New Year Resowho’s?

Well, that month just happened. I am so in fear of January that I probably shouldn’t even be talking shit about it while it is still the reigning month, or it will come over here and kick the shit out of my already bruised and exhausted body.

I mean, bad things were just rolling in, back to back. Even if they didn’t directly effect me, things were happening around me that were devastating other people.

To recap: a family friend and old teacher dies suddenly of a brain tumor, my dad goes into the hospital, he gets out and my great uncle dies suddenly leaving us all wandering around bumping into each other dazed and stunned, my dad starts behaving strangely, and we think it’s the grief and the medicine, but it turns out it’s an infection (probably from the hospital) that lands him back in the hospital, B blew up the engine of his truck, a client at work cancels her project because her sister died, a friend/coworker of my sister who is only 33 died, a guy in our small town stopped to help some people in a car crash and another car hit and killed him. All this with Haiti in the background, on all of our minds, and televisions, weighing heavy on our hearts.

During all of this I had an apocalyptic cold, ear infection and sinus infection, so I am sure that if asked to remember the details of this month they will be lost forever in a strange haze. I remember driving home from the hospital one day, so sick that I couldn’t even really focus, watching the rain roll down the car window and thinking: well, fuck.

Here is what does stand out: when my mom called and said she had bad news, I thought she was going to say something about my dad, and my whole body stopped. It was the weirdest thing, like you think that your heart will beat fast or your stomach will turn, but I literally felt all my processes just come to a stop. I was as still as I have ever been. And then when she told me our uncle had died, I didn’t even cry, even though my heart was breaking, because part of me was so fucking relieved that nothing had happened to my dad.

It happened again later that week, when I woke up and grabbed my phone and saw two calls back to back from my sister from 6:00 in the morning. Everything went still, and silent, while I dialed back and waited for her to answer. Her news was just that dad was back in the hospital, and it’s like I could hear things starting up again.

The price of that stillness, of course, is that apparently it expends superhuman energy, because after that I am exhausted.

During this whole time, my job is nuts. NUTS, you guys. I am not complaining, I asked to be challenged and I got what I asked for. It’s just that coupled with the drama in life, I have been going to work, working at a Wall Street type pace, and then coming home, eating, and going to bed. B’s birthday came and went, our anniversary came and went, both with promises to celebrate them later when people feel like celebrating.

Notice there is no room in there for my resolutions. My resolutions are totally mocking me. Lose 30 pounds? Gain 5 pounds! Learn to sew? Find a sewing machine cover to keep the dust out!

So I am declaring Feb. 1st as the new start of the year. I am going to pretend that January never happened. I am going to have champagne and toast to the New Year and wake up in the morning and say things like, “New Year, New Me!”

Then, I am going to celebrate B’s birthday and the day I married him, because if you ever have a month like January 2010, you should have a B by your side.

Proof of Life

The night B and I got engaged was the first night that my dad ended up in the emergency room. He hadn’t been feeling well for a long time, and I don’t even remember what particular symptom landed him in the ER that night, only that he was there and that was where I showed him my ring. It was not long after that he received a diagnosis of liver failure. He was given five years to live, though they didn’t tell us that then so as to spare us which ended up being just as stupid as it sounds.

It has been almost nine years since that day. There have been some ugly times since then. I remember when it got to the year point where we weren’t conceiving when I started to worry he wouldn’t make it to see my baby. The center of our family, the foundation of our lives, the decision maker, the sometimes tyrant – it seemed impossible that he wouldn’t be there.

He started drinking after twenty-five years of sobriety. It was uglier than anyone could imagine. I stood in the ER with him again when a doctor said he would live no longer than three months. I sat next to him while he filled out his Hospice papers.

That was over a year ago. He is off Hospice care now. He is sober. He is excited about my baby. But he is still sick. All last week he had a bad cold, and my mom pushed him to go to the doctor. Finally, Thursday night, he pretty much just stopped being able to breathe, and my mom had to call 911. They took him to the hospital and he is still there today, while they try to strengthen his lungs with steroids and get him well enough to come home.

Thursday was also the day of our first ultrasound. Proof of life. A little tiny bean, sucking its thumb, still as can be save for the flicker of its beating heart. Then, it waved at us. B and I gripped sweaty hands and stared up at the television screen and watched it come to life.

Later, in the same hospital, I took the picture to my dad. The same hospital I had shown him my ring in. I felt both blessed that he is here and sad that he was there. I just want him home, sending me funny emails about whatever fruit Baby Center says my baby is this week.

