The Imitator

I met Ethan on Match.com. We spoke briefly twice before deciding to meet up for dinner. He was okay looking in his profile photos. He certainly was good looking enough when weighed against his information. Only three years younger than me.
Never married.
No children.
Lives alone.
Sales rep for publishing company.
Worked at his company for 13 years.
Has a car.
Comes into the city from Westchester several times a month.

He called when he said he would.
He balanced texting with actual phone conversations.
Called the day of our date to make sure everything was still going along as planned.
He was 10 minutes early getting to the restaurant.
He wore a nice short sleeved, navy blue and beige, collared shirt.
Dark blue jeans.
Comfy looking brown Merrill's.

I was impressed with the place he chose.
Nice Italian restaurant. Not too fancy but certainly not shabby.

Wow... maybe things were looking up for me... right?
WRONG!!!!!!

Okay, lets start with him making a comment about "gay men". I quickly said that I have gay friends, figuring I should just put that out there so that he wouldn't go any further with anything derogatory, if that was his intention. I still don't know what the gist of his "gay man" story was because he turned the next half hour, at least, into an "infomercial" on EVERY gay person (mostly male) he knew. In case that wasn't enough, he told me about EVERY gay person his friends and family knew. I think he was trying to prove he wasn't homophobic. His point was not made.
Just in case all of that wasn't clear enough for me, he then started to imitate many of them, I guess to show me the degree of "gay" they were. Some spoke like macho men. Some spoke very feminine. Many, for some reason, had a lisp. Apparently, a sure sign of a really gay man is whether he lisps or not.
I kept looking around just hoping that no one near us was gay. I mean, it was embarrassing enough for anyone to be listening, thinking I was into this conversation but having a gay person listening just made me feel like shit.
You're probably wondering why I didn't do something... well, I did. I tried several times to change the subject. Each time he was quiet but I'm not sure he was really listening because the moment I stopped talking he would say, "Oh, umm and then..." and would continue with more gay impressions.
When I finally got him to change the subject, which honestly I think had more to do with him running out of gay stories than me finding another topic, he started talking about his favorite TV shows.
You would think me being a television junkie, this would be a great thing to talk about... WRONG again!
He watches reality TV. Now, I can't stand reality shows but there is still some respect for people who watch, say... cooking competition shows or Project Runway. No, Ethan watches Jersey Shore, Celebrity Rehab and whatever shows feature Twisted Sister and Gene Simmons.
Even when I said I didn't really watch reality shows he tried to convince me to give it a try. He explained that he watched them KNOWING how horrible they were. This is when he started to do his imitations again. This time of Snookie, the Situation and Angelina. Let's not forget the drunken, sad, mess that Jeff Conaway (Grease's Kenickie) turned out to be.
By the way, for some reason they all sounded very much like lisping gay men.
Again, I tried to change the subject... which somehow only led to sports. Another taboo topic for me. I'm well aware that more so than not, people like sports of some kind. I know enough to keep a conversation going and so that's what I did. I told him what sporting events I've been to. Basketball, Baseball, College football... MISTAKE!
He took over by telling me specific games... like, Knicks and every team he's seen them play against, he did the same for the Nets, the Rangers, the Giants, the Jets, Mets, Yankees... you get the point.
Of course, he then had to tell me all of the ballparks and arena's he's been to.
Not just Tri-state area ones either.
Nooo... we're talking Fenway, Wrigley Field, Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.
ARGH!
I NOTICEABLY kept looking at my watch... he didn't get the hint AT ALL.
I couldn't believe I wore such a hot dress for this date. Such a waste.
I took extra care with my makeup AND my hair. I smelled yummy too.

