MEDICAL MONKEYSHINES

*I actually wrote this blog a week ago when this happened but lost the nerve to post it. I decided that since this blog is about my life and my truth that I should finally go for it. So, here it is...

11/9/12

In the past three months, I have moved again (for the second time in six months), my TV broke and was replaced, my email was hacked and I had to create all new accounts, including Twitter…and my beloved computer Casanova unexpectedly died and I had to get a new laptop. Last night I dropped my phone at the gym and killed it. So, another new phone was added to the list of things I’ve had to change, adapt and purchase with my hard earned cash.

This morning, on my way to get the phone I had to stop in to get some test results from the eye doctor at Francis Nelson, a local clinic. I popped in, no line (yeah, me!) and the nurse came right out to see me.

She stood in the doorway tentatively. “Do you mind if we speak right here?” That’s random, I thought. Must not be serious. I mean, who gives test results right out in the public standing by a door. “You can have a private room if you prefer but we would have to go and get it ready and really, this is just easier.” Easier for you or for me I thought “Um, ok, I said glancing around the near empty waiting room, “But can we at least sit down?”. “Sure, fine” We sat. 

“So what’s the damage?” I smiled. She glanced at her carefully worded reply. Struggling to only say what was exactly on her approved language notes. “So, you have a tumor” “What?” “You have a tumor and it’s about 1.5 cm in size, it’s behind your right eye and Dr. Ewald wants you to see a specialist in Springfield…” ”Wait, what…what specialist?” I was the one struggling now. Trying to wrap my head around the moment, around her words. This was actually happening and I needed to focus. “He is an occu-plastic…” “An ocular plastic surgeon?” I croaked. “No, just occu-plastic” “Wait, I gotta find a pen”. I dug in my purse and miraculously found one right away. What is his name? How do you spell it? “Don’t bother”, she said. He won’t be back in the office until next week and to be honest we don’t even know if he will work with you. “ “Uh, ok, well what are my other options?” “That’s it.” “That’s it? No other options?” She just stared at me with a blank face of indifference. “Well, can I at least have a copy of my test results?” “No, they have my notes on them on what I’m allowed to tell you and I really wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you see them.” “But it’s my test results” I moaned. “No, I just wouldn’t feel comfortable. “ she replied.

Annnnd, that’s when I lost my shit. “You just told me I have a tumor and you won’t let me have a copy of a piece of paper? Why are you so hostile? You’re a nurse for God’s sake, show some compassion!” I was sobbing now, my words had left me. “I’m sorry you feel that way” She stated coldly as she stared me down. Not once ounce of humanity showed on her features. Oh, fuck, she was one of those people. You know those people who never take responsibility for their actions who ALWAYS put the blame right back on you. My sister was one of those people. It was never her fault. She was always the victim. Things just happened to her out of the blue and she had no idea why…people just attacked her! Blah-Blah. Anyway, back to my tumor.

Appalled, I wanted get away from this wench as quickly as possible. “Anything else?” No. Hilda can help you make an appointment with Dr. Ewald next week. “Great. Thank you” I wandered over to the other nurse who kindly had already made the appointment for me. I thanked her and was on my way out the door when I heard my bearer of bad news say to her supervisor, “ I don’t know why she acted like that…I didn’t do anything wrong, I just told her the results” Priceless. I left the building and drove off towards Wal-Mart and a new phone.

I have a tumor. But here’s the thing. I’m not scared. Hard to believe, but I’m really not. I didn’t have that stomach drop situation. You know, that feeling you get when you know, you just know that something really, truly bad is happening. And I’ve had that feeling enough times and enough really bad things happen to me to know that if something major was going down then I would have been told. If this had been an actual emergency then I would have been told where to go and what to do. Yes, I do have a tumor behind my eye. Technically, that would be in my head so yes, I guess that would be called a brain tumor. Which, as far as tumors go, is really a less than ideal place to have one located being that there are lots of important wires and electrical outlets and stuff up there. And, it seems really wrong of the universe to have me go through hell, come out the other side, be given a chance to start re-building my life and then less than a year in, give me this. I was actually hoping for a really great boyfriend, not a brain tumor.

Oh, and because I was financially in the hole and have dug myself out but still live paycheck to paycheck, I don’t have health insurance.

Oh, yeah, there’s that.

It’s not like in the movies where when people get sick their biggest battle is to overcome their disease. People without the funds for health insurance biggest battle becomes just trying to medical attention, let alone find the way to pay for it when you are sick and out of commission. And I don’t know if I have the energy or the strength to Shirley McClaine-Terms of Endearment- the medical profession on behalf of myself.

