Let's Get Naked

I think I’ve become a stalker. Not in the illegal, creepy, psycho sense of stalking…but now that I’m back on the dating sites, I tend to check out people’s pictures and profiles more than just one time. Actually, probably more than 5 times. [Possibly even more than 10 but I don’t like to think about it.]

My daughter tells me I’m a stalker because I look at people’s pictures when they’re posted on Facebook; friend’s pics (and friends of friends, and their friends, too, if their privacy settings allow it.) Well…isn’t that exactly the reason people post pics on FB…so that others look at them? I mean, I don’t post pictures on there as a keepsake; I’m asking for ‘likes’…lots of likes. Isn’t that how we decide if we’re popular or not? Isn’t it so revealing and honest and obvious how well liked we are when we base it on FB standards? No? It’s not? Really?

I’m back on Match.com. When I start communicating with someone, if I have their full name, I start searching every site I can think of to check them out. I don’t want some psycho freak serial killer meeting me for coffee. And we know how reliable and true everything people write about themselves is, so if some guy says he’s a devoted father and humanitarian, then I know he’s good to go. I mean…who in their right mind would lie about that stuff? Right? So I check all the sites I know to see if he’s consistent and to see if there’s more info on there that I could investigate. You have to assume if he’s on LinkedIn…more often than not, he’s at least got a job. Or you’ll know if he doesn’t, which may be even more revealing.

Those of you who have been married to the same person forever probably can’t relate to someone like me who has to start the whole dating process over and over with each new man. It’s a f**king pain in the ass. I know people may find it exciting…but believe me, after 2 divorces, and a multitude of ‘boyfriends’, I’m so over the excitement part of the first meeting. It’s exhausting knowing that you get only one chance to make a first impression. I’ve had way too many ‘one chances.’ Do you have any idea what we go through for each date?

I get so nervous before each date and worry that while I’m sitting there talking with the guy, I’ll start sweating, so I plan my wardrobe anticipating that happening. I should probably just wear my sweat resistant athletic gear to all my dates. “Pardon my jogging outfit…I’m going on a run after we’re done here.” I make sure I wear dark clothing so that the sweat occupying my cleavage doesn’t leave a stain under my boobs as it travels down to my waist. I try to wear dark jeans so the moisture in my groin region is camouflaged when I get up and hope to god that I don’t have to get up to pee because my jeans are totally stuck to my ass and thighs and there’s probably a circle of sweat on my buttocks. I make sure my jeans have back pockets to absorb that butt sweat and swipe the chair with my tush while I get up so as not to leave a puddle on the seat.

I put a ton of hairspray on my bangs since I tend to have sweat beads running down my forehead and use my hair to mop them up. Having the Roseanne Roseannadanna hair during those times is not an attractive look.

I never sweat, mind you…except when I’m nervous. I’m not sure why I get so nervous because more often than not, I end up with the biggest dork on Match.com, and not to toot my own horn, but I do know that I am not a dork. I may not be the woman of their dreams, but a dork I’m not. So what makes me so ridiculously nervous? It’s those firsts. Those first times for every little thing when you are getting to know someone.

Like the first time you have dinner together. I try to avoid greens or any dark food. Inevitably there’s going to be that teeny, tiny piece of veggie or lettuce that’s so minute, but when it’s stuck in your tooth…it’s like the jolly green giant just screaming out to the person you’re eating with. ”Hey…Look at me. I’m making you so uncomfortable because you don’t know if you should say anything to her about the giant piece of food stuck in her receding gum lines.” And of course no one wants to say anything when you hardly know the other person, and then you’re in the bathroom, or worse…already in your car at the END of the evening, looking in the mirror on your visor and you see it…glaring out at you! “ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME? ALL NIGHT IT’S BEEN THERE?”

Then I think back to my eating habits during the meal I just had. Sometimes I get so engrossed in a conversation that I’m not conscious of the way I’m eating. I tend to eat like a huge pig when I’m alone and no one is looking. So I’m hoping that didn’t carry over to my date and I didn’t shovel in the food while I was busy talking…and god forbid I was talking with food in my mouth. But who knows? I tend to lose sight of anything I’m doing when I’m concentrating on other things. I don’t multi-task well anymore.

