Dr. Feelgood
Today I had coffee with a trumpeter-turned-acupuncturist. He liked my shoes (apparently boys like Chuck Taylors--been getting lots of compliments on them lately--a sign that I am no longer dating La Jolla asswipes).
He's writing his doctoral dissertation on the use of acupuncture to treat emotional and anxiety disorders. And I get to be one of his guinea pigs! Sometimes it pays to be insane.
He's really, really, really neat. A big giant teddy bear of a guy with a long ponytail and beautiful bright green eyes, Irish freckles on his wrists, and a pentacle pendant on a chain around his neck. I asked him about it--"Are you a pagan or a Wiccan or something?" "No, I do five-element acupuncture so I love the five-point star." Bummer, I was kind of thinking of getting back to my Wiccan roots.
Soft-spoken, gentle, mellow without appearing stoned. He's like a big Viking who decided to become a druid instead of going to war.
We're also going to exchange novel manuscripts and give each other editing notes. Yes, that's right, he writes, too. And teaches acupuncture in addition to practicing it. And writes jazz music--real jazz. Real jazz! He, like me, thinks "smooth jazz" is too overproduced to be authentic. He, like me, was raised without religion. He, like me, loves ethnic food adventures. He, like me, is a little bit of a hermit. He, like me, prefers interesting people to bimbos.
Reader(s), I have high hopes for this friendship. He exudes a sense of warmth and safety I have only found in a very few men. He has funny stories about treating men who have calf and butt implants. He is a trained cook. He thinks I'm lovely and inspiring. And he's going to poke me with big fat needles and make me bleed and bruise, just like my old acupuncturist used to do. It's the only treatment I've ever experienced that was so horrible yet so incredibly and immediately effective. Maybe in a year I will be free of the chains of this disorder! Imagine it! Free at last!
Hope is a thing with feathers...which is why I should never again date a man who kills birds.
He's writing his doctoral dissertation on the use of acupuncture to treat emotional and anxiety disorders. And I get to be one of his guinea pigs! Sometimes it pays to be insane.
He's really, really, really neat. A big giant teddy bear of a guy with a long ponytail and beautiful bright green eyes, Irish freckles on his wrists, and a pentacle pendant on a chain around his neck. I asked him about it--"Are you a pagan or a Wiccan or something?" "No, I do five-element acupuncture so I love the five-point star." Bummer, I was kind of thinking of getting back to my Wiccan roots.
Soft-spoken, gentle, mellow without appearing stoned. He's like a big Viking who decided to become a druid instead of going to war.
We're also going to exchange novel manuscripts and give each other editing notes. Yes, that's right, he writes, too. And teaches acupuncture in addition to practicing it. And writes jazz music--real jazz. Real jazz! He, like me, thinks "smooth jazz" is too overproduced to be authentic. He, like me, was raised without religion. He, like me, loves ethnic food adventures. He, like me, is a little bit of a hermit. He, like me, prefers interesting people to bimbos.
Reader(s), I have high hopes for this friendship. He exudes a sense of warmth and safety I have only found in a very few men. He has funny stories about treating men who have calf and butt implants. He is a trained cook. He thinks I'm lovely and inspiring. And he's going to poke me with big fat needles and make me bleed and bruise, just like my old acupuncturist used to do. It's the only treatment I've ever experienced that was so horrible yet so incredibly and immediately effective. Maybe in a year I will be free of the chains of this disorder! Imagine it! Free at last!
Hope is a thing with feathers...which is why I should never again date a man who kills birds.