But honestly, I can’t even think that far down the road, I mean. That’s insane and all kinds of nasty fears are poking their mean little heads into my mind right now and I can’t deal with that, so I’m not going to.

If I had to choose on what to do right now. I would not get surgery. I would not get radiation or chemo or anything else involving knives close to my face. My eyes. My brain. Because really, that’s all I got. That is me. That is my life.

I am lucky. I am deeply loved by lots of amazing people but I don’t have a husband. I don’t have kids. I don’t have a house. Hell, I don’t even have a dog (It’s because I don’t have a house. I love dogs too much to stick them in my charming but shoebox sized downtown apartment).

So, my ability to function, to tell a joke, to get the joke and to make my way independently though this world is all I have really. And I don’t want anyone to mess with that. So, if I had to choose on what to do, I would sell everything and go to Europe. Or Tahiti. Go on a trip. Travel. Have fun and live some life before I kick. Just, I don’t know…change the entire directory of my life because obviously this whole, keep your head down, work hard and you will be rewarded for being a good little girl clearly isn’t working for me anymore. Right?

And the alternative is far too frightening to ponder. After all, to recap.

I have a diagnosis of a tumor in my head but I don’t even have a doctor. I have an opthamologist I saw one time. That is my “crack medical team”

If it weren’t so completely ridiculous it would be tragic.

Anyway, I don’t even think it’s gonna come to anything dire...I don’t. I’m not in denial. I just really don’t believe that it’s that bad. It’s just medical monkeyshines, that’s all.

The thing is I’ve had a rough few years…about six to be exact. (I know you might have had some bad stuff happen to you too with the recession and all but this blog is about me so try to focus please. Thanks!)  Six really twisted, torturous, angst ridden years and I freaked out hard. I cried over and over, in long, rage filled nights. Like a little baby, I threw tantrums. I said the words why me? A lot. I got pissed at God. I threw things (in the privacy of my own home of course. I was a hot mess but I wasn’t a savage) I fought hard to have a steady income, a place to live and some semblance of a life. In those six years I moved 7 times in three different states. I kept trying. I kept moving. Maybe it was all a geographic. Maybe it was just bad timing. Who the hell knows? I had over 40 jobs in those years, so many overlapping part time jobs and side gigs that it was hard to remember who I was when I woke up in the morning. No matter what jobs I had or what I was booked for, I kept trying, interviewing, networking, performing and redoing another version of one of my many resumes in order to get something better. Anything better. There had to be something better, something more than this, right?

My point is that I truly believe that I somehow created this little cluster in my head. A little clusterfuck of negativity that has been riding shotgun in my brain for about six years.  I’ve decided to call her Coco. Coco, the cluster, she’s French and she’s a total bitch.

I think I created her. I caused it. And if I did that with my bad attitude and frankly super non-pretty girl discount lifestyle then it stands to reason that I can reverse it. Or at least that’s what I’m hoping.

So, yeah, I’m gonna have to see what the doctors say. And yes, this blog just got a whole hell of a lot more real. But it all goes back to the same thing. The same concept in my original post that I need to learn how to attract better things in life, treat myself better, demand the world treat myself better and get that ever elusive pretty girl discount on a daily basis.

After all, everyone has their “thing” they have to deal with in this life. Their little injustices. And when get thrown up against something this huge, something that threatens to literally kill you I think you can do one of three things. 1) Totally freak out and worry and stress yourself into an early death. 2) Give up your power and do everything everyone, all the physicians and nurses and voodoo witch doctors tell you to do and hope for the best. 3) Go balls out. Live your life to the fullest. Go hell bent for leather until they turn the lights out. I’m choosing for option #3. I’ll pay attention. Some stuff I’ll do like a good soldier. Some stuff I’ll ignore. I’ll pray. I’ll see physicians and psychics. I’ll figure it out. I’ll finally learn my lesson. I’ll be fine. I’ll be better than fine, I’ll be healthy, because I’m healthy now.

So, don’t worry. This blog is not going to turn into “The Epic Adventures of Cancergirl” or “The Joys of Praying” or even “How I Lost My Sight But Became A Modern Day Pirate”.

It’s still going to be focused on getting my PGD on, but with a little bit of tumor added in. That’s the recipe and I’m sticking to it.

Because everything has changed. But nothing has changed. What I need to learn in this lifetime is still there, it’s just a lot closer to my face (well, it’s actually in my face now. Literally.) forcing me to deal with it.

