2004-06-18 @ 11:45 p.m.
aqua girl comes up for air...well, sorta

Me: Hello

�A�: Hi. Are you still coming to meet Greg today at 2:15?

Me: Yes.

�A�: How are you feeling about it?

Me: F.r.i.g.h.t.e.n.e.d!

�A�: Witty...

Me: Yes?

�A�: Can you please be sure to wear underwear.

Me: Oh, ok.

Click.

Thus began my anxious morning of waiting. I did take a shower and head out to an appointment with my case manager at 11 a.m. I have gotten annoyed with her over the last couple of years, because of her perpetual lateness, but when she is there, she is a very good listener, and has some really good, if not even tempered advice.

She is the first person I have talked to about all this, who has largely talked about the kids. She has three kids, and gave me a heads up on what to expect. She also helped me to prepare a list of questions to ask Greg during the interview, since my nerves would probably throw me into a Rainman-like state and I would start babbling about Wheel of Fortune or something. She also said I was a very earthy person and that the kids would probably really like that about me. So that made me feel good.

Got a call from mommy dearest when I got home. Got to rehash the Saturday party for about the fourth time. Once was enough....really. I was there. I actually remember what was said as it was happening. And it wasn�t all that interesting the first time. During our conversation I had to time out the taking of my clonopin for my interview with Greg. Didn�t want to take it too early, and have the meds wear off twenty minutes before I drove there, or take it too late and fall asleep coming home, so I finally popped the pill about 12:45 for a 2:15 appointment. Too early? Not sure.

But just to make sure I would be ultra relaxed I did something totally out of the ordinary on the way there. I left about 25 minutes early, went to the Mall, and partook of one of the most interesting experiences I�ve had recently. An Aqua Massage (sorry Married Guy...not enough time to schedule a massage with you).

Anyone ever had one of those? Total Nirvana-zinski! There�s no nudity involved unfortunately, since its in the middle of the mall, but you climb into this large contraption that looks like an iron lung, where just your head sticks out. I believe it probably looks like a tanning bed. I�m Irish...I�ve never been near a tanning bed. I get sunburned walking from my front door to the car.

So anyways, suddenly you hear this incredibly loud schwoooshing noise (although I did opt for some headphones to block out part of the noise), and then you feel this sudden intense pulsating sensation traveling up your body in waves, so to speak. I had told the girl to put it on HARD, since I�m used to being massaged and boy was it hard.

But hard in a goooooooooood way. Yee haw! Plus you get to hold this little control device in your hand and if you�re getting pummeled in a particular area that you find pleasurable helpful, you just press this button and the pulsating wave stops and keeps beating on you in that one particular place until you cry uncle. WHEE!!!!!

Guess where I kept pressing halt? Come on...guess???

Yeah, right where my ass meets my leg. Kinda parted my legs ever so slightly and woo. OK, lets make that a double woo-woo.

�Hello �A�...I�m gonna be late. I�m trapped in an aqua massage machine. No really, it got stuck right over my ass part...Yes, I�m wearing underwear�

Ok, that didn�t really happen, but the girl let me stay in there a little longer than the ten minutes I had paid for, and when I fell out of the machinery onto the floor, you know, in total relaxation, I was rather startled to see that I was a mere 15 minutes away from my meeting with Greg. EEK.

I did thank the girl and told her if I ever got mad at my regular masseuse I would be back. She smiled.

And amazingly I was...well, the only way I can describe it was, STONED, when I got to the office. An aqua massage and a clonopin, working in tandem. Whoopie! Who needs a chair, I�ll just levitate above the couch and count the threads in my sundress.

Oh, and there was a guy there named Greg. I shook his hand...I think. Did I? How can I describe him? He looked a little like Hagrid from Harry Potter after a makeover from Straight Eye for the Queer Guy. His hair could have used a little more trimming and he�s not quite 7 foot tall (more like about 5 ft. 8 maybe), but he really reminded me of Hagrid. Hagrid on caffeine.

�A� gave a little introductory talk. He once again called Greg �intense� and said he was still grieving for his wife and working that out, and then he turned to me, and I believe said I got along well with kids, and was kind. He did say that several times...that I was kind. I do remember that through my aqua massage induced haze.

I am that, if nothing else. Saving chipmunks and all.

And then Greg was off. He never stopped talking. I guess that was good. It took the pressure off me, who doesn�t like to talk. I had been worried about having to answer certain question.

�Well, what have you been doing the last two years.�

�Oh, sitting on my ass, collecting SSD checks and food stamps and you....?�

Fortunately that never came up. We only had 15 minutes in �A�s office, and then he had another appointment coming in, so we moved to his wife�s office next door and Greg continued to talk.

What did he talk about? How great his house was. How great his property was. How great his location was. How large his house was (7000 square feet...Yowza, my whole apartment is probably about 200 sq. ft. tops). How he was planning on building tennis courts. How he was going to put in a year round pool in a building. How he had a $6000 printer. How the house had a special intercom system and some special heating system, and how he was going to put a gate on the front of his estate. And how if his family went on vacation I could go with them (gee really? A vacation? I don�t understand the concept of vacations, can you explain it please?). Oh, and I would also get to drive the SUV if I worked there (at last yuppiedom is mine).

It all sounded perfectly marvelous, but two things were missing. We didn�t talk about the kids, and we didn�t talk about me. Several times I tried to interject stuff about myself...like Oh, I grew up in the country in California. And Oh, I play the piano, maybe I can show your kids how to play. And he would acknowledge it, but then rush onto other things.

And perhaps the strangest thing....he�s building a mausoleum for his recently deceased wife out in the yard. He�s bringing her home to be with them. I told my mom about that and she thought it was nice. Me? I think its a little weird. Burying the wife out in the back yard.

Diaryland readers? How many of you have relatives buried out in the back yard? No, I mean legally. Show of hands? Yeah, that�s what I thought.

Ok, I�ll give him a benefit of the doubt. He was nervous and hyper and talking alot because he�s grieving. OK. The wife in the backyard thing. Well, ok, I guess its ok. I�m just not the sort of person who would want the ashes of mommy dearest up on the mantle. I think the whole act of keeping someone�s ashes in a piece of crockery is totally creepy. So maybe that�s why this is all creeping me out. I also did not detect one molecule of humor in this guy....ok, maybe he�s still grieving, but still, I need humor!

We did make another appointment so I can meet with his kids this Sunday up at his house. I did feel a little guilty, making him sit there writing out all these long involved directions to his house, when in fact I�ve already been there. Heh, heh....sowwy.

I am really looking forward to meeting his kids however. Even though I really didn�t get to hear much about them, I would like to see what they�re like and my decision will probably be based more on them than on him. And �A�, if you thought a romance was going to be set Ablaze with Greg and I, think again.

Afterwards, Greg left and �A� walked with me out to our cars. He noted that he was glad that I wore underwear. And I said, how do you know that? And he said, he could see the gray. And I was like what gray? And then I realized he was talking about the edge of my sports bra, that was slightly visible under my sleeveless dress. But then, of course, there is the much more intriguing question...just because I have a bra on, doesn�t necessary mean I have panties on.

Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty