Monday, July 10, 2006

Butter Up To The Biscuit And Other Dish

The Biscuit and I had our first official date Friday.

He originally planned for our evening to start with an excursion to the always entertaining Jungle Jim's, but the convo started rolling so we decided to forgo that and just bide our time until our reservations at the Go Banana's Comedy Club. The evening continued with those intimacy building touches on the leg and quick kisses between jokes. I instantly felt a connection with The Biscuit.

The Biscuit said he'd call me as he left my place afterwards. It was enveloped in a mention about how his phone is still broken and he's super busy right now, so there's a tiny bit of me that wonders whether it was a gratuitous comment tossed out to make me feel good or whether he really will call me.

The Biscuit doesn't really strike me as a scammer type (total confession: Kate the Great has been fooled before) so I'm not putting a lot of weight into my worrying. The fact is, I think the guy might dig me and I know I dig him so I am just being patient and seeing where things go.

Gosh, he's cute...

I do have a little nugget to worry about, though. Before The Biscuit and I even made it to our first date, he told me he always had trouble making it to a second date with a girl. Something about how the girls he dates end up either being psycho or super needy or something. The comment is something to back up my niggling worries, but like I said before, I'm not biting my nails over this one.

Wait. My nails have already been chewed off...


I think The Biscuit knows I'm not really crazy or needy and that I have my head on straight.

I'll keep y'all posted on this one.

I went to the doctor's office today. The doctor's office. The annual moment that every woman looks forward to like a root canal. I was surprised I could get in to the office as quickly as I did. Normally a chick has to wait for like, a year, to get in to the doctor's office. I was shocked when I called in May and found out they could squeeze me in sometime in July.

It's funny, the things that run through your head when you're at the doctor's office. Thank God I painted my toe nails. Did I do enough grooming? Will any of this hurt?

I was sitting there on the table, waiting for the doctor to come in when I realized she would likely not see me in my normal clothes. To the doctor, I was just the patient du jour in a gown and a sheet. She wouldn't get a chance to check out my nice work slacks or my black, open toed stillettos. The good doctor would only be able to judge me based on the health of my body, my lifestyle choices and grooming habits.

It was kind of a strange thought to me, considering ours is a society that is consumed on judging people based on their outward appearance. "Who gives a shit if she smokes like a fiend and does coke like it's her job, Kate Moss rocks!"

In regards to my health, basically, everything's all good. But there are some problems with being a woman. I've got some ongoing issues that I won't get into here because I'm not a doctor and well, I don't really think y'all need to know so much about my reproductive health now, do you?

Essentially, I have a condition that I need to watch as it could lead to diabetes and other fun stuff. The doctor suggests I go on South Beach. I hate South Beach. If there were a church for carbs I would sit in the front row and be happy to break that wonderful, sweet bread with the rest of the parish.

The doc says as long as I stick with exercise and watch my sugar, I should be alright.

Being a grown-up sucks.

Remember when dinner was a frozen pizza and oreos for dessert?

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