I love this quote “Humans can live about forty days without food. About three days without water and about eight minutes without air. But humans can only live for one second without hope.”

I have hope. I plan to live. For a long, long time.

 

SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL

It’s weird but I always seem to meet guys when I least expect it. I’m usually blindsided at the gym, the post office and most frequently at the grocery store. *Why the grocery store? Who the hell knows? Maybe men are actually good at multi-tasking after all?* But once I get that hot little shopping cart in my hands, its like I'm a magnet and last Monday was no exception.

 

Fresh from the gym, dressed seductively in sweats and still slightly sweaty, I was hauling groceries into my trusty Toyota when I sensed this man approaching me. Sure enough, I turned around and there he was leaning against the trunk. *Semi-tall, slighty preppy & Black. Pretty cute actually. He had potential.* “Do you need help putting your stuff in your car?, he mumbled.” Now, seeing that I currently live in a smallish Midwestern town I’m sure he actually meant it.

I however, am from Los Angeles and view all help from strangers with suspicion and mistrust. I tend to immediately go into self-defense attack mode when a random man tries to be a gentleman. *This may or may not be normal, but I was in a dark parking lot late at night so we'll save the pychobabble for when I can finally afford a therapist, mmkay? Thanks!*.

Anyway, I didn’t want to be rude. *Of course not! Why would I want to be rude to a potential attacker? He might get the wrong idea.* So, I told him no, but then let him chat me up. Because after all, I was single. He seemed normal. Had recently moved down from Chicago. Divorced with a 3 year old daughter. Gainfully employed.*Or so he said. I found out later that his idea of a career was working part-time selling used auto parts out of the back of a van. But I'm getting ahead of myself here* He really was cute so I gave him my number and we made plans to go out the following weekend.

We chatted a few times during the week and he solidified his standing as a non-serial killer. Funny, interesting and super flirty, he gave good phone. *Not bad for a pickup in the parking lot of Meijer’s.*  Once again, he brought up wanting to take me out on a date.  Not a ‘Cool, I might show up to that too if you’re going’, or a ‘Me and my friends are gonna be there if you wanna drop by’ or even the classic, ‘Lets chill out at home watching movies until I can talk you into a hand job’ but an actual 'Lets get dressed up and show up at the same time, same place, get to know each other adult date type situation'. He even said the words, “This is a date. I’m paying for everything and I can’t wait to see you”. *Amazing! As far as I know, most men haven't uttered that line since 2003*

My first real date since I moved here. *Since oh, God knows when. It's too depressing to even count, let's just move on, shall we? * I tried not to have expectations as I showered and got dressed but I was kinda excited. I thought, this is a total pretty girl move. This is what it’s like when men treat me with respect. An actual date. Hey, I am making progress here!

 

Running slightly late *Btw, I’m always slightly late. I can’t help it, I’m pretty sure it’s genetic* I jumped in the car and sped towards the Old Orchard bowling alley where we had decided to meet. Now, before you get all judgy on me, let me just say that 1) It was my idea. I picked bowling because I like the first date to be casual and active in some way so as to avoid those awkward getting to know you pauses.

2) They have an amazing bar. Again, being drunk is so handy when avoiding those awkward getting to know you pauses. 3) Who doesn’t love bowling? *It’s the only sport where you can chow down on pizza & hot wings, chug a vodka spritzer, rock ridiculous shoes and still be considered a winner, right? What's not to love?*

The parking lot was only half full as I pulled in and there were plenty of lanes open inside but no Mr. Date. I poked my head into the bar but no sign of him there either. Trying not to panic I quickly dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey. What’s up?” “Um, I’m here. Where are you?” I tried not to sound needy. “Oh, didn’t you get my message?” “No, what message?” I shouted.  “I texted you. I can’t go tonight.”

*What the hell!!!!*

“What do you mean you can’t go out with me tonight? I just talked to you like, two hours ago and you were all excited to see me. So, what’s changed in two hours?” *I was pissed. This was so not happening to me.*

“I know, I was excited to see you." He stuttered, "I do want to see you, but I can’t. I was supposed to get paid but my check didn’t come. I don’t have any money so…I can’t go out.”

I let the enormity of the situation sink in. I was trying to date a man that didn’t have the money to take a woman out on a date at a bowling alley. A bowling alley! In the Midwest. Where a game cost $4.25 and drinks clock in at the massive rate of $3.00 each.  *That means his net worth had to be in the range somewhere below $10.00. I know times are tough, and I am not all about the money, honey, but even for me, this was a new low.*

I can’t believe I did it again.

“Um, ok, is this an excuse or do you really not have money?” I demanded. “ No” he replied, “ I really do want to see you I just don’t have the money.“ I wasn’t sure what to think. *I mean I could have ditched the denial, believed the words coming out of his mouth and let it go, but I'm codependent so that really wasn't an option for me.* “Well, I got all dressed up and I’m here so if you really want to see me, you should come down.” I demanded. And with that, I hung up the phone and went into the bar for a stiff drink.

 

Now, I had two choices. Turn around and go home or….start bowling. So, I did what any normal, self-respecting woman would do and began bowling. By myself. On a Saturday night. Surrounded by League Players. *Semi-pathetic but whatever, I was determined to not cave into the depression just hovering around the edges of this fiasco* Besides I was all dressed up and looked good. Maybe I would meet somebody else. *Dear God, please let me meet someone else. Someone with more than ten dollars to their name.*

 As my first game wound down *I broke 100 thank you very much!* wouldn’t you know it, Mr. Date strolled in looking sheepish and dressed in a backwards baseball cap, short jean pants and a Chicago Bears jersey. *Heartland Boojie Casual*

Now, what disturbed me about his ensemble was that he either did not make an effort or…his outfit was the result of him making an effort. Either way his fashion conundrum was like a giant red flag and I was seriously beginning to question my invitation to meet me here. *Shocking that I'm just beginning to question it now, but that my friends, is what makes my real life a never-ending pot of comedy gold, doncha think?*

“Hey. I’m here. I had to borrow money from my mom for gas but I’m here.” He smiled.  *Holy shit. His Mom? He's 36 years old! Maybe his net worth was less than $10.* “Hey, ok….wow. Well, thanks for coming down.” *I guess. Whatever. Was this even the same guy? Why did he look so much different in the light? I really gotta get some glasses*

He immediately tried to start bowling on my game but without paying for bowling shoes or the lane. *Janky*  Super annoyed, I offered to pay for one more game for the both of us. So, to recap, first I have been stood up and now I am paying for our date. *It’s like a humiliation two-fer.*

Somehow, my Pretty Girl Discount agenda has gone horribly off the rails. Regardless, we pressed on. We bowled and chatted. He seemed bitter about his ex-wife and his job prospects. He didn’t ask any questions about me at all, just rambled on about himself for the best part of an hour. Suddenly I remembered that I wasn't his girlfriend, so I didn't have to care and abruptly decided to leave. *Brilliant*

“I gotta go now.” I turned in my shoes at the front desk and started for the door. “I’ll walk you out” he mumbled.

We ended up in front of my car. Now that he was out with me, live in the flesh, he didn’t want to let me go. I went in for the goodbye hug and he planted one on my lips. “Wow. Ok. Was not expecting that. Well, I really gotta go now” I whispered. With that I made the move towards opening my car door and a clean getaway.

“Wait, wait” he pleaded. “I wanna show you something” He ran towards his car parked a few spots away.

“I wanna show you my dick.” He yelled.  *Um, what?* “Your dick? Right here in the parking lot?” *Seriously? Was this guy insane? Was he getting naked right here, right now? And what about me says this is my idea of a good time? This is our first date and while I am ninety-nine flavors of fun sauce, I am seriously not that kind of girl*

All of a sudden he squeezed up to me on my left flashing his phone in my face. “It’s my dick. Do you like it?” He asked proudly.

“Um…” *What is the etiquette exactly on complimenting a guy’s junk you barely know?* If I say something positive, he might want to show me the real deal. If I say something negative….well, he might want to show me the real deal to prove me wrong. Let’s face it. The guy just wanted to show me his dick. In a parking lot. Of a bowling alley. *You know, I’m new in town so on a Saturday night in the Midwest this might pass for good times but I wanted no part of it.*

“Um…it’s ok.” I finally managed. “Oh, am I freaking you out?” he questioned. *You think?* “Uh, yeah, I gotta go.” And so I did. Leaving him standing there, wondering why this woman he barely knows didn’t want to examine his strange dick pics any further.

For my part, I hit up Arby’s for a classic beef & cheddar *Diet be dammed!* and then drove around for a while wondering why shit like this always happens to me.

In the end, I decided that it might be a good idea to not chat up strange men in parking lots. Especially in the dark. Late at night. *Maybe try that on for a bit.* I’m fairly certain that in the Pretty Girl rulebook that might be listed under DUH! But ok, I’m slow, so lesson learned.