The next day B’s truck blew up. Now I have a terrible cold. I was about to bemoan the Universe, but how can I? I’ve got proof of life.

Dr. American Psycho

We had our first appointment yesterday, and I woke up this morning still not sure what I think of everything that went down.

Big news first. The doctor did a full pelvic exam, and I waited out in the waiting room. So when I saw the babymama again she said, “The doctor thinks I am 12 weeks pregnant, not 8 weeks, and that it may have worked the first time and we just didn’t know it. But she didn’t hear the heartbeat so we are going to have an ultrasound.”

Humanah humanah? How is that possible? She ovulated, we inseminated, she tested negative, she had a period. Then she ovulated again, we inseminated again, and she tested positive. I guess the doctor told her that she has about 20 patients who have a period the first month they are pregnant.

WAIT. That really happens? That isn’t just a myth that floats around in infertility chat rooms to torture the barren? Well, color me informed.

I mean, if she is 12 weeks, score, right? Four bonus weeks. Except the whole not hearing the heartbeat thing. The exact phrase I don’t ever want to hear. I know, I read in the baby book you can sometimes not hear it until 14 weeks, but motherfucker, I need proof of life right now. I want a goddamn picture of that fetus with today’s paper.

Do you like how I get all Tony Soprano when I get super stressed?

Anyway, so now we wait for an ultrasound.

In the meantime, I was so nervous about being at the appointment. I wasn’t sure how the doctor would be, you know? Some people look at me like I’m a Big Bad Uterus Implanter, like Babymama (I keep almost typing her name!) was tied up and inseminated and now must deal with the consequences and then force over her baby at gun point. RATHER: the one who volunteered and who is getting 10k.

So when we walked in the nurses cheered and said, “Yay! It worked!” and I was so relieved, but it was short lived because the doctor has the personality of a serial killer. She walks in (in horrible shoes) and says, “I am assume this is being done legally?”

No, bitch. I’ve got a gun pointed at her right now, it’s just under my jacket. Then she says she just wants to make sure because the hospital will not let me leave with the baby without the proper paperwork. I said, well my husband is the biological father of this child, and she said she still didn’t think he could leave with the child.

Now listen, we have lawyers. There is paperwork for this. It’s truly one of my biggest fears, to get that far and have some paperwork issue ruin what is supposed to be the happiest time for us. And Dr. American Psycho has just reinvigorated that fear less than thirty seconds into the appointment.

Anyway, the rest of the appointment was boring and uneventful, minus the whole, “I was pregnant and didn’t know it” episode that went down. I still think she is wrong, and we are at 8 weeks, but I guess an ultrasound will tell. And maybe we will hear a heartbeat, and I can fall asleep replaying the swish-swish, swish-swish, swish-swish sound in my head.

Happy New Year!

We decided to stay in the for the night, which ended up exactly as I had predicted: we had to fight to stay awake, the ball dropped and we kissed, rolled over and passed out. I’ve chose to interpret that as a sign that we are preparing for 2010: Year of The Baby.

Then we woke up this morning and after making coffee and feeding the dogs we brought our coffee and a movie upstairs and watched a movie in bed. We paused it halfway through and B went and got McDonald’s for breakfast, which we then ate IN BED. It was amazing! I haven’t had McDonald’s breakfast in years, and we never eat in bed. We are living the high life, people.

I am usually much more resolutiony that I am this year. I think more than anything, I’ve been reflective. This was a weird year for me. I didn’t work most of the year, so there was this constant underlying financial stress. Then there was the infertility heartbreak, which was for sure in its hardest year. Despite those two major things, though, I had a really good year.

We worked on making our house a home, painted and tore stuff out and I had my first garden. I learned to knit and started blogging more. I had an AWESOME summer, spending a ton of time at the farm with the boys and my parents. Brandon and I lucked out scoring an amazing vacation right on the river in Bend. I kayacked. We took long bike rides, I made amazing food, we saw a ton of good movies. I made some awesome, darling friends. I spent a good chunk of fall taking walks with my nephews and taking pictures of everything, we watched movies outside, and then right in the last gasp of the year, I got a job and a pregnant babymama.

