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2006-08-09 @ 6:25 p.m.
sunflowers and fuck-buddies

This is one of the first summer since I was 14 (pictured above) that I haven't been able to grow my own sunflowers. Am I missing it? Absolutely, especially after I just got home from a walk around the Village and there were sunflowers starting to bloom everywhere. I love sunflowers. I love to grow them. I love to draw them. I love to paint them.

I've always been amazed that a little tiny sunflower seed can produce a seven foot tall flower. I mean, how about that.

Originally I was going to plant sunflower seeds over across the creek, along the fence, until of course, the Garden Hacker Guy came forth and took over that part of the yard with a cacophony of bird feeders, cheesy little cheap bird houses and he just put a plastic bird bath out in the dirt (all the grass has been carefully yanked out by hand, because lord knows, grass is truly hard to predict, let alone control!). I could have possibly planted them out on the other side of the building, but then again he has hacked everything out there too and if he had seen some big beautiful, glorious sunflowers growing, they would have surely been goners too.

The Village does look really beautiful right now though. People really know how to garden around here. It makes my heart sing. Its way nicer than when I lived in the city. There'd be a six pack of red geraniums planted around a Jesus statue and that would be like the height Martha Stewartdom. I'm only hoping that somehow, by next summer, I will have some kind of gardening space, because I truly love to garden.

I actually started gardening when I was about seven years old. My mom let me plant some gladiola bulbs and I used to run out to the corner of the yard every day until one day, there, popping out of the earth, was a tiny green nib. I nearly died of 7 year old kid!

And then by high school, I was growing sunflowers, glads, petunias, cosmos, morning glories, all different kinds of succulents and cactuses as well as learning how to keep the rose bushes in our yard in tip top shape. I think we had about 10 of them.

Later when my Dad suffered from depression and was living alone after his divorce, I went over and rescued his rose bushes (he had about 20 of them). He had let them go, so one morning I went over and did my version of Garden Hacker Guy, except I knew what I was doing. I trimmed and put rose food on all his rose bushes and within a month they were all blooming like crazy. He was really appreciative. My only pay was that I got to take home roses whenever I visited him. That was no problem, of course, since he literally had hundreds of them blooming at any given time during the summer.

So I do love summer for just that reason. Garden gazing. Of course the growing season is way shorter on the East Coast, so I have to take advantage of the good weather and go out walking even though, at this moment, my left foot is absolutely killing me. I did talk to "A" Tuesday morning about it, since he is a marathon runner. I figured he'd know a little something about feet. I told him I thought I might have a bone spur. He thought it might possibly be some kind of a minor compound fracture. I'm not sure when that could have happened. He said that sometimes people who run a lot (or I guess walk, in my case) may not even be aware when it happens. So he thought I should get to a doctor to check it out.

I'd actually been putting that off because I have such a poor opinion of my usual doctor. I'd go to her for a boo-boo on my elbow and she'd send me to a pulmonologist for a breathing test. But I did go see her associate today...a lesbian hippie doctor in a large flowery purple Hawaiian muumuu and Birkenstocks. And I was so shocked. So utterly and totally shocked. Usually when I go to my doctor's I wait 10-15 minutes in the outer waiting room and then about an hour in the examining room before my doctor comes in. Always.

So today I thought I would bring some things to do with me, you know... multitask. So I threw all my bills into my purse and thought, "I'll write out bills while I'm waiting, and then I won't have to stare at the walls and think about the 12.7 trillion germs swirling around." So what happens? I just start to write out my phone bill and *knock, knock, knock*. I almost fainted. It was my doctor, in like the shortest wait IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND. I mean it even had me wondering....did space aliens kidnap my real doctor and replace her with someone who was inexplicably on time and efficient? Because she actually was, diagnosing my foot problem almost immediately. She pressed on my foot. I went "ow" and she said "You have plantar fasciitis, an inflammation of the muscle and soft tissue between your heel and the ball of your foot. You should probably get an orthotic device for your heel. Here is a prescription for an anti-inflammatory medication. Have a nice day."

And I was like "Holy shit...who/what was that? A doctor who actually knew what they were doing? Call CNN!!"
But it was good seeing "A" yesterday morning after missing our appointment last week and possibly missing one next week (hope not). We had an interesting topic: Fuck buddies. It was actually me who brought it up after shading my face with my hand while saying it. Not sure why it suddenly seemed so embarrassing. He's heard far worse. And I mean far worse. But suddenly, having to look at him and say, "Yeah, I'm kinda in the market for a fuck buddy" was just a little much, as was his answer. Did I hear that right "A"? Did you say you might have one for me? Naw, I imagined that, right "A"? I do remember him asking if I fantasize about this certain person we both know. And I do believe I said "Yes". And I'm hoping that this falls under shrink confidentiality. Because I sure don't want this person knowing this piece of information, like "Oh hi ***. Heh, by the way, witty fantasizes about you being her fuck-buddy! Yeah! Who would have thunk! No. She didn't give me any details. But yeah, she was all over that fuck-buddy idea!"


So I guess he was thrilled, because after being somewhat of a traditionalist and okay, lets face it, a little nervous about jumping into the fuck-buddy pool, I finally wavered a little bit. I had always staunchly held onto the notion of just dating Husband Candidates. And I still do, mostly, because living life alone is such a drag. Now I know all you divorced women are screaming at me, "Men suck. Blah! Blah! Blah!" but don't forget ladies, I have never had the chance to experience this marvelous phenomena called marriage. Although I did get to see my parent's marriage upclose and personal and let me tell you....what an absolute treat!

But I have also seen my aunt and uncle's marriage of 55 years and all the wonderful fruit it bore. I happen to think that not every marriage is a blueprint for the movie "War of the Roses". Nothing is perfect. No one is perfect...including you or I. I'm just tired of being alone. I've been alone thirty years. I'm actually in a job right now that people use me as a shoulder to cry on. I used to think I was totally self absorbed, living alone and all, but now I surprise myself. I'm actually able to supply comfort to other people. When I did that nanny job two summers ago, I was surprised when I was able to interact with kids. And now I continue to surprise myself in other ways and its great.

I did however notice that somebody I know pretty well is wearing one less ring recently. They used to wear rings on both hands. Now they are only wearing a ring on one hand. Pretty cool how observant I am, huh? Gotta be sharp, when you're on the look-out.

But the subject was fuck-buddies....wasn't it....which of course has absolutely NOTHING to do with wedding bands, right? Well, not anymore anyways.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty