debutaunt.com

The Dating Game

I'm interested in dating again (although not in Houston, Mr. Lonelyman4utolurve.)

Yah. I had cancer. So what?

1. Yes. It's *whispers* cancer. But I'm almost 2 years in remission. Don't act like I'm on my deathbed. You too could be struck by a catastrophic illness at any time. Or just get hit by a bus or croak from a stroke. *sing it gospel* No one is promised a tomorrow. Life is short. That which does not kill you makes you want to kill the person that came up with that saying.

2. I didn't have aborted fetuses transplanted into me. They are stem cells. Yes. I'm Catholic. No. not related to the controversy. And definitely no, am I not going to debate you on it. I don't even want to fucking talk about it, much less hear your theories.

3. Don't ask about the personal details of my hair loss. Have some finesse. I'll tell you if I want to.

4. Um. It wasn't my fault.

5. Yes, I know I'm a) unemployed b) on disability c) 40 d) a single mom e) living at home with my folks f) charming. Thanks for the reminder, jackhole. I'd trade all of it to go back to my old, boring job reading about mercury and PCB contamination in about .0000002 milliseconds. No, I don't want or need you to "take care" of my womanly desires. And no, I'm not going to talk about it to YOU!

6. No. The long hair pictures are old. Because I see myself like that. I refuse to acknowledge that I'm different because I remember who I was. (I actually was someone who loved/lived/laughed before leukemia slowed my roll). I have curly hair now. Yes. No. Don't ask. No more pictures for you, soup nazi.

7. Forgive me if I'm tired of talking about it to you. I'm tired of telling my "story" over and over to the random dudes of the internets that love me and want me.

Because [whinese] it's like going on a job interview that you know you aren't going to get but really want. And sometimes, just sometimes, you wish you could just not tell them. But you need to. It's kind of a big issue and splains why I am in situation a, b, e above.

Tonight was a perfect example of that. He found me witty and cute and sexy and kind (yeah, fuckers, I can be all of those), and I really wanted to just skip the whole... cancer thing. I wanted to be me again. The girl with the straight, long hair with a little sass; a little snark and a whole lot of deb_u_taunt. The mom's night out ass-shaker.

So we talked for almost an hour and a half on the phone (after about an hour online). And I could tell he really was digging me. He's a respectful person and a total sweetheart. Simpatico, yanno?

And then.. and then... I had to tell him because he asked one of the invariable questions that lead to this answer.

And I couldn't believe it, but I had tears in my eyes. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to ruin the connectedness I was feeling with him. But I knew I had to. It hurt to even say it.

And I felt terrible for dropping this giant relationship-killing bombo on him. But as I say, "it is what it is."

That. Is. Exactly. What. He said.

He said he will call me. Not to worry about it. But I could hear the familiar disappointment in his voice. After all, online, I'm peaches. Not so much in person anymore.

I miss the old me. I'm sick of cancer. I know you all are sick of me talking about it. But damn, I'm not getting past it when it comes to finding someone who can realize that it's not the end of me. That it's not how I define myself. I still have a Bit o' the Taunt in me.

[/whinese] Because there's no crying in cancer ass kicking.

He called. He's the one that's peaches!

Posted by debutaunt at December 18, 2007 07:28 PM