I learned some things too, and I think they are important ones. I learned to tap into a well of patience I didn’t know I had. I became more comfortable in my skin. I realized that I had been holding myself to impossible standards for far too long, and that no one else expected perfection from me. I learned that having a messy car or dishes in the sink just means that you have a messy car or dishes in the sink, not that you have a soul deficiency. I have at least become aware of the fact that I am too hard on myself, even if I have not yet mastered not doing it.

Here is the thing: someone offered to carry a baby for me. I am humbled by this gesture. My number one resolution this year is to be the mom that my babymama believes that I will be.

I would also like to keep track of my other resolutions here, because I’ve found that when I share things here I do a better job of making them a priority.

* Lose 30 lbs by the time the baby is here.

I am still at the point in my life where I cringe at photos of myself. It’s a terrible trait to have, and I would like to get to the point where I feel as physically comfortable in my skin as I have emotionally felt. I think that 30 lbs puts me a good number, not too thin, but healthy. By my math that means I need to lose 3.75 lbs a month, which is cake. I am going to work out 4 days a week, and not be obsessive about it. Usually when I start to get in shape it goes like this: I decide I should lose weight, I go to the gym five days a week for three weeks, then become despondent because I am not yet running a marathon. See also: hard on myself. I just want to be healthy and take some good photos.

* Stop worrying so much.

This one is rough, you guys. I am programmed for worry. It’s like breathing for me, but my doctor laid it out last visit and said that I could start putting myself in real danger with bleeding uclers if I don’t figure out a way to deal with this. My fear is that the worry will only become worse with a new baby and parenthood, so I would like to whatever it takes to address it soon. I have been resistant to medication, and not for any reason other than I didn’t want to keep throwing pills at problems. I totally believe in the power of medication and support taking it, I guess I just kept hoping that it would go away. So I am going to give it a couple of months and then make a choice.

The thing is, looking back on this year, I realize what a waste of time the worry is. It did me no good. It didn’t find me a job sooner, it didn’t change my fertility . . . it just made me sick to my stomach. It seems really silly, and like such a waste of time.

* Read more.

I did have this as read a book a week, but then I realized I am perhaps setting myself up for failure considering that in August a tiny little human being is going to be relying on me to sustain its very life, and I can’t very well tell it to hold on while I finish my chapter.

The subsection of this goal is that I want to keep track of what I read, so I fired up my Goodreads account and am going to try to be diligent with that. When I can figure out how to share it on this site, I will.

* Blog goals

This blog has been good to me, and this next year I really want to post more regularly and perhaps even give it a little facelift.

* Crafty goals

I want to learn how to quilt, knit a baby sweater, and sew some swaddling blankets.

I want to make Chocolate Babka, and I want to bake bread.

* Miscellaneous Goals

1. Redo the living room
2. Redo the pantry
3. Add on to the back deck
4. Do the misc. finish work around the house
5. Hang the awesome light I got from Ikea two years ago
6. Have a murder mystery dinner party
7. Get out of my comfort zone more often
8. Do one thing I think I can’t
9. Walk the dogs more
10. Spend some quality time at the beach

I think that’s all for now, but that is quite a lot, no?

I hope you all rang in the New Year happy, healthy, and excited for 2010.

Mind = Blown

It turns out that a picture of a positive pregnancy test renders my brain a big pile of spinning cells that can’t make connections and/or sentences. It’s staggering really, the whole concept that sperm + uterus = baby is an equation that I truly didn’t grasp. We are getting these weekly emails about what is going on with the pregnancy and each time we read it our minds are blown.

Me: Your baby is six weeks old. It has buds for arms and legs -

B: ARMS AND LEGS? IT HAS ARMS AND LEGS? AMAZING!

Me: Apparently so! And GET THIS: last week it was a sesame seed and this week it is a legume. A FUCKING LEGUME, HONEY.

B: What the fuck is a legume?

Me: I don’t even really know, but it’s way bigger than a sesame seed!

This goes on and on, there is no piece of information that seems less earth shattering than before.

Under all of it, of course, is this current of fear, this holding of breath, waiting for the doctor appointment where there can be official confirmation, sounds of heartbeat, a party with cake . . . whatever it is they do at a baby appointment. Our babymama is so chill she is like, yeah, I will go in at about 10 weeks, they can’t really do anything but give me another test until then. I’m thinking LET’S DO THAT! Let’s take more tests! Do you have to pee now? And then I have to remind myself that she is creating life for me, and I need to back up out of her bidness and let her do her good work.