If anything, it just made me more determined than ever to change whatever I needed to do, to make sure I got my Pretty Girl Discount. So that the next time a man asks me out on a date, I don’t end up by myself after midnight, with a mouth full of processed meat and cheese. *Though to be honest, it did look a lot better than his dick so I think I made the right choice*
 

 

 

 

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS MY PRETTY GIRL DISCOUNT?

Pretty Girl Discount Tally

Today: 0

Here’s the thing…looks matter. For some people, it’s all that matters. It’s not the end destination, it’s a lifestyle choice. Now, nobody has ever accused me of being superficial but I was born and raised in Los Angeles so you do the math. My entire life, I was literally surrounded by pretty people. Every fucking beauty queen from around the world regularly relocated to my city at an alarming rate. Everyone from the garbage man to the checkout girl at The Pavilions grocery store was so very special, photogenic…beautiful.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no Quasimodo. I don’t have to lurk in dark alleys or anything…I clean up well. But…I’m not and have never been accused of being one of those girls. A perfect “pretty girl”. I’m different. An acquired taste, I guess. I’m super pale. I have red hair. I’m LA fat. Not to be confused with real world fat (anything over a size fourteen) or NY fat (which is anything over a size zero) But definitely chubbyesque. And I’m tall (5’9) so I have no excuse.

I ‘m usually the girl guys date before they meet “the one” and get married. I’m the girl who was really fun and who made them laugh and feel awesome about themselves, but they always felt they could do a little bit better and eventually left. Now, before you start feeling too sorry for me…it is true that I have a long and sordid history of dating actors, alcoholics and assholes (sometimes all three wrapped up in one tempting package), so that probably explains most of it, but still….

As an actor I have literally been pulled out of shots and replaced with girls who were blonder, thinner and had way bigger boobs. This happened a lot actually so even though I was attractive, by comparison I seemed like the “not so pretty one.” The one destined to hover in the background while others hogged the spotlight.

But as much as it was a struggle to get anywhere in a city that mostly prizes looks above everything else, it did force me to perfect my best attribute; my personality. I know, I’m a total fat girl cliché. But it’s true…I couldn’t count on getting what I wanted by relying on my looks so instead I double downed on my wit, fabulous sense of humor and what talent I had.

And it worked. For a while anyway. By sheer force of will and the grace of God (of course!), I was moderately successful as a comedian, writer & producer. I had legit credits, I was doing stuff…and I was working. But then I decided that I wanted more. I wanted what very few people in LA actually have no matter how successful they are…I wanted a life. So, I up and moved away. I traveled through a few states and then ended up performing in Texas when the world crashed.

The Great Recession? Check. Semi/underemployed? Check. Double check. Careening through a series of bad relationships, worse job prospects and a shocking lack of direction? Check, check, check. I spent two years veering between weekly gigs performing stand-up for appreciative audiences and a series of humbling, low-paying, soul sucking jobs. Retail, anyone?

So finally, I did what any normal, college educated woman from a big city would do…I fled to the Midwest. I know, random, right? But now that I’m here I’m determined to take full advantage of my do-over. I’m going to get what I’ve always secretly coveted…a pretty girl discount.

For those of you wondering out there in cyberspace…According to urban slang, the definition of a Pretty Girl Discount is this: Preferential treatment given to a female by members of the opposite sex. Basically, it’s a non-stop fairyland where you get stuff for free, men trip over themselves to do things for you and even other women are more deferential. Sounds good to me, where do I sign up?

Getting better dates, better job prospects and better opportunities equals a better life so really, having a pretty girl discount is like possessing the best rewards card at the most exclusive shops. I see you Nordy’s and I raise you!

Now, that I’m in yet another new city can I finally pull off becoming a “pretty girl”? We'll see. In a world in which everybody has their own reality show/product line/ghostwritten NY Times bestselling book…I'm only one Bravo appearance from becoming a public pretty girl!  Are you there Andy Cohen? It’s me, Lydia.

So, this blog is my way to document my struggles living a non-supermodel life and the ongoing tragedy of not being treated special. I’ll also get into exploring everything from fashion to makeup, to self-help treatments to online dating (yikes!) in an effort to finally get the attention I so richly deserve. Who knows what's going to go down? I might turn into a self-entitled, narcissist bitch. I might start spending way too much time looking at myself in the mirror. I might get married. Or I might learn to finally, really, truly love myself. I won’t be getting plastic surgery but I will be losing weight. And I for sure am going to stop being so nice. Because being a “nice girl” is the kiss of death when you're trying to learn to make it all about you.

It’s time to put myself first...to start treating myself the way I want the world to see me. It’s time...to start getting my pretty girl discount!