If I was married to a rich awesome man like Paul, I’d stay home barefoot and pregnant and never stop smiling. She is ungrateful.
I think Paul is 100% correct about Cole. A baby can’t be with his mother every single minute and then suddenly hardly see her for two months and not have it royally mess up his head. Margaret is Cole’s whole universe! He eats from her body! Plus it’s hard for a man, no matter how good he is at taking care of babies, to do it alone. They only have so much patience. The fathers, I mean. The babies have pretty much none. That’s why for Cole’s sake I will give Paul as many hours as he needs.
We did not discuss the ten bitter truths today. He forgot about them and I was too shy to bring them up. Besides, the whole day was one!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Why are so many of you writing to me like you’re brilliant detectives who have uncovered the most spectacular scandal in the history of mankind? I admit it, okay? I’m infatuated with Paul. There, feel better? Shit, you don’t have to be a genius to figure that out. But what does it matter? Why even mention it? I’m not Jade. I don’t bone every guy I am attracted to, and I sure as hell don’t bone guys who are taken. (Remember, I didn’t find out about Martine until it was too late.) But even if I was the kind of girl who slept with married men, no way would Paul do it. I’m 18 and he’s 44 and he’s my boss.
Margaret got home late today, closer to 7:00 than 6:00. She and Paul were nice to each other but I knew they hadn’t recovered from their fight. Their smiles were phony. I acted all chipper like I didn’t notice anything was wrong. Before I left, Margaret asked me if I was really going to be okay working so many extra hours. I said absolutely yes, not a problem.
Then I got brave and said “What about you? Are you going to be okay being away from Cole for so long?” She looked scared for a sec then said “I think so.” I started to get my coat but she stopped me and said “This is an important client, Katie. He’s the first person who hired me when I was just starting out. He’s sent a ton of work my way. It’s the only reason I agreed to it.”
The whole thing felt weird. Why was she defending herself to me? I’m just a kid. I smiled really sweetly and said, “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”
Phone ringing. Somebody loves me. Stand by.
Just Joel. He has texted or called me at least 20 times since our talk on Saturday. I never get back to him but he doesn’t give up. In his messages he says he is worried about me and just wishes I would let him know I’m alive. That’s such bull. He just wants to have another heavy talk. I am blowing him off because I haven’t called a psychiatrist yet.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Paul hung out with me and Cole today from about 12:00 until 3:00 when he went upstairs to check his email. Except for little interruptions when I had to comfort Cole or change his diaper, we talked pretty much the whole time. We discussed many topics but mostly my favorite one. Me!
You won’t believe the risk I took. I told Paul the truth about my recent depression. Crazy, I know. At first I just told him that there was this 26-year-old guy named Dan I used to fool around with every couple of weeks and that he dumped me and it really hurt my feelings. When it was obvious that Paul wasn’t judging me at all, I told him Dan’s true age (32) and then I slowly added more and more details. When I finally revealed the fact that Dan and I had actually made love, Paul looked really shocked. But before he could say anything, we heard this pretty little sound. We looked over at Cole’s basket and saw him laughing for the very first time. (He laughs when he is dreaming but this was the first time awake.) The laughter came out of him almost like hiccups. The most innocent darling sound you’ve ever heard. Paul was so happy there were tears in his eyes. He is such a sensitive man!
I went back to my story. When I got to the final phone call when I told Dan that he could call me for sex anytime he wanted, Paul shook his head and said “Sweet little suburban Katie. A vixen. Who knew?”
I asked him if vixen meant slut.
He laughed. “I would never call you a slut. The day I’m perfect I’ll starting judging other people.”
I pretended to be really disappointed. “You mean you’re not perfect?”
“Nope, I just look perfect. At least I did until Cole was born. Then I stopped going to the gym.”
He slapped his stomach and we both cracked up.
It might be just my imagination but I think after this talk Paul immediately started seeing me differently. I was walking to the fridge to get a Diet Coke and I caught him staring at my ass with a really serious look on his face.
Jade just texted me: Missin’ you, girl! I wrote back: Die, ho!
LATER: 10:38 p.m.
A reader named CohenEliza sent me a pic of two cute little mice having sex on a mousetrap right near the cheese. The bar is pulled back, ready to crush them in two if they move even a millimeter. In the subject line she wrote You and Paul. You’re pretty funny, CohenEliza. Shame about the slysdexia, though.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Hahaha! I just woke up and look at this hilarious email I got!