Finally! The check came.
He paid for the whole thing... didn't hold back on a tip either. Nice... Okay, maybe I was being too hard on the guy. Maybe he was just nervous. After all, he's not the only person who watches really bad TV and I admit, I'm out of the loop with sports.
So, when he asks if I want to go get a drink and talk for a bit, I say yes.
WHY? WHY? WHY did I do that?
We ended up in a bar with a very drunk Firefighter named Jim who was mourning 9/11. There was a woman there with a Pug who had his own bar stool, a short guy with a really bad fake tan, the guys albino girlfriend, a waitress who kept spraying Windex on everything and wiping them down and a bartender from Dublin, named Glen, who noticeably wasn't wearing any underwear.
Yes, people... you can't make this stuff up.
Fireman Jim sang very loudly and very much off key to every song that came on and when Glen put on Danke Schoen, there was no stopping the chorus of voices. Danke Schoen is apparently a favorite at this place. I was in awe of everything going on but Ethan??? He just kept talking like nothing.
We were past him telling me every detail about a movie called FATSO with Dom Deluise, especially the "funny parts", which was the whole movie in his opinion. I'm sure it is very funny, I like Dom Deluise but Ethan wasn't convincing me of that.
After his movie review, he started talking about music. I didn't add much because I was afraid maybe he would start singing too. With a lisp maybe!
Anyway, he was telling me about all the famous people he's met, from athletes, to comedians, to musicians. He mentioned Kiss, so I added that I met Paul Stanley, twice. This was in the 80's when he was still gorgeous. I was so excited back then because the second time we met he remembered me.
Good story, right?
Uh, Oh... Ethan ran with this too.
He started imitating Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley. Paul Stanley had a lisp. I told him I didn't remember him speaking that way and so, he then started to imitate Paul Stanley meeting me... both times!
I don't know... maybe he thought it would trigger a memory. It didn't!

I couldn't take it! The boring conversation, the terrible singing, the butt crack... I just wanted to get out of there. I said, "I'm sorry, I really need to get up early. I have to get going."
He quickly got up, paid and we left.
He insisted on driving me home. I kept repeating that I lived in THE ghetto, not minding at all if I paid for a cab all the way back uptown but he was turning it all into yet another LONG conversation, so again... I said yes. We then proceeded to go to three, YEP, three different car garages because he didn't remember where he parked. This, even after he read the address...
At this point I'm really starting to wonder, am I being punked? This has got to be a Frackin' joke!
Okay... we get to the car. He drives me to Harlem. We stop at a red light and he makes sure his door is locked. I laugh and said I'd warned him earlier, he did not have to drive me home.
We get to the front of the building NEXT DOOR to my building, he turns off the car, turns towards me and licks his lips... Nooooooooooo, I can't do this. Not even a quickie. Nope, can't do it. So, I lunge forward, kiss the air by his cheek and say, "Okay, thank you. Get home safe."
I saw the look of disappointment on his face but I just wanted to get home.
I was DONE!
In the infamous words of Roberto Duran, "No Mas."

Something I learned on 9/11

Tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of the destruction of the Twin Towers.
I still really can't bring myself to write much on what went on internally that day. There are still just too many emotions for me to analyze. The facts are... my mother was in One World Trade, which was the North tower. It was the first building that was hit and the second building to fall.
I can explain step by step where I was and what I was doing when it happened. I can tell you how I tried to calm my grandmother down, when all she kept saying was, "my daughter, my daughter." I can tell you that my sister and I could only comfort each other by phone because she was in Connecticut, at college. I can also tell you that I didn't find out my mother was safe until about 11 a.m.

My experiences on that day, for the most part, are similar to others who were relieved to find out their loved ones were safe. My story isn't really that different from hundreds of others who had to walk the streets of downtown in a daze. Numb. Simply in awe of what was happening all around them.
I remember clearly the people I worried about, the people I wanted to hug and kiss. The ones who meant the absolute world to me. Family members who lived out of state. Old friends. Even co-workers.
I also remember clearly who was thinking of me. Family. Friends. Even old boyfriends called, in the middle of the chaos, to check if I was safe.

But when I'm alone and I think back to a clearly defining moment, it's always the same one. It's the moment I felt terror and comfort at the very same time.
It's the moment I understood, on an emotional level, what unconditional, unselfish love was.
The obvious contrast between my mothers love for me and my fathers.

