Thanksgiving Day 1998

This year I had decided to go to Costa Rica. I would spend Thanksgiving on the beach, thankyouverymuch. DD and her husband had plans to visit one of his sisters. They were supposed to drive from San Francisco on Wednesday and spend the holiday weekend in Los Angeles.

DD was pregnant with Bennett. He was due to arrive mid-January. Right before I left for Costa Rica, I threw DD a baby shower. I got Bennett the cutest little Giants outfit, complete with Giants booties. So. Cute!

DD was born with a heart problem and had open heart surgery when she was seven years old. Everything went along swimmingly until she was in her early 20s when she had to begin taking medication. Her friends didn’t realize the precariousness of her health. She never really talked about it and when it was brought up, acted like it was no big deal—she was fine. Really. Fine.

On Wednesday, DD just didn’t feel well and regrettably told her husband she didn’t think she could make the drive to L.A. Her husband called his sister and told her they would not be coming.

As the day progressed, DD kept feeling worse. It got to the point where she thought she should go to the hospital. Yes, she felt that bad.

Her husband took her to the emergency room. The emergency room doctor examined her and sent her home with flu symptoms.

Less than 12 hours later she was back in the hospital, Bennett was dead and DD was dying of toxemia.

DD and her husband were too devastated over the loss of their little boy to think about suing for medical malpractice. I bet they would have won that suit.

What follows is an undated journal entry from DD:

I feel like everything I look at—beautiful things that could fill me with happiness—now I only see them as fragments

As some pieces, shattered apart from the whole. Everything is incomplete, waiting for what is missing

I, too, am only some fragments now—some half-made thing with this part of me gone and I look and look but I can’t find it anywhere

I feel like I will never be whole again

I think of you all the time, DD, but especially on this day. I hope that, now, you are whole.

The Luxury Of Depression

I am depressive. Right now, I'm doing pretty well. In the past, not so much. I have been suicidal, spent thousands of dollars on therapy, taken anti-depressants and stopped taking anti-depressants, told everyone to kiss my ass, hid in my cocoon, came out of my cocoon, and live to tell the tale. It's not a pretty picture. If you've never been there you can't understand it. If you have, it's all too real. And all very bad.

I am also a Deep Thinker. I'm sure my Deep Thinking has contributed to my depression. I do my best to avoid Deep Thinking now, like I try to avoid The News, because it all makes me want to shoot myself.

I used to think that everyone Thought Deeply like I did. When I shared my Deep Thoughts, people looked at me like I had three heads. I've learned that not everyone is a Deep Thinker like me. And when you say to someone, after you've done as much Deep Thinking as I have, "I just want to die," people freak out and want to either a) run away as fast as possible, or b) want to call the authorities or your mother, whomever is closer.

But when you have knowledge of things like this, and this, and this, it's just not that hard to be depressed. (I didn't even have to look that far to find this depressing News. And, it's just the tip of the iceberg.)

But then you realize, at least you're not like this , or this , or this, or, sadly, this.

The mere fact that I live in the United States makes me one of the richest people in the world.

Through all of my Deep Thinking, and reading and hearing of so much News, I've discovered that I am just a big fucking pussy who has the luxury of being depressed.

The Weight Of It All

This is my normal workout routine:

Monday: Spin class and abs;
Tuesday: Upper body weights, yoga class, spin class and abs;
Wednesday: Lower body weights, Pilates class and yoga class;
Thursday: Spin class and abs;
Friday: Spin class, abs and 12-ounce curls.
Saturday: I might move. If forced.
Sunday: Day of rest.

As I'm sure you can tell by this rigorous schedule, I am incredibly svelte. My body is rock hard. It's just that you can't see the rock hardness of it because it's covered with a voluptuous layer of fat. My body is not bad for 40 years old, but with this schedule you'd think I'd be a size 4. Size 6? Size 8? Um, sometimes yes, and sometimes no. Most times no. Apparently I eat too much. And drink too much. And my metabolism ain’t what it used to be. Whatever.

But! I also have this genetic problem. Fat white trash runs in my family. I am forever fighting the urge to smoke my Reds while chugging Mountain Dew AND eating something swimming in gravy. Most times I win. Sometimes I don't.

I swear, if I only lost 10 pounds, I could wear everything in my closet. Maybe if the group exercise director changed the fucking group exercise schedule I'd lose those 10 pounds. I'm sure it's all her fault.

Click On This

As a follow up to my last post, here's an easy way to help the planet and all its animals.

Animal Magnetism

A few years ago, dogs really irritated me. Maybe it was E's two horribly-behaved dogs. They were constantly under foot, constantly barking, constantly in your way, and basically just a big fat pain in the ass. Dogs are needy. I didn't like needy. I didn't want anything needing me. Anyway, I've always been a cat person.

My feelings have changed about animals.