Then there’s the first sleep over. Do I let him see what I actually sleep in…my real pajamas? I do look pretty frickin’ attractive with my pajama top tucked into my bottoms and my bottoms tucked into my socks. I AM a looker. I basically look like a 5 year old Urkel in a grown woman’s body. But hey...I get cold. Cold doesn’t work for me when I’m trying to sleep. And even more importantly, to wash our make-up off or not…do I let him see the au naturale me that soon? So I always have a decision to make...to scare the shit out of him or not to scare the shit out of him. That is the dilemma.

The snoring problem is always an awkward topic to divulge. My snoring…not his. Between my snoring and my dog’s snoring…it’s as if an entire army barracks is situated in my bedroom with fighter jets flying overhead.  

And why are we embarrassed when our stomachs gurgle? People get hungry. Why are we embarrassed to take that first poop at our home while the other is there? Why should that bother us? Everybody poops. There is no one that doesn’t poop, right? From murderers to heads of nations. From Bradley Cooper to Salma Hayek. If they can poop so can we. So why is that humiliating?  It would be worse if you couldn’t poop, for god’s sake. Granted...you want people to see you in a sexy, beautiful light, but hey...we poop.

We won’t even mention the ‘F’ word. Talk about embarrassing. Of course, I wouldn’t know. I don’t fart OR poop. Nope...that’s right...I am the exception. Ha...If only! And the biggest concern we have for our firsts...is what if we do it during sex. OH...MY...GOD! Can you imagine? The perfect date?…....is if he toots first. That would pretty much negate any future worries I would ever have in my relationship with him.

We have all these new physical imperfections that have popped up over the last few years and think...why couldn’t these people know us when we were still youthful and perfect. Well...maybe perfect isn’t the right word...but maybe ‘less imperfect’ would be more like it.

But these are things we think of with each new relationship. See how stressful it is behind the scenes? Things people who have been in lasting relationships don’t realize or remember.

Tomorrow night I have a second date with a guy who I can’t find one thing wrong with. How can that be possible? Nothing? I can always find something…but nada…I got nothing on this guy. I sure hope he lets out one big one at dinner. From then on...it will be a walk in the park. Easy sailing. A sigh of relief.

Stuffed Animal

My dog is fat. My dog is not supposed to be fat. I guess no dog is supposed to be fat, but I was told that my dog would be the smallest version of a Shih Tzu there is. That would mean she should weigh somewhere around 9 lbs. Not even close. She is light years away from 9 lbs. She is light years away from small. She is far from medium. In fact, she couldn’t be much larger if I fed her elephant-sized portions. She seems to just keep getting wider as each day passes. You could set a table of eight on her back, that’s how wide she is. This is what my dog would look like if she wasn't a dog.

About a year ago I started getting worried about her weight when her breathing became a little labored, so I took her to the vet. He said she is healthy but quite the chub, so cut back on her portions and she should start losing some weight. So I did. And she lost a couple of pounds within about a month. A couple of pounds in doggie weight are like 10 pounds in people weight. I was quite happy about that. Even the groomer noticed she had lost weight, as did others who commented on her svelte body, [comparatively speaking, that is.] I thought that was strange that they noticed a two pound weight loss, but hey…I’ll take anything I can get.

I also cut back the 80 gazillion treats I was giving her every day. Now I only give her a teeny pinch of her treat when we get back from our walks. I walk her twice a day. Maybe not long walks. Maybe not vigorous walks. Maybe they’re slow, drawn out, sniffing every f**king bush and tree and fire hydrant every two frickin’ steps kind of walks. But they are walks, nonetheless. My sister’s dog pees on a wee-wee pad in her apartment and she is slim and trim, getting almost no exercise. Not my dog. My dog could be in the canine Olympics and would still be slim and trim-challenged. Actually she’s too fat to be an Olympic sprinter, but you get what I mean. But…two pounds is two pounds. We were headed in the right direction. For a very brief moment in time.