My sister had her Christmas with that side of the family last week, and so all night I knew my babymama was at my sisters, and it was killing me. My sister called later and said: Great news! Your babymama is broken out and super bitchy, and she was like that when she was pregnant with a girl last time! My poor babymama! She is cranky and broken out and we are all HUZZAH IT’S A GIRL! GET PINK CIGARS!

On top of all this insanity, the day after I found out she was pregnant I got a job. A high stress, deadlines all the time job. It’s harshing on my Christmas buzz, I’ll tell you that much. I really like it but it was all so much at once that I’ve been like a kid that has too much activity and just needs to have some quiet time.

I have these little, fleeting moments of grace. It’s all deadlines and stress and presents and money and nerves and then, like a little zing, this little ray of peace shoots across it all. I just keep trying to hold on to those longer and longer.

My thoughts were so loud I couldn’t hear my mouth

I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long. The truth of the matter is that I don’t know what to say. I have, for maybe the first time in my life, been rendered speechless:

That, my friends, is exactly what it appears to be. It is a positive pregnancy test. I KNOW, RIGHT?

I’ve been so torn, so sick about what to do. It is so early to be telling people, but you all have been through this whole journey with me, and prayed for us, and loved us, and so you should know: my babymama is pregnant.

Seriously: OH. MY. GOD. What do I do now? Besides get a prescription for stomach acid inhibitors?

Oh, yeah! THE BLOG.

Things went from regular to batshit crazy so fast around here, I can’t even tell you. I applied for a job, had an interview, and started within three days. So while I spin from that news, here is what I’ve been forgetting to post latley:

Pictures!

Me and Mom at Thanksgiving:

My nephew and his cousin (my babymama’s baby):

The boys, looking dorky while they fried turkeys:

The next day, decorating our little tree:

Then, craft day with my mom and sister. We made thread trees, they were a hit:

Then, decorating the mantel, my favorite part:

And making the famous Icebox Cake, always a hit:

Oh, right! My barren womb!

Sometimes I forget that I am supposed to be keeping people updated on my baby situation.

Update: womb still barren.

No, seriously, you guys! Infertility is serious! The serious news is that we are waiting for the right number of days to pass before my babymama can take a test and determine if the second insemination worked or not. So really, this is the lamest update yet because there is no update.

I’m much more nervous this time. B has the date we are supposed to test front and center in his mind, but I purposely have blocked it out, making it fuzzy so I can’t fixate. Because really? Either she already is or already isn’t, so focusing on the date we will know that doesn’t really help biology.

Meanwhile roughly (and this really is just a rough number) 4 out 5 people on my Twitter feed are pregnant. Which is lovely, I really never begrudge anyone the miracle of life. Yet, I do claim the right to tell you in an honest way that IT SUCKS to read about how @chickidon’tevenknow is soooo hungry lol.

Sometimes I catch a hint of this anger, the screaming unjustness of it all, and I have to swallow it back. I was doing some research the other day and one of the books I came across was a prayer book for infertile people, with different questions to ask God. One of them was whether or not God has cursed women who can’t have babies, or if past sin has prevented them from the blessing.

I don’t think I have to tell you how much this pissed me off, but I’m going to go ahead and take a STAB at it.

Everywhere I look there are pregnant people, and I would say that less than forty percent of those people are people equipped to handle a baby. Fucking teenagers, cracked out druggies, people who already have more kids than they can handle, etc. These people are better than me, in God’s eyes? My God doesn’t roll like that, and neither do I.

I’ve done things wrong, I have. I’ve broken a heart. I’ve lied. But I take Starbucks to the road construction crews every winter too, and I always put my shopping cart in the designated return cart area instead of leaving it the parking lot like a total dick. So I really, REALLY would appreciate it Mrs. Judgy McGoderson and her fucking low rent Amazon prayer book would back the shit out of my barren womb.

Ahem. Back to chocking back the anger! Do you see what I mean? Under the surface is this simmer, and I worry, I worry, I worry. I worry that I don’t have the fortitude for this fight. I worry that I am wasting my life fighting. Living in this in between world is not for the faint of heart, it is hard and it is always present, and it is a hollow, knocking feeling, like my heart is a pair of tennis shoes in a dryer.

I always remind myself that things could be worse, and they could. Such terrible things happen every day. But living your life being grateful that your suck is less than the national level of suck is no way to live either.

