Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (17 page)

Friday night we all cram ourselves into Ruby's car. We have to use Ruby's car because mine is, according to Sara, unsafe, and we can't use Sara's car because it's apparently too expensive to leave at the airport. So we cram into Ruby's small coup, me holding my backpack full of clothes for the week. I can't put it in the trunk because Sara decided to bring nineteen large over packed suitcases. And it was a struggle just getting those attached to the car for the trip to the airport. After endlessly searching and finally finding a parking spot, we all waddle over to get checked in. We have to waddle because it is hard to walk normally caring Sara's over packed suitcases. We left the car at 7:30 pm and it takes until nearly 8:45 for us to get past security. Apparently Sara didn't realize she couldn't bring a paring knife on the plane. Really? Really Sara you didn't know you couldn't bring a knife on a plane. And people call me stupid. What on earth does she need a paring knife for? If a millionaire loans you his luxury accommodations for a ski trip, you would think there would be a paring knife in the mansion.

As we are about to take off, I am visibly shaking, Sara hands me a purple pill. I look at her and she leans over and whispers "it will help you relax, at least until we're off the ground." I pop the pill, and then quickly fall into a deep sleep
. I dream about
Henry begging to take me back and me saying no. Him crying in the street, screaming my name while I walk away with a sexy swimmer whose only outfit is his tight tan little Speedo that leaves nothing to the imagination.

A jerk in the plane suddenly awakens me. I look around and see the passengers' panic stricken faces. I look up and see the oxygen mask is down. I frantically scan for Sara and see her taking photos of herself. "So they can always remember me!" Sara says posting her photos to the internet. I look over at Ruby and see she is speaking in tongue. She is thrashing violently and her hands are stained in what looks like blood. I notice people are now wearing their oxygen masks so I reach up and grab mine. Why did I sleep during the flight attendants explanation on how these things work. Oh, I do hope I have it on right. I hear the loud speaker click on.

"This is your captain speaking, please turn your trays to the upright position, kiss your loved ones good bye and prepare for a fiery death." Omega, we're going to die. The captain just said we are going to die. I make sure I am buckled in and reach over to buckle Sara. She seems to be the only one not affected by this madness. Ruby is now shouting some demonic prayer. I grab onto the cushion underneath me. If we land in water I need this because it can be used as a floatation device. Someone starts singing behind me. Suddenly the captain comes out of cockpit and starts shaking me. Oh my God, who is flying the plane?!

I suddenly awaken. "We're here." Smiles Sara.

"What?" I ask still feeling groggy.

"We just landed, let's go get our bags." She says with enthusiasm. She means her bags, mine was a carry on.

"But the plane." I said looking at the other passengers then whisper, "it was crashing."

"Only for like a minute, you woke up started freaking out so I drugged you again."Sara smiles. What does she mean again? How long as this been going on?

"So we didn't crash?" I asked, clearly overlooking the drugging thing. I kind of over look a lot of things, do I not?

"I don't think so, but then again, who knows" She laughs. We head down to get the luggage which apparently was on another plane so we have to stick around the terminal for two hours until it arrives. This is why I only bring a carry on people. Plus the airline charges so much per extra bag, who has that kind of spending money? Not me, that's who.

We get to this fancy cabin at the ski resort. This is by far the nicest place I have ever been. The rustic wood walls glisten with varnish. There is a real black bearskin rug on the floor. The couch in the living room is beaten into soft white leather. The fridge is state of the art stainless steel with matching kitchen appliances including but not limited to; the dish washer, the stove, the microwave and coffee
pot. The
coffee pot is stainless steel, how rich must you be to have a stainless steel coffee pot. It gets better, with an upstairs. Who can afford an upstairs? Rich people that's who. So yeah, all the bedrooms are upstairs, there are seven. Seven bedrooms and three of us. Sara, Ruby and I have a mad scuffle trying to
get the best rooms. Sara gets the mast
er suit and Ruby and I get the subpar rooms. There aren't really any subpar rooms in this gorgeous mansion. All have spacious accommodations. Deep plush carpets, 1000 count sheets (at least), huge comfortable beds, a sitting room, private bath, even a stocked mini fridge. It's like staying in a five star motel-I've never been in anything over a one star hotel, but, hey, I read a lot. It's just that some have more luxurious features than others. MY room overlooks the parking lot, how exciting. I'll have to go outside-or at least to the living room to enjoy the magnificent view. Poor me. We finally unpack and settle in for the night.

The next morning our ski instructor came to give us personal lessons. I don't know how ski instructors usually dress, but I have a feeling that this one shops at a different store than I do-hell, I know he does since my wardrobe comes from such upscale establishments as "The Roadside"- as in the side of the road and Goodwill. His outfit was lime green and his ski sticks had yellow tassels on them. He was wearing what I can only describe as a futuristic arrow dynamic sparkly purple helmet lined with white fox fur. So he gives us lessons and due to these lessons I will not be participating in Skiing. No, it has nothing to do with the fact that he seemed obsessed with smelling my jacket on and off for two hours. It has to do with the fact that I hate falling and going down a big hill at record speed isn't my idea of a good time. However, I will ride up with everyone in the ski lift and then jump on the coward's golf cart and ride safely down the hill. It's not really the coward's golf cart, but it is used for children who fall or get too scared once they get up on the hill. I feel no shame riding with children and their parents downhill. It actually sounds quit enjoyable.

We ride the rickety chair lift slowly up the mountain and because Ruby is the reincarnation of the devil she begins to rock the seat. Slowly at first, picking up speed gradually, until we are swinging up and down, up and down. I grab onto Ruby, she started this and if I'm going down I'm
taking her with me.
By that I mean I will position myself so I land on her if we fall to our deaths. I close my eyes and prepare to fall to my death clutching Ruby's shoulder. Because that is how people with fears think. Everything about their fears end in death. If the fall doesn't kill me then I will surly die of fright. Blinded by fear I didn't realize we were only five or six feet off the ground and I am suddenly aroused from my paranoid state by a tap on my shoulder. "We're here!" Shouts Sara and she jumps off the lift. I made it, I escaped death. Well, not really, but when your fears don't come true then it feels like you be beat death at its own game.

I ride down the mountain in the golf card after Sara and Ruby take off skiing. So I'm sitting on the back of the cart with two little girls, thinking about how I really want some nachos. Nachos are my weakness. I don't want to be a negative Nancy but does anyone else notice that I keep escaping death?

I was talking to a nice respectable guy who was pre-med. A doctor! He is going to be a doctor. He had short crew cut hair and a dazzling white smile. We agreed to meet at Gossip Coffee, this time I make sure I have money before I go. Oh, I hope he wears his white lab coat, oh, or scrubs. Oh, if he wore scrubs I would have to spend the rest of my life worshiping the ground he walks on.

I am waiting inside because the weather decided to upset my rental car with beach ball sized hail on the way over. Although it is clearing up I still would rather be safe than sorry. I find a seat near the back and see Ruby flipping me the bird from the cash register. What is wrong with that girl? Suddenly my man walks in dressed
in full scrubs. I just melt. Then he goes over to another girl and
sits down. What? I watch him quickly get up and then sit by me. I smile nicely and we start sharing pleasantries. Then out of nowhere he goes stone faced.

"I broke my leg in middle school." Harry says like he is telling me that my beloved grandma has risen from the grave just to be hit by a car when trying to cross the street to meet me.

"I'm sorry?" I say. Is this a joke? Why is he acting like it's the end of the world. Lots of people break their legs, especially around here. Safety code violations are often over looked for a fee.

"Don't be. It's just something I have to live with everyday" Harry says, then takes a flask out of his pocket and takes a sip. What is going on here? It's like I'm in the twilight zone.

"Is it still broke?" I ask looking under the table. I didn't notice him limping or anything.

"No it healed but the scar is still there." Harry says staring intently at me. Well, this is creepy.