Recently I noticed, [because people started commenting], that my dog was getting fatter again. I thought maybe it was because her hair had grown long so she was fluffy and appeared fatter, but after taking her to be groomed, getting her thick hair cut really short, she didn’t look any smaller. Hmmmm…what’s that about? How did that weight loss reversal go unnoticed? How did I not see that my dog was looking more like Elsie the cow than Brutie the Shih-Tzu? Love is blind.

So the other day, when I ran out of food, I thought that maybe I should start feeding her diet food. When I called the vet, they said I should bring her in for an evaluation to see if she needed to be put on a special diet. I also thought maybe it could be a thyroid problem. She shouldn’t be this fat considering she really doesn’t eat that much. She should be losing more weight than the two pounds she had lost (and then gained back, plus some.) She doesn’t even eat all her food or sometimes she doesn’t eat at all, in a 24 hour period. That’s the thing…she really doesn’t seem to eat that much as compared to other dogs. I’ll put her food out; she will sniff it and usually walk away and eat it later, or not at all. It had to be a medical problem. I was sure of it. I hoped it was nothing life threatening.

They didn’t have any open appointments during the week, but on Saturdays they have walk-in hours in the morning, so I brought her in to see him then. When I got to his office, there was a line of animals out the door, waiting to be seen.

I guessed they all had a little holiday weight gain, although I came to find out that that didn’t seem to be the complaining ailment of any animal but mine. They were actually all there for ‘normal’ reasons you take your pet to the vet. Not obesity. While I was standing in line, people were asking me what kind of dog she was. “A Shih Tzu” I replied. “A Shih Tzu? Really? She’s kind of large for a Shih Tzu, isn’t she?” Well…DUH. That’s why I’m here, genius. Although, in all honestly, I couldn’t expect them to know that. Guess I got a little defensive. I didn’t know whether to crawl into a hole because of embarrassment or verbally beat the shit out of them for criticizing my dog.  My precious adorable, abnormally large dog.

After about 45 minutes of schmoozing with pet owners who were in amazement of my exceptionally large ‘little’ dog, they finally called me into an exam room. But first, “We need to get her weight please.” [In front of all these people?] They kept the scale in the waiting room. It took all the strength I had to get her on the scale. Not only is she heavy, she kept trying to make a get-away. She probably didn’t want to see what the scale would say either.

After the assistant shut her gaping jaw, “Oh...21 pounds. She IS quite the heifer, isn’t she? I guess we know why you’re seeing the doctor.” Oh…aren’t you just the Joan Rivers of the doggie palace. Let me pick myself up off the floor from laughing so hard. Why don’t you get on that scale Nurse Ratched?

We headed toward the examining room, I picked up ‘Plumpy’, sat her on the table, and without hesitation, she peed all over it. (I don’t let her hear me call her ‘Plumpy’.) Nervous pee every single time. The vet walked in and immediately started his babbling. I have never heard someone who could jabber as much as he does and examine his patients at the same time, never missing a beat. I know when I go there…it’s going to be about a 5 minute exam, and a 45 minute chat session. Even with a waiting room full of anxious customers.

“So, what’s the problem, besides her weight?” “That IS her problem.” “Stop feeding her so much.” “I don’t…I’ve been giving her much less of the wet, and a little dry food, which she doesn’t always eat.” “Cut back even more.” “But I’ll starve her.” “Obviously not.”

He went on to tell me I shouldn't feed her both wet and dry food. One or the other will suffice. He said if she doesn’t start losing weight in a few weeks, he will run some tests to see if there is anything going on that he wasn’t seeing, but upon examination, she was healthy.

As I was walking out the door, he said, “By the way…how much ARE you actually feeding her?” I told him around a can a day. “A can a day? Are you kidding? You should only be feeding her a third of a can in total for the day, or the dry food…not a can a day and definitely not both!”

Ooops...Problem solved. (As I walked out of there with my tail between my legs.)