And since I’m baring my soul here, I’m scared. I’m scared that I will end up like Aunt Glady’s from Home for the Holidays, alone and batshit crazy and a burden to everyone and trying to give away lamp shades. We live in a society where on some level, people believe that there is something wrong with people that don’t have children. That’s just the truth. And I think some women just decide not to fight it, the stigma. They wave a white flag and get a bunch of animals so that they have something to love, and then they slowly retreat out of sight.

And then, the end of this post. In which I tell myself and therefore you that I believe we will have a baby, even if I don’t know how she will get here. If I pray for anything tonight, it won’t be to ask God to forgive me of the sins that caused my infertility, it will be for the courage to wait for the baby that I know is coming. That is how you keep the faith.

Bloggers! Cookies! Interviews!

As you may remember, Neil Kramer, of Citizen of the Month, relaunched the Great Interview Experiment, which asks, “”Wouldn’t it be cool, if for one day, we really did believe that everyone really did have an important story to tell online?” All of us that put our name in were given a blogger to interview and a blogger that would interview us.

I was interviewed by Carmen of Mom to the Screaming Masses, and then I interviewed Natalie of Midlife Natalie. Then, the person who was supposed to interview Carmen never followed through, which is totally their loss because learning more about her has been a highlight of my month. I offered to take over the interview and, well, here you go:

1. So, six kids! Was that always the plan?

Well, yes and no. According to my husband, I told him that I wanted a big family right after we got married. I don’t remember or believe it. I love kids, though, and so it just seemed like a good fit. I have two sisters and my mom did day care, so there were always about 8 kids around. It was a lot of fun. I wish, though, that someone had told me two VERY important facts about big families: how much time I’d spend at the doctor’s office, and how much STUFF there would be strewn around my house on a daily – make that hourly – basis. I can’t tell you how much stuff I toss away, just because I’m tired of telling them to pick it up.

2. In your “100 Things About Me” list you mention the big tattoo on your back. What is it? Did you ever get another one?

It’s on the bottom half of my back – an area that my lovely niece has so eloquently reminded everyone in my family is a tramp stamp. The middle is an Irish Trinity Knot, for my Irish heritage, and from hip to hip is Ivy (for fidelity) and four pink flowers (for 4 girls children) and two blue flowers (for 2 boys). I have another tattoo – 7 pink hearts on my neck – and I’m planning a third to cover a large scar from melanoma on my arm. I don’t know what it will be, though.

3. You also mention that you read magazines front to back. Which ones?

No, I read them back to front. Just about every magazine I get – except for Real Simple, because, thanks to the cheat sheet that they put in the back, it’d spoil the entire thing. I’m a big magazine junkie – it’s a big bone of contention between me and my husband. I really like Women’s Health, Shape, Prevention, Redbook, Cosmopolitan, and probably a bunch of others that I’ve forgotten.

4. What is the number one lesson that you have learned from weight loss?

That it never, ever, ever stops. I thought that once I lost weight, it’d be over and done and I could just move on to the next thing. But there is no next thing. Weight loss is tough, but maintenance is even more difficult. It goes on forever.

5. You are a pretty prolific blogger. Where do you gather inspiration?

I spend a lot of time online, looking at other blogs and reading Twitter and Facebook. I also talk a lot, read more than that, and have a VERY active imagination and mind that just.never.shuts.up.or.off

6. Name the first five places you visit when you log on.

Facebook, Twitter, Blogher, Gmail and a handful of blogs. There’s not one that comes out ahead of any other.

7. What is your favorite part of Love, Actually?

I love the scenes between the porn stars, where they are getting to know each other with social small talk while simulating sex acts. My favorite scene, though, would have to be at the end, when you see everyone’s story lines wrapped up in the airport. That scene is equal to Keira Knightley opening the door to find Andrew Lincoln holding a set of cards proclaiming his love for her. The entire movie amazes me and there is so much to enjoy that I never grow tired of it.

8. What does a typical day look like for you?

I wrote a little about a typical day here. But, really, no day is typical. I spend a lot of time online, cooking and doing laundry, and those are the only two constants in my days.

9. If you were trapped somewhere for a long time, would you rather have a book, television, or Twitter?

A good book. My favorite series is Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. I have read the entire series at least 10 times and never ever grow tired of it. If I couldn’t pick a book, it’s probably be Twitter.

