

anyone wanna come over for a home cooked meal?

so i had to go to the gyno today. fun stuff …always.

i normally like to go first thing in the morning. some people tell me they think that’s crazy and that if it was them, they’d want to go towards the end of the day when the doctor is awake and ‘warmed up’ or so to speak. well it’s not up to you and no one asked you!

i like to go first thing after my shower so i’m nice, fresh and clean. also, because then i don’t spend all day freaking out and sweating to death while i imagine all the possible diseases from which i’m dying. i don’t want to go to glendale after a sweaty day in the valley to sit and wait forever because by then he’s backed up with all his patients.

but unfortunately, i was desperate to get an appointment that i could fit in between all my travels so 3pm today was my only option. i spent all day at the office in a haze of creating my last will and testament and imagining how i’d have to hire famous makeup artists to cover all the hideous lesions all over my body caused by the terminal disease i was fighting.

an hour before i had to go to the doctor, i pulled my big dog luggage out from under my desk that i schlepped to work this morning with all my accoutrements. i then spent the next three quarters of an hour doing my hair, makeup, changing my panties, washing my feet…

why in the hell did i wash my feet you may ask… well, if i can’t be fresh out of the shower, then i’m thinking that there could possibly be slight olfactory issues and seeing as how my feet are the closest things to his nose, they should probably be clean. and i had previously been barefoot at the office, where apparently the floors are filthy - so the bottoms of my feet were BLACK. not a great look for the gyno’s office, n’est-ce pas?!

anyways, i finally got on the road and sat sweating in traffic on my way to glendale. i was listening to the radio with cranked air conditioning trying to concentrate on a way to get around the massive traffic congestion instead of focusing on the heat and whether or not my feet would be stinky upon arrival.

when i got to the doctor, there was no a/c in the waiting room where i sat FOR AN HOUR.

now, this particular doctor is the first physician who has ever asked me for a urine sample. everyone i’ve disclosed this information to has looked at me like, duh! urine sample. it’s the doctor. one friend even regaled me with stories of her gyno’s regular rectal exams! oh hell no! what is she looking for? gerbils?

the first time i ever came to my gyno, his nurse handed me a cup and what looked like wet-wipes and opened the bathroom door for me. i had no idea what was going on. “why did she give me an empty cup with no beer?” it didn’t take me long to put two and two together, though. so there i am on the toilet in a random glendale doctor’s office looking at a handful of wet-wipes wondering if they are to sanitize my hands, the cup or my vajayjay. AND are they for sanitation prior to or directly after the sample has been taken?? THEN i realize that i do not have to pee - what to do? how does one provide a urine sample when the urine is stubborn and habit staying inside the bladder? after 10 minutes of imagining waterfalls and whatever else you’re supposed to think about when trying to pee, i managed to squeeze out like 6 measly little drops. mother of god.

the second time i went, i was ready for the urine sample portion of my visit. i was so proud. i marched right into the bathroom with my cup and my wipes not caring whether the proper method was to sanitize before or sanitize after. i sat down and peed for LIKE AN HOUR. the cup overflowed. i peed all over the cup, all over my hands. DISASTER. luckily i had all those antiseptic wipes!

this time, as i was leaving the office, i almost made a pit stop in the ladies room on my way out the door because i really had to pee. but then i remembered the disastrous 6 drops episode, so i decided to hold it. (i don’t really drink any fluids during the day. i don’t really drink fluid at all unless it’s beer and we all know i have a job so basically, besides a cup of coffee, my body doesn’t receive any liquid until after 7pm. yes i know it’s unhealthy - save me the lecture.)

when i got to the doctors finally, i sat in the waiting room for an hour before they called my name. (could they please use fake names or something when they call us? this is hollywood and everyone knows everyone. i always feel so self conscious when they yell out, “KATHLEEN!)

i was panicking and by then i really really really had to pee. it was painful. i was sure my feet were sweaty at this point and i was nervous that i’d pee all over everything again - i had to go that bad. i was minutes away from doing that little pee pee dance in the waiting room that 3 year olds do with their hands clenched in their crotch.

so anyways, i walked into the bathroom armed with my cup and fierce trepidation. where were the antiseptic wipes? she didn’t give me any wipes! (insert onset of my hyperventilation here) what am i going to do if niagara falls explodes?? i didn’t have much time to think about it as i had about half a second to lift my skirt and get started before i had an accident. I MANAGED TO PEE IN THE CUP AND ONLY IN THE CUP!! woo-hoo!!! no antiseptic wipes needed, suckers!

i pulled the cup away and sealed it as i paused the stream before i really let loose which is when i realized that by finally releasing all that pressure, i was signaling my bowls to go full force ahead too. GREAT. now, not only did i have to worry about stinky/dirty feet but i had to decide about the potential hazard of stinky butt - because you never know what kind of poo you’re going to have. do i hold it and worry that an SPD fart will slip out or do i do the do and give myself a hemmorrhoid through nazi wiping procedures to make sure that i’m totally clean for the doc? (it was in that moment that i finally understood anal bleaching - not that that has anything to do with anything.) i mean, this is the only bathroom in the doctor’s office and i can hear people waiting outside to come give their samples. this decision has to be made tout de suite. and if i stink up this room, i have some damage control to do!

