Let's recap the last few months to bring everybody up to speed...
I continue my medical odyssey in which various doctors tell me there's a serious problem, there's no problem, there's a problem and it's in my head, and I won't be able to see a specialist until 2009 which is a huge problem. I fall madly in love. I begin an online graduate program as some kind of personal rebellion against spare time. My Mom is diagnosed with a rare form of cancer in her eye and the earth stops moving. My Mom has surgery, her eye is removed and she dresses as a pirate for Halloween. No really, she does. My Dad develops kidney stones as a result of the stress and ends up in the hospital at the same time my Mom was readmitted for complications. My Mom and Dad are both released from the hospital under the provision they go nowhere without an ambulance following behind, especially if my Mom is driving. I perform the Thriller dance in front of a large audience for Halloween. Medical scans come back clear for my Mom. And that nearly brings us to today.
I know what both of you are thinking - the title of this post said something about a firefighter, and dammit that's why you're still reading. (Never say I don't know my audience.) I'm not in love with the FF, but falling in love with somebody else led me to a date with the FF that was so bizarre, I managed to outdo myself.
(Let's keep in mind I've been on dates with men who have at one point picked up the waitress, rode unicycles, worn bells on their shoes, stripped naked during the first kiss, stolen my vibrator and helped me rescue a bird -- which would have been awesome had this all been the same guy, or the same date. And still, I've outdone myself.)
I was upset over Alex.* Alex is the guy I'm in love with and being upset over Alex is an almost weekly occurrence, directly proportionate to the times I'm deliriously happy over Alex and therefore so annoying to my friends that I'm not allowed to talk about him for more than five minutes a time. Seriously.
(Bambi in love is like a melodramatic 12 year-old girl with a split-personality and Tourrette's Syndrome. I'm either crying or laughing, and I can't stop interrupting conversations to talk about Alex. I even annoy myself. God.)
So a few weeks ago I was nearly devastated over Alex. He hadn't called me, we hadn't spoken in weeks, which was the longest we had gone without speaking like, ever, and I really wanted to call him but I was afraid to because the whole world could end if I called and left a message and he didn't call me back and then I'd have to stop telling myself he's just busy or suffering from amnesia brought on by saving orphans and puppies and I just really wanted to talk to him because I love the sound of his voice and what if he didn't like me anymore and for the love of God is every song that comes on the radio so f*cking sad I could cry? See. I told you. Annoying!
I had to do something to pull myself out of the spiral before I became pathetic (read: more pathetic.) My sister has lovingly recommended, or loaned several self-help books that are supposed to help me not be such a loser. Books with titles like, "It's Called a Break-up Because It's Broken," or "He's Just Not That Into You," or "Put Down That Chocolate Bar You Pathetic Loser," which I just made up.
These books are not actually useful in the heat of wretchedness, or any other time for that matter. Although - the hard-cover edition of "He's Just Not That Into You," does a fantastic job of killing spiders. I did actually read the first chapter of "It's Called a Break-up," when my ex broke things off but stopped when I realized I was more relieved than sad and could be using that time to drink out of the carton or leave the house without having to tell anybody where I was going at long last. Jesus - was that ever a digression.
Back to the FF. Self-help books weren't going to help. Chocolate wasn't going to help. Checking to make sure the phone had a dial tone was definitely not going to help, and neither was lying on the floor imagining how Alex would feel when he was finally freed from his captors, able to reach a phone, only to call and find out I'd joined a nunnery.
I needed a distraction, and so I did something I've never done in my life. I answered an ad on Craigslist. The man seeking woman ad was witty, intriguing, smart and with a hint of dirty. There was no picture, but all I wanted was a little tiny bit of excitement, so it didn't matter. Just a distraction - nothing more.
He answered my answer. We talked online for the next four hours, and when he sent me a picture of himself in his firefighters uniform, leaning against the fire-truck I seriously thought that God himself had taken pity on me and perhaps this was a holy peace offering given that God and I have been feuding since 1996.
I love a man in uniform - you have no idea. There are reasons for this, not least is having watched the movie Top Gun at a pivotal stage of puberty. Cops, firefighters, military - loin-tingling. I draw the line at bell-hops and mall security guards - I'm fixated, but not delusional.
The FF was indeed witty, smart and really very dirty. And from his photos he looked like sex on shoes so things were going a little too well. Three hours into our conversation the following night I told him I was surprised he was single, and that's when he told me he wasn't single at all. He was married - but his wife was totally OK with this, and in fact, she wanted to meet me too.
I'll give you a moment to let that sink in. I needed a moment too.
Are we good? Alright then...
Her name was Jen, and Jen was really excited that her husband had found somebody he found so intriguing. He and Jen had a great relationship - so great, a third person could make it even better. He...they....were not looking for a one time threesome partner - he wanted somebody to go to drinks with, movies, dinner...and then do other things with. And she was fine with all this, and would I at least meet them both for a drink?
Readers, and by readers I mean both of you, and by both of you I may actually not mean anybody at all because I haven't posted in so long but at any rate...what choice did I have? If I write a book, this chapter would have to be included. I had to go, if not for the curiosity that was about to strike me dead, then for the purposes of literary research.
We made a date. If you think your average first date/meeting is nerve-wracking, try figuring out who it is you're supposed to be dressing to impress. And so I went...and what happened next is an entirely new post.
Ha! You'll both have to stay tuned till tomorrow.