10. You mention that the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe has been elusive. Any progress?

Yup. I found the best cookies ever. The recipe came from the New York Times. It’s a fussy recipe, requiring that it be chilled for 24 hours before baking – and I struggle here, because I can avoid the baked cookies easily, but the dough gets me every.single.time. I also don’t worry about using the disks that the recipe calls for, but I break up one Ghiradelli 60% dark chocolate bar into chunks and use half a bag of milk chocolate chips and then a 1/4 bag each of dark chocolate chips and 1/4 bag of semi sweet chocolate chunks. I think that the sea salt and the mix of chocolates, as well as the refrigeration, are what makes the cookies.

New York Times Chocolate Chip Cookies
Adapted from Jacques Torres

2 cups minus 2 tablespoons (8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt (your best)

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day.

***

So there you have, it you guys. An introduction to a fun new blogger, and a chocolate chip cookie recipe. I’ve made them, so I can vouch for their perfectness.

Like I’ve said before, I’m a giver!

Embarrased

When I was a sophomore I was in love with a boy a year older than me, and he was a twin. We went out for a while, but then his stupid desire to like, “see the world” won over, and he was soon off to live in Brazil as a foreign exchange student.

I was all kinds of devastated, so I did the obvious thing and started dating his twin. His twin was not quite as cute, not quite as outgoing, but he had two things going for him: he had shared a womb with the boy I loved, and he was in love with me. Like, foolishly in love with me. I feel terrible about the whole affair now, really, but that is for another day.

So it was the first night we were going out on a real date. I was all done up and ready to go, and he was late. I kept walking up to the door and looking outside, expecting him to be there any minute. An hour later, and I was Pissy McFumerson. I called The Best Friend, and was like, “Woe, woe, woe, dire, dire, woe, what should I do?” and she suggested actually calling him to see where he was. This was before cell phones, so I called his house and got his answering machine and didn’t leave a message. For whatever reason, just hearing the stupid answering machine message made me more angry, so I called The Best Friend back and didn’t really even let her say hello before I launched into a tirade that was something like this:

“Who the HELL does he think he is? What the FUCK is he doing? HE IS TWO HOURS LATE RIGHT NOW. What a DICK. I should have have known he would be like this, he probably knows deep down inside that it’s his brother that I love and he is doing this to get back at me. Well! WELL! He is stupid! And UGLY. And I hate his ASS FACE. And I’m pretty sure I caught of whiff of bad breath when he asked me out. SICK. Like, brush your teeth LOSER!”

Then there was a really long BEEEEEEEP.

“Do you have another call?” I asked The Best Friend.

“No, do you?”

“No!”

“That sounded like . . . “

“NO!”

“I think it was the . . . “

“DON’T SAY IT!”

“Dude. That was the fucking answering machine beep.”

See, it was back in the day of three-party calls. Remember those? When you called Friend A and then “hung up” and called Friend B and “hung up” and then you were all magically connected?

I had basically hung up when the answering machine picked up and in my huff, called The Best Friend, therefore connecting us and recording my entire sixteen year old bitchy teenager rant.

Oh. My. God.

There was nothing I could do. I mean, it was on his parents answering machine. I didn’t even know where he was.

So about five minutes later, he pulls up. His hair is disheveled, he face and hands are dirty, he has no jacket on, and he is apologizing profusely. He got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere and had never changed a tire before and had to do it in the dark.

Just when I thought I couldn’t be a bigger asshole, right? I mean, the least he could have been doing was a bunch of hookers and some blow or something, so that my angst had some justification.

So I’m like, “Oh, your poor thing! It’s ok, come in, get a glass of water*, and hey! Why don’t you call and erase your messages because I had a private conversation on your answering machine by accident, and it was PRIVATE, and I don’t want you to hear the things I said, so can you just be nice boy and erase it? Or punch in your code and let me erase it?”

He agreed to do it, and I was so happy. I was just breathlessly waiting for him while he called his answering machine and then his mom answered. I could only hear his end of the conversation which was, “What? Really?”

Fuck.

So yeah, his parents heard the message. They played it a lot. I was totally the butt of the joke. He still wanted to date me (yikes!) but the twin, the one I loved, was not so enamored. What was the point anyway? I wouldn’t have ever been able to show my face in front of those people.

*As I tell this story I don’t know where my parents or his parents were. I mean, my parents were never gone, and this story all plays out like a Gossip Girl sequence or something, wherein there are no adults and we are pouring ourselves a drink of brandy from the crystal decanter on the sidebar. I assure you, my parents were lurking around somewhere. HANGING THEIR HEADS IN SHAME, no doubt.