Friday, February 25, 2011

It happened one night at the Texas Roadhouse...

Don't judge me.

I had to go there because I was meeting some old mission companions for dinner. But also, I like throwing peanut shells on the floor.

Don't judge me about this part either:

I was feeling really sorry for myself because I'm 33 and practically the last one standing single from ye old west virginia charleston mission. After a recent string of less than stellar dating stories, my usual can-do attitude was waning in the face of dinner with my mormon-culturally-deemed-more-successful friends - one pregnant with 6th child and the other newly married with 6 month old. So I was driving to the American Fork Texas Roadhouse whining to God about a) eating at the TR b) driving to AF c) alone. alone. alone. I said a few things and asked that the spirit could help me be grateful for what I have instead of dwelling on what I lack. Whatever. The usual.

After we ordered an artery clogging onion dipped in oil and garnished with more oil, a different server came over to our table bearing three desserts. "You have the wrong table," we chimed in unison. The server, shaking his head in defeat, said, "no. it's the right table." Theories flew...was it J's friends at the table behind us? Was it one of the married girls' husbands? Longshot: Maybe it was the cute guy with the two kids at the table across from us who had made eye contact with me several times? I didn't see a ring, but we single ladies knwo that doesn't mean squat. More theorizing and observation and eventually, the server came back and said: "these desserts are from the gentleman in the booth back there. He just wanted to make sure that you had a great evening." to which J screamed and slapped me, "SHE'S SINGLE!". The waiter...errr, I mean server, then handed me a piece of paper - with the name Ethan and a phone number scrawled on it.

ARE YOU KIDDING????? Since when does something like this happen to me? There was no battle of wits, no exchange of cultural knowledge, no proving that I am smart and funny and a good housekeeper or whatever else I seem to think men like...He just thought I was pretty enough to hit on. me. ninnybeth.

And that, my friends, is how God answers whiney prayers occassionally. The story doesn't end with flourishing romance. Ethan, it turns out, is a nice guy but we have almost nearly possibly nothing in common except for proximity and a willingness to put ourselves on the line. It probably won't even lead to a first date. But God bless him for doing something. For taking a chance and being confident. In the narrative of my understanding of myself and making sense of a distorted vision of how others perceive me, this story will weave itself into my knowing and become part of that new fabric. Maybe it will sound overly dramatic to anyone but me, but these moments are healing and revelatory.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Phantom Ovary and Other Short Stories

she noted that the day was unusually cold and the air wafted with the smell of garlic sticks and pizza (with too much cheese. Note that, brick oven, too much cheese). The pain in her abdomen was growing steadily as she gripped the bathroom stall door and realized that she needed to call someone...anyone! HELP! "I just need to lie down for a second"....(author note: this mystery novel-ish formula is not working...maybe try as children's book?)

Ninny Beth had a scary monster cyst. It was very big. The scary monster cyst was crushing Ninny Beth's future babies. Ninny Beth had to go to the hospital because she couldn't breathe and had claw hands. She was probably dying. Most definitely dying. Then three doctors came. Each doctor gave her a different gift: Doctor 1 gave her a special potion to drink called morphine that made her feel like a princess. Doctor 2 was just starting his shift at the hospital and gave Ninny Beth pretty much nothing except a bill for his services and the secret name of the scary monster cyst (DERMOID). The third doctor gave her another bigger bill and told her that she could help NB remove the cyst, but only if she could take the future babies with her....
(author note: story kind of loses steam here...might need to switch to poetry?)

Eagerly, I have them
Remove this
Massive shape sitting on my
Ovary. oh hell take the whole thing
Its not doing anyone any good right now anyway
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Certainly, I can grow something better in there than this
Yesterday's tissue
Surely, this body can produce more than just a ball of
Teeth and hair?

(author's note: grossing self out with bad poetry. Try visual imagery. Maybe words are wrong medium)

Oh forget it. So I had surgery. I will be paying for it in more ways than one for the rest of my life. but I'm alive and not in pain anymore. I got to take a break from school and watch hours upon hours of 'Eureka'. I got to have visits from good friends. And I got to experience the Relief Society in action. It was a really lovely experience except for the part where they removed a vital organ. You know...whathaveyou.