what do you think…

A.)

i held it, flushed the toilet, washed my hands calmly and walked out of the bathroom with as much dignity as i could muster past a single-file line of 8 women wrapping around the corner as they each gave me the evil eye because they were waiting 10 minutes to give their urine samples. in the middle of my pelvic exam i realized i wasn’t going to make it to the finish line and thought maybe the doctor wouldn’t notice my sweaty brow and clenched cheeks until i caught a reflection of the prairie dog action in the mirror on his forehead. beat-red, i quickly excused myself, grabbed my clothes and my purse before i took a deep breath, clutched my paper gown tightly closed and walked out to the bathroom where i did the do, got dressed and never went back to exam room 3.

B.)

i did the do and gave myself a hemmorrhoid trying to cover up the evidence. i lit a match and let it burn to the very tip before i dropped it in the toilet and flushed. i washed my hands calmly and bent down to grab a bottle of perfume out of my purse when i noticed the shit stains on the bowl. oh no! now what?! i frantically searched under the sink and in the cabinets for a toilet brush as i sprayed dolce and gabanna in the air. i knocked half the contents of the cupboard onto the floor with a crash and knew that everyone on the other side of the bathroom door was clued in to what i was doing. the overdose of perfume triggered machine-gun sneezing and i tore at the blinds until i could get at the window and open it, breaking a nail in the process. i grabbed a magazine and tried to fan out the room as best as i could before i gathered all my belongings and pulled a nail file out of my bag. i opened the door like nothing had happened and walked out with my head down, eyes focused intently on the filing of my broken nail as i walked briskly past the 8 women in single-file waiting to use the loo.

C.)

i held it, flushed, washed my hands and exited the potty. i dropped off my urine sample and whispered to the nurse that i would be back momentarily. the second the office door closed behind me, i rushed down the stairs and out of the building. i jay-walked and practically caused an accident as i ran across the street and flew into the fast-food establishment panting “where *huf huf* is *pant* the *moan* restroom??” some pimply faced teenager stared at me emotionless and responded, “restrooms are for customers only, ma’am.” “FINE THEN GET ME A FUCKING CHEESEBURGER!!” i ran into the restroom, did the do, ran out, slapped down a dollar on the counter, grabbed the fast-food and ran back to the doctor’s office.

It’s pouring in Toronto and my new wool coat is soaking wet. I was in Lululemon today and thought it was odd that such a nice store would smell so bad. Then, as I was paying for my purchase, I realized it was me - I was the one who smelled. When I explained to the cashier that my wet coat smelled like farts so that she wouldn’t think I was running around her store crop dusting, she exclaimed sympathetically and somewhat horrified, “Oh no! Do you want me to get you some Fabreeze?”

Tivoli was fun. Emilie and I screamed a lot and Josh was pretty silent on the rides. By 5pm we were completely wiped out and dragged our tired asses up the walking street to a cute restaurant for dinner where we induced intense food comas and dreaded having to muster up the energy to drink more alcohol.

We made it over to Casper’s at the arranged time and began to drink and chat. It was a lot more mellow than I had anticipated. Casper & Dennis drank a bottle of red, Josh drank a bottle of white wine and I drank beer. Then another bottle of white was opened. I drank more beer. Then we all hopped in a cab and went to Sebastopol to visit Pauline. Boy, was she thrilled to watch us walk in her door. She looked at us like we were transporting viles of the ebola virus or something. And I swear we were not drunk - yet. All that changed very shortly.

After forcing champagne down our throats, Casper convinced Josh and I to go to his favorite gay bar where we supposedly stayed for less than an hour. I don’t remember much at that point in the evening because I broke one of my cardinal rules - I did shots. I didn’t volunteer for it either - Casper made us. Then everything is a very brief series of snapshots. I see a flash of doing more shots. I see a flash of some New York City gay boy I chatted with. I remember the high decible level of my voice and cringe. I see a flash of Josh, Casper and I strolling through the main square with French Hotdogs - mmmmmmmmmm. Then I was a little more lucid …until we crossed the lakes and I turned the corner (literally and figuratively.)

I remember having to pee and knew I wouldn’t make it all the way home. So i popped a squat in the street. Picture my cold bum, with poor Josh staring at me like, “Honey, you need help in so many ways right now.”

And then I realized I was losing my balance. I tried to grab onto something, anything to stop the inevitable. Of course, I was unsucessful. So then I’m on the cold cobblestones at 4am with my bum exposed to the world and I’m desperately trying to stop peeing all over myself until I can get back into the squat position. Poor Josh had to help my half-naked self get up and I’m pretty sure he held onto me until I finished peeing. I least I didn’t pee on him - at least I hope I didn’t.