Earlier in the day, my father was able to reach me at my grandmothers house. He was crying and giving thanks to god that I was safe. There were people in the background cheering because he'd found me. He told me he didn't know what he would have done if I'd been hurt or killed. He'd even called the Red Cross for information and promised god that if I was okay, he would shave his head. This is a very Puerto Rican thing... making "Promesas" to god. It's a promise to sacrifice yourself in some way in order to receive a blessing or miracle of some kind. Often people promise to wear all white for a year or all black, women promise not to cut their hair for a certain period, things like that.
Now, I won't say my father was not being honest with me. I think he was being as honest as he knows how to be. At the time, he really did believe he could lose me.
That is why I tried to ignore the fact that I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to him. I tried to ignore that he didn't know where I worked, so he had no idea whether I was in the area of the Trade Center before he went nuts worrying. I tried to ignore that if he had my grandmothers number, which he clearly did because that's how he was able to reach me, then why would he call the Red Cross? And... I really really tried to ignore that he didn't even have a full head of hair to shave. That last part still makes me laugh.
I mean, he hadn't had a full head of hair in decades.
His wife and daughters had been on his case for years to shave the rest of it.
Ahhh, there's humor in any situation if you look for it...
So, this man of god who reads the Bible daily, attends church several times a week and is now a minister who performs weddings, literally thought promising to shave his head was a good deal to make with his creator for my safe return. I'm grateful I was kept safe in spite of that vow.

Now for the contrast...
That afternoon, when I finally fell into my mothers arms, she held me tight and soothed me. She was the one in the building when it was hit but she held me and comforted me. She repeated over and over that she was safe, that she loved me and everything would be okay.
We made it back to her house hours later and made what calls we could to let everyone know how things were going. We ate together. We watched the news. We slept head to foot in her bed.
In the middle of the night we were woken up by low flying planes. Not just any kind of plane but fighter planes. Imagine, jets flying over Queens. We both sat straight up, not knowing whether they were our planes or if we were being attacked again. In one split second we grabbed hands and looked directly into the others eyes. We knew that if it was our time, we were not alone. No drama. No promises. Nothing to prove. It was just us and there was nothing that needed to be said. We were together.
Fear of the unknown then... peace.

And, that was the moment...
I knew the feeling of unconditional, unselfish love.

The Set Up - Part 1

This is a story about why my mother is no longer allowed to set me up on dates.

Though this person, let's call him Bob, remained a part of my circle of friends and family for years, this one date has always been THE strangest date of them all.

He's a great guy my mother said. I knew from the start that I might regret it but I listened anyway.
He's only a few years older than you. He's never been married. He has a very good job.
He has a nice build, goes to the gym regularly. He isn't really cute but certainly not bad looking.
She then sweetened the deal by saying he had great taste in music and even wrote songs.

I said I'd talk to him.

Our first conversation was strained.
He didn't even attempt to make small talk. His side of the conversation was very Vulcan-like...
Hello. How are you? Would you like to go out? How about Saturday?
Although there were really long pauses between his questions, I'm not quite sure he even heard my answers. I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if he'd written everything down on index cards before calling.
When I asked a question he gave me simple one word answers.
Now, I love to talk but even I was stumped for words. It was basically a one-sided conversation. Again, I'm often okay with that but this was just awkward.
I was hoping he was just very shy and that he would loosen up in person.

The following weekend standing at my front door was a guy I would never have chosen on my own to go out with. What on earth was my mother thinking?
I'm not all about looks but this guy was not attractive in any sense of the word. He was not built. He was top heavy but it wasn't muscle. He looked as if he was holding his stomach in. If he did go to the gym, he obviously only worked out his upper half because his lower body was not in proportion to the top.
And, he definitely had hair plugs.
I sympathized with him considering I have my own issues with hair loss... BUT, the rows of hair could be seen clearly even from my height, which was about ten inches shorter than his.
He was wearing a Hockey jersey tucked into his Khaki's and wore a belt with it. Over that he had on a full length black trench coat. On his feet were a pair of MC boots with spurs attached. Yes... spurs. Like what cowboys wear.

I took a deep breath, shook his hand and off we went... I could hear him "chinking" along as we walked to his car.

When I get bored

Every time I get bored I either shop for ridiculous things I don't need on Amazon.com OR I join a new dating site. I've bought power bars in bulk and paid good money to have illegal immigrants propose to me.

I wish I'd learn from MYSELF.

I can't help it though... I get this overwhelming urge.
I have to do it!

I want, need, have to buy... granola in bulk, "Dummie's Guide" books on every subject I'm even slightly curious about, kitchen gadgets that I'll never use.

I want, need, have to remind myself... why all these men are single, why I'd rather read a book than go on a date, why I was celibate for three years.

I WANT. I NEED. I HAVE TO.

