A Big Fret and a Nice Surprise

I have been totally fretting about my dad. He was flat out sick with one infection and another all of last year, on one antibiotic after another. He'd get better, and then he'd get sick again. Last year was a bad, bad year.

(Hey, mom, if you're reading this, notice that I didn't say it sucked ass? One of my 2007 resolutions is to clean up my language.)

He and my mom were supposed to go on a variety of fun trips last year, all of which got canceled because of his health. And yesterday, they were supposed to leave for Hawaii, but his infection came back. Or maybe it was never totally gone in the first place. They're not sure.

And so he just went to the doctor again, and they just put him on Cipro again, for God's sake. But I just talked to him, and he sounds a lot better, and a lot stronger, than he has. He sounds more positive.

It's so scary to see your parents age. They were always bigger and stronger and, well, everything-er than me, in my mind. My dad in particular was always larger than life. It's probably healthy for me that he's not, but it's frightening and upsetting to see him feeling frail.

And that's my fret. So now for some fun news.

That guy called me again. The one who called me last week for the first time and into whose ear I bellowed profanities when I broke the bottle of Mania perfume. We're going out tomorrow night.

It turns out he didn't think I was a lunatic. He thought I was funny.

He also thought I was probably bummed to be in Philadelphia last weekend when the Eagles lost. He's an Eagles fan. I didn't tell him that Jane thought that the Superbowl was last weekend, and that I only had a vague sense that it wasn't.

We might not have anything in common. I have no idea; our conversations have been so brief. But he seems like a good guy, and he was undeterred by the weirdness of our first conversation. As I recall, he is big and cute, and on the phone he has this really delicious, deep voice. And a calm demeanor. Well, at least, compared to me.

He's a graphic artist. I've never, ever even gone on a date with anyone remotely artistic or creative. But if he can do a spreadsheet, and is even remotely uptight, well then. . .