Then I put my pants back on in such a rush that my panties were all bunched up and super uncomfortable but I didn’t care because I was so embarassed and just hoped that moving in fast forward for a few moments would take me far enough away from my moment of humiliation that I could start to forget about it.

When I woke up this morning, I had no panties on. I know I had them on when we got home. But I woke up in my pajamas and no panties. What’s that all about?! I mean, anytime I take off my panties, it’s to shower, pee, or put on a new pair of panties. So I searched around all morning and can’t find my panties. I looked in the trash, out the window, under the couch, in the bookcase, EVERYWHERE. Nothing. I really don’t understand.

Then of course, when we get to my parent’s for dinner, Casper thinks it’s a good idea to tell them that the first thing I said to him when he called me this morning was that I lost my panties. Of course, he then has to tell them the story. And when the grandparents, my parents, Josh, Damien, Pauline and I sit down to dinner, Martin decides it’s a good idea to announce it to the grandparents. Great. Looks like this topic will be brought up on a regular basis for the rest of my life.

I’m sitting at home tonight after a long, arduous day of casting. Brad and I both worked at the studios today although we were on opposite ends of the building and barely saw each other all day.

He called me when he got home and he was talk talk talking away to which I was barely listening as I was reading/writing something online at the same time (as per my usual - hey, I’m a freeking multi-tasker, okay?!) and at some point in the conversation (he may have been saying goodbye or something, who knows) he said, “I love you.”

As I wasn’t really listening or paying attention to my response, I said, “I love you tomorrow.” Not, “I love you too,” but, “I love you TOMORROW.” (Who knows where that came from. Maybe I had a zillion thoughts in my head. Maybe I was reading/writing something with the word tomorrow. I have no clue.)

Now, I didn’t even realize that “too” became “tomorrow” until he said, “What?!”

I snapped back into the conversation, detecting a questioning tone. So I replied, “What!”

“Did you just say, ‘I love you tomorrow?’” He laughed a little.

So I said, “Yeah, I love you tomorrow,” as if it was the most natural, normal response in the world. He laughed some more, like I’m the funniest person in the world.

I do love him so very much. Tomorrow.

I just woke up from a 2 hour nap after an hour-long shower (although I really wanted a bath but I never indulge that way unless someone runs it for me) and it’s a school day!! I got up this morning and everything started normally… well… except for the gash on my back, the bruise on my knee and the burst blood vessels on my left breast that I got last night when Brad and I fell over onto a set of dumbbells at his apartment at 2am. (You know the dumb warning signs on things - McDonald’s coffee’s ITEM MAY BE HOT, hairdryer’s PLEASE DO NOT OPERATE WHILE SLEEPING, cold medicine’s DO NOT OPERATE HEAVY MACHINERY, etc. - they should put one on wine - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DO THE BUNNY HOP NEAR EXERCISE EQUIPMENT AFTER DRINKING AN EXCESS OF ONE BOTTLE.)

Anyways, Apple finished replacing my logic board - yay! (They actually finished it yesterday but called me as I was on my way to work to let me know and hence I was unable to pick it up until today.) I am so happy to have my computer back. I love you, sweet computer. I missed you so much. I found myself driving home on our first day apart thinking to myself, “Why bother even going home? There’s nothing there for me. What am I to do?”

After my trip to the Apple Store, I stopped by the Casting Studios to drop off a birthday gift for Keoni and ran into Liz Paulson in the lobby. As she and I were chatting outside right before I left, a dumb-ass bird FUCKING SHAT ON ME! Unfortunately, I cannot say this is the first time this has happened to me but I can say it hasn’t happened since I was 10 years old. So I was standing there TOTALLY BUMMED OUT and Liz started gagging and laughing alternately. I moped off to my car and started driving home to change my clothes when the very pungent odor of the birdshit started totally grossing me out. I have always been under the impression that birds eat bird seed and maybe your occasional bug if they’re lucky. Not this bird. This bird must have recently feasted on rotting carcass of road kill or something. I tried not to look at the quickly setting stain on my shirt but it was hypnotic and soon I could not look away (except for the driving part - but I wasn’t paying very much attention to the road.) I mean, I think I might have seen partially digested squirrel feet in that mess. That dumb bird was some sort of crazy carnivorous terrorist of the avian world.

At first I was just nauseous, so I rolled down the windows. Then I was cold and nauseous, and I began to gag. Now, let me inform you that I vomit so infrequently that a.) I don’t really remember from one vomiting instance to the next what it feels like so, b.) I don’t ever know that I’m going to vomit until it has left my throat. Somewhere in between the vomit’s passage from my throat to my mouth to the outside world, it hits me that I am in fact vomiting. So there I am, driving down Beverly Blvd. spewing coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage, avocado and tomatoes all over myself - my poor car. So I called work and let them know I would not be returning and that is how I came to take a long shower and nap in the middle of a school day. The end. (Or is it?!)