Then... I get a delivery by UPS and "Ugh! I don't have the space for this crap".

I hear a ping, it's my inbox and again, "Ugh! I don't have time for corny lines and 'Latina fetishes'".

It's like I drug. I'm like a fiend.

But, I want it. I need it. I have to have it.

I'm disappointed in myself.

I make a vow... No More!

I'm clean. I don't visit any sites. I keep busy.

One moment of boredom.
One moment of my hormones acting up.
And, I'm off... Just a peek. I'm not going to do anything but look.
And and I'm done!
This vicious vicious cycle!
I'm going to kick this horrible habit one day... I will. I promise myself.

Until then... excuse me while I sign for this package and check my emails.

A as in Alopecia

I should explain something important about myself considering it figures into many of my stories.

I have Alopecia, which is the medical term for baldness. Alopecia is caused by an autoimmune disease. The hair loss is a symptom of something unknown going wrong in my immune system and it begins to attack the hair follicles. It is not contagious. There are several types of Alopecia, the main three being Alopecia Partialis, Alopecia Totalis and Alopecia Universalis. I have, at different times, suffered from all three types. Alopecia Partialis is when the hair falls out in a patchy pattern on either the scalp, body or both. Alopecia Totalis is when all the hair on the scalp falls out and the body hair remains. Alopecia Universalis is when there is a complete loss of hair over the entire body.

About two years ago my hair started to grow back. I would still find spots of hair loss in places but for the most part, it was back. I hadn't had hair longer than half an inch in thirteen years. I loved it. I would run my fingers through it all the time. I enjoyed having hair that flew around when the wind blew. I loved buying shampoo and hair clips. I loved the way it tickled the back of my neck. I loved bad hair days.
But, I never once took it for granted, knowing it could fall out just as mysteriously and easily as it had grown back.

Alopecia is a medical explanation for what I have.
The other explanation may be jealousy. I believe my father's daughters put a hex on me.
It's okay, you can laugh. If you don't believe in "hexes" or "bad juju" the subject can be pretty silly. The fact is that they dislike me to that degree. I could absolutely see them doing something like this. Outside of actually making me disappear from this earth, doing something that would hurt my looks is exactly their style.

It started when I was 26 years old. It was the day after my father made his wife and their two daughters apologize to me. I'd been visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday when some argument started. I don't remember off-hand what the argument was about but I'm sure it had something to do with my existence. The more I responded with calm and sarcasm the more they wanted to smack me. I could see the anger on their faces. I finally got up and said I was leaving. I didn't care if I stayed in a hotel or sat at the airport until I caught a flight back home, I was out of there. My father agreed to take me to my uncle's house until things calmed down.

The very next morning he picked me up and the only thing I know for sure is that his wife and their daughters apologized for the argument. My father then insisted I stay at the house again. I don't remember my father ever taking a stand on my behalf and so, I stayed.

After my shower the very next morning, his wife found a bald spot the size of a quarter on the back of my head; a very smooth, round spot. Within the next several weeks every hair on my head fell out. Just like that. I wore a hat until I couldn't hide it any longer and finally I bought a wig.

I will not downplay the fact that it is very difficult to live with. I put on a strong front, for one, no one really wants to hear a sob story but mostly because I know there are worse things to suffer from.

Still, some days I can't bare to look at myself in the mirror. Some nights I cry myself to sleep.
I get neck and shoulder cramps from not wanting to move my head much in case my wig moves too. The summers can be unbearable and winter winds scare the hell out of me. Whatever the reason my hair fell out, whatever insecurities I've suffered through because of it... I can't deny it's a part of who I am. It's helped me to rely on inner strength and gut instincts. It's helped me to weed out the wrong people from my life. It's even allowed me an intimacy many don't get to share with others. I think it's helped me to be a better version of who I might have been. I try my best not to question the manner in which this wisdom was given and to simply recognize the blessing of knowing who I am.

Last week I found a smooth, round, quarter size, bald spot on the front of my scalp. There has been more hair on my pillow in the mornings and today, while putting on makeup, wisps of hair fell into the bathroom sink. It's happening again.

This time I may be more prepared but it certainly won't be any easier.

If you're curious about Alopecia... try this site.
http://www.medicinenet.com/alopecia_areata/article.htm