Masterminx

I went to the optometrist this morning. I don't know if I mentioned this, but I have been having a hell of a time getting my eyes to focus on anything when I get home in the evening. I can't see my computer screen (the primary one is to my left, and it's hopeless), I can't see a bird on the wire above the parking lot well enough to tell what it is--and these are not long distances. Forget about the TV. It has been frustrating.

I thought it might be fatigue or eyestrain. I worried that my left eye was getting worse. Lord knows, I can't go much farther into the negative numbers on my prescription without them shrugging and handing me a white cane. Minus 8 in each eye sucks enough, thanks.

So, here's a funny thing. The reason I couldn't see shit was that my vision had actually improved over the last year, to -7 in the right eye and -7.5 in the left. A miracle! Praise Jesus!

No. It's because I'm getting old. The natural growth process of the eyeball causes it to shallow between the pupil and the center of the retina, as we age. We become far-sighted. Hence, in my case, my elongated, myopic eyeball is starting to shorten. Does this mean I will be miraculously cured in the course of time, even for a short while? Fuck, no. It means that I will be wearing bifocals to correct both conditions, barring the advent of some sort of cure.

The doctor tells me I won't need them for another ten years or so. Small favors. He also told me to never, ever, ever rub my eyes because it damages the sclera and causes the motion of the eyelid blinking to tear at the tissue. It sounded so violent, the way he said it. Can you imagine how often I rub my eyes in a day? WTF ever.

I got some of those new-fangled disposable contact lenses--a year's worth, plus the free pair I got to pop in before I left. They have the eyeball equivalent of new-car smell. I can see, clear and sharp, but I can't feel them in my eyes. My old contacts were starting to take on a mucous-like feeling in my eyes. I could feel them bob slightly when I blinked. Bleh.

Still, I'm developing one of those headband headaches. I don't know if it's caused by the adjustment my eyes are trying to make, or if my withdrawal symptoms are getting the better of me.

The shunned addiction? Carbonated beverages. I had to give up my twice-daily Coke. I figured that I need to lose about 100 pounds, and I'd start by eliminating simple things that I won't really miss. So, goodbye to all soda. The daily caramel latte is also out. The unfortunate side effect is that I don't have a readily available source of caffeine. Owie head.

I complained of this ailment to CoolBoss, and he said, "Allow me to introduce you to Mormon coffee." He then plunked a bottle of Excedrin in my hand. One did the trick. There's a reason he's the CoolBoss. I wish I had some Excedrin, right about now.

While the boss is cool, and we get along well, he's got a lot of traits that keep him in the gender-neutral realm for me. 1. Married, 2. ten kids, 3. he has told me amusing anecdotes about when he got his PA (NSFW). I get a little queasy at the thought of that--not because I'm a prude, but because I have sympathy pains. Besides, I have enough junk in my trunk.

So, ick. He's cool and we can be friends--his wife cracks me up. But KJ...he doesn't get this. He has this maddening insecurity and is quite certain that I am the answer to all of CoolBoss's needs in a woman, and he is vice-versa for me. He drives me nuts with that talk.

I honestly don't get the self-esteem thing. He is what so many want or at least fantasize about. He's the quintessential construction worker with the muscles and the tan, the long, long legs and the quick smile full of mischief. He's got a heart of gold and luscious eyes, and dimples. Dimples! God. I know what else he's got, and I am sure any other woman would notice it creeping down his leg, past the bottom of his button-fly. He radiates kindness and fun and crazy manliness. He is beyond beautiful. Those who know him know the beauty of his soul, and that makes him ten times more attractive.

Still, he's certain that I will figure out that I can do better, and leave him to be with some computer nerd. Why? I don't get it. I just keep telling him to knock it the fuck off. If anyone should be worried, it's me. After all, look at me.

We had this argument over dinner at Applebee's last night, exchanging quiet little one-line statements. Before that kicked in, I had a weird experience with the waitress. I ordered a beer, and she looked at my ID in a funny way. I assumed that it was because of my Arizona license. No, she said she knew me. She knew my name from school. I told her which high school I attended, but she shook that off. It was junior high school (grade 7-9, here). We attended the same junior high school in 8th grade.

She told me her name, but it didn't ring a bell. She looked like the Jade Fox from Crouching Tiger. I shrugged it off, because I didn't want to get into it. The only thing I was known for in the 8th grade was trying to kill myself. Can we not reminisce about that one? Yeah.

I guess this was the week for that. On Wednesday, I was running late for work, with my caramel latte in hand, when I passed the banquet room. I spotted a guy at the end of the table, and I knew that I knew him--I just couldn't remember his name. He looked exactly the same as he did when last I saw him in 1992 or 1993. Since the people in there were just milling around, I got his attention so I could say hello.

This guy was never a love interest of mine, he was just a buddy. We worked at the same grocery store, and he gave me a ride home, once in a while. He was a nerd then, and still is. Big nerd. However, I give him huge props for being gracious beyond belief.

He came up and shook my hand, and I could tell he had no idea who I was. I said my name, and he lit up. He gave me a big hug, and said, "Oh, you changed your hair!" Bing! Award for you, buddy. My hair. No mention of the 100-plus pounds I put on since the last time he saw me, or the fact that I was standing there with no makeup on and looked like shit.

He told me about his family, his kid, his real estate business, and life in Lehi. I felt old, and muttered a few things about school and being a geek. I remembered that we never had that much in common, and felt awkward, making small talk. It was very surreal.

He was the kid that told me one of my all-time favorite dirty jokes. That's about all I remember.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about how shocked he must have been to see me like this. What he knew before--the 108-pound, long-haired, blue-eyed incarnation of sex--has died. All that's left is the name, and a schlub to bear it.