"Oh I'm sorry," I say slowly. Now I get it, he is embarrassed by his scar; maybe he is worried I will shun him for it. Why do I keep rationalizing things that weirdoes on the internet do?

"The emotional scar in my heart." Harry says squeezing his left breast.

"Ok" I say slightly disturbed. Or turned on. Should this turn me on?

"It's just sometimes I look at other people living their lives and I think that could have been me." Harry says now gazing out the window. Are we in a play or something? What's going on?

"Is there a reason you can't live a normal life?" I ask, half expecting him to tell me some horrific life story.

"It's just traumatizing." Harry says then takes another sip from his flask.

"Oh, I see." I say, trying to keep the conversation going. He pauses so much it's really difficult.

"The worst part is nobody understands." Harry says leaning into the table.

"Understands what?" I ask.

"That I broke my leg in middle school." Harry says leaning back. Then he stares at me.

"That seems pretty straight forward." I say, trying to choose my words carefully.

"Have you ever broken your leg in middle school?" Harry asks, as if he is veteran asking me if I have even been to war.

"No,"' I answer honestly.

"Then you can't possibly understand what I go through on a daily basis." Henry says, and then drains several gulps from his flask.

"Is breaking your leg code for something else?" I
ask. It must be right?
It must be code for something horrible.

"I wish it was something else. I wish I broke my spine, and then maybe people would understand." Harry snaps banging his hands on the table.

"Are you saying you wish you were in a wheelchair?" I ask raising my voice unintentionally.

"I'm just saying that would have been easier." Harry scoffs, and then folds his arms across his chest.

"It would have been easier to be a quadriplegic than break your leg, which by the way has healed." I say accusing. I mean really? Does he really think that? That is insane. And he's a Doctor?

"They get special ramps, and people help them reach things that are on the higher shelves at the stores." Harry says finishing the contents of his flask.

"I'm not having this conversation." I get up and leave.

It's ok to be jealous of a quadriplegic, like if they slept with your now ex husband, but it's not ok to be jealous of a quadriplegic for the sole reason that they are quadriplegic. If I really have to explain what the difference is, humanity as we know it is lost forever.

"Usually when people don't post full body photos on their profiles that is because they are hiding their giant bellies." accuses Kevin. Who by the way does have a full body picture and he does have a flabby belly. What? He brought it up.

"I don't hide my protruding belly; in fact I implore people to poke it so I can laugh like the Pillsbury dough boy." I respond sarcastically. What? He calls me fat right off the bat because I didn't have a full body picture
. What am
I supposed to say? Oh, I'm so sorry let me post a full body picture and pray you think I'm skinny enough to be with your fat ass.

"Really?" He asks clearly gullible.

"Sometimes people rub it all around its big round shape and I tell them I'm Buddha." I reply.

"Really?" He asks getting excited.

"Sometimes when I'm out with friends I whip it out so it can talk to them in a Yoda voice." I respond.

"Really?" he asks.

"I let people talk into my belly button and they hear an echo." I say.

"Really?" He says; his growing excitement is overwhelming. Which is weird because he just previously acted like fat was bad.

"No, they sometimes hear the ocean." I say, now kind of hoping he likes me.

"You really are hiding your fat flabby belly?" He says mockingly.

"It may be fat and flabby but I'm not hiding it. In fact I'm feeding it right now." funny thing is he is morbidly obese and had asked me previously if I was ok pushing him around in a wheel chair because it was too hard to walk. Why do guys expect women to be stick figures but make no effort on sculpting their bodies at all? I can't tell you how many times I have been rejected by overweight men for the shear reason that I am not a size zero. It's despicable. I really think there is something seriously wrong with our culture.

Another bone I have to pick is people calling me bitchy. If I disagree with what a guy says, because he is giving false information, then he will write "don't get all bitchy with me." But if a guy corrects a girl, and it does happen, then it's like normal. No one gets offended. I think this is because guys are somehow conditioned to think that they are smarter or something. Let me give you an example.

"Actually, prisons were originally invented to hold men with different religions." Ben said.

"Well, I had never heard that, but I will have to take your word for that."