Now it doesn't matter what kind of animal it is. I feel for ALL of them. It makes me sad to see a dead animal on the road. A few months ago a squirrel jumped out in front of my car and I cried all morning over it. The boyfriend called it a "squirrelicide." Now, I pet all dogs. Even my friend's yellow lab who, up until now, I COULD NOT STAND. Talk about needy. Good lord.

I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm pre-menopausal. Maybe it was last year's adoption of my two adorable kitties--Mary Ann and Ginger. (Mary Ann is the brunette; Ginger is the movie star.) Maybe the boyfriend is right, and I'm actually starting to grow a heart. Whatever it is, over the past couple of years my sensitivity to animals has mushroomed. Stories like this one break my heart. Apparently China is now applying their "one only" policy to dogs as well as children. Authorities are going house to house, taking dogs and exterminating them. Where is PETA? Remember the hurricanes? I can't bear to think about all of the stranded animals. CuteOverload is now my favorite website.

Even though I've had a change of heart, I still love a good filet every now and again. Since my transformation, I figure I'm only partly horrible. And, I'll have a baked potato with that.

The Birthday Party

My niece’s sixth birthday was at the end of September. I was a little apprehensive about going to the party because a) my family would be there and b) I would see Bro #1 and didn’t know what his response would be to the letter I had written him.

The party was in a park and I got there a little early so I could help my sister set up. I saw that there was only soda to drink--no water. I told Sis I would go to the store and asked if she needed anything else. Yes, she needed a baby bottle. She had forgotten one for her youngest.

As I was leaving, the family began to arrive; Mom, her loser boyfriend, Bro #1 with his wife and son, aunts, cousins, and friends. I said hello to everyone and asked if anyone wanted anything from the store before leaving.

I was was not gone 20 minutes. When I drove back into the park Bro #1 was walking out. He seemed upset and I asked him if he needed a ride. He said, “No, I’m only going to Speedway.” I wish I would have told him to get in the car with me, but I didn’t. I should have taken that opportunity to talk to him, but I let it slip by.

When I returned to the group, I sat down next to my mother. She immediately told me that she had upset both Bro #1 and Sis by opening her big mouth. I said, "Mom, how many times have I told you, (mom and I in unison) 'never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut'"? “That’s what you’ll all say about me when I’m gone--that I could never keep my mouth shut,” she said.

When I moved home in 2002, I went to a huge Labor Day party and saw a lot people that I hadn’t seen in years. One of them was my college boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him since 1989, when I left him for another man--again. I had thought about him several times over the years and when I did, I thought of how awful I had been to him. I was young. I didn't know how to have a relationship, nor did I know how to end one. Seeing him had an impact on me. I didn't speak to him at the party. I didn’t know what to say.

The next day I visited my mother. I told her that I had seen him and how badly I still felt about the way I had handled things. A little while later, I left Mom’s and went to KG's house nearby.

I hadn't been there long when I got a call from Mom telling me that she had called my ex and he was on his way over to her house. I was furious with her and she was completely taken aback by my reaction. "I didn't expect you to react like this," she said. "How did you expect me to react"?, I spat back. My mother had orchestrated someone else's real-life drama right in her own living room and she couldn't wait to watch it play out. But, I was not going to let her have that satisfaction.

What the fuck was I going to do? Should I call Mom back and tell her to cancel her little party? Should I call him myself and apologize for my completely insane mother? Should I get in my car and run away? Should I ignore it all and begin the heavy drinking immediately? Should I see him? If I saw him, what the fuck was I going to say? Oh. My. God.

KG finally suggested that he meet me there, at her house. She said we could have the place to ourselves for a while.

He came over and we had a good talk. I apologized for treating him so badly and told him that my Karma had indeed come around. "That was a long time ago," he said graciously.

Within a month’s time he was engaged, and married for the first time the following year. I was glad I had the opportunity to apologize, but I was not happy with how it happened.

A day or so after the birthday party I was on the phone with my sister and learned what my mother had said to piss everyone off.

Sis is pregnant and her baby is due in January. Sis had not yet told her grandmother (my mom’s second-loser-husband’s mother) that she was pregnant. Mom had been dying to tell Grandma, but Sis had asked her, please, just don’t. About an hour before the party Mom and Sis were on the phone and Mom brought the subject up again.

“I’m gonna tell your Grandma that you’re pregnant if you don’t.”

“Mom, please don’t. Grandma is spending the night with me tomorrow night and I will tell her then, in private. Please don’t say anything to her. I will tell her tomorrow night.”

Guess who told Grandma that she has a new great-grandbaby on the way.

Hypocrite

I don't know which part of this story I like better. Is it that Ted is a rump ranger, or is it that Ted is a meth head? I just can't decide.

Apparently, taking (and/or giving) it up the ass is okay as long as you're not married to the person that is taking (and/or giving) it.

I hope one of these journalists asks the burning question in my mind: Ted, are you a top or a bottom?