My sweet Katherine, I would like to add something, if I might, to the discussion of you and Mr. Spooner. The following took place in the summer of 1979, when I was twenty years old, vacationing on a nude beach on the Greek isle of Corfu. I was sitting at a taverna one day, sipping a lukewarm Orangina, just about to tuck into my daily dose of moussaka, when I spotted near the shoreline two mongrels humping in the noonday sun. Bravo, I thought, at least someone’s getting some tail! After twenty seconds or so, the male reached his climax, but when he turned to run for his life (as intelligent males will), he discovered to his horror that his engorged member was stuck in the bitch’s posterior. A frantic tussle ensued, and presto, change-o, the unfortunate lovers were now standing tail-to-tail but still connected! A crowd formed as the male cried out in anguish. The more desperately he tried to free himself, the more profound his agony and the greater the interest of the crowd. This went on for endless minutes until at last the beast’s member shrank to a manageable size and he was able to slip free. The crowd cheered and clapped as the poor mutt limped under an awning and licked himself silly. Well, you’ll never guess. The very next day at the very same hour, he was at it again. Same beach, same bitch, same result. The idiotic creature had learned nothing from his trial! May Mr. Spooner prove to be more intelligent than that dog. I wish you a painless separation. Your biggest fan, GAHumbert2.”
Hilarious, Mr. Humbert from Georgia, but you should not assume that just because Paul and I enjoy each other and I caught him looking at my ass, that we are going to have sex. If I had sex with every man who liked my ass, I would be dead of AIDS.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Last night Merci Gregoris called and invited me to go out drinking, which surprised me because the last time we spoke she basically called me an embarrassing alcoholic. Since I’ve been a really good gyrl lately (in case you hadn’t noticed), I said okay, even though I hate her.
I met Merci at a loud sports bar that smelled of throw-up. She was sitting on her gigantic ass at a round table with two other silly sorority twats and four ginormous dumb jocks. So that’s why I was invited. They were one twat short! I knew if I was going to have any fun with these losers I would have to create it for myself, so I slammed a shot of vodka before I even said hello to them. Then I let them buy me two more.
Pretty soon the whole place was spinning like a merry go round and I had totally forgotten every problem I ever had and would ever have in the future. I got really loud and obnoxious and meanly funny, which no one found hilarious but me. Since I am much smarter than they are, this is not surprising.
Later I escaped and started hunting for a cute boy to kiss. I found one standing alone at the bar, holding a bottle of beer. His name is Nick Dempster and he told me he was 22 but I knew he was lying. I would say 27. He is an inch shorter than me, with longish hair parted in the middle and round glasses. He look
s like young John Lennon, with bigger ears and very pretty blue eyes. Almost like a girl’s. The next thing I knew he and I were hardcore making out against a wall. Then we were walking down the street holding hands. Then we were in my Volvo and he was driving. Then we were back at his little apartment having sex. These are like separate scenes from a movie. I have no idea what connected them. Which is weird. I wonder if he put something in my cocktail because usually when I drink I remember everything or nothing. This was somewhere in between.
Anyway, right in the middle of the sex I started thinking about Rory. I almost never think about him. Suddenly I felt terrible that I cheated on him. I started crying into the pillow. And then I started thinking about Dan and how I would never kiss him again and I started crying even harder. It was almost like I wanted to feel as bad as I could! What was pretty disgusting is that Nick Dempster never stopped pumping me the whole time I was bawling. When he finally finished I barely noticed, because I was too busy thanking god that I haven’t done anything sexual with Paul. I knew right then that I never will. It would be inexcusable.
I woke up this morning with a brain tumor headache. I opened one eye and looked around. One of the walls had an ugly abstract painting hanging on it. There was a bong tipped over on the dresser. Through the window I could see an icicle drip drip dripping in the painful sun. I rolled over and saw Nick waking up. He ran a hand through his hippie hair.
“What do you know?” he said, smiling at me. “No pterodactyl syndrome.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you know what a pterodactyl is, don’t you?”
“Some sort of machine?”
“A giant dinosaur bird with wings fifty feet across and giant teeth.”
“Okay.”
“The pterodactyl syndrome is when I have sex with a girl for the first time and the next morning I wish a pterodactyl would come crashing through the window, grab her with its big feet and drop her in the lake somewhere.”
“This happens a lot?”
“Yeah. But not with you. The last time it didn’t happen, I ended up dating the girl for almost a year.”
“Lucky her.”
I was being sarcastic. He didn’t notice. He got up to pee and I watched him walk to the bathroom. His butt was okay but he had love handles. Definitely 27. I thought about the night before and this is when I first wondered if Nick had slipped something into my drink. For breakfast he made us milk shakes with banana and honey which he said had potassium and glucose to make hangovers vanish. I drank it in about three huge gulps then chained three cigarettes. Keep smoke alive! My hangover did not go away.
At the door he started kissing me with his banana breath and telling me how gorgeous I was. If I could have puked into his mouth I would have. I couldn’t believe how much I hated him. Walking to my car I looked up at the dead white sky and wished there was a pterodactyl up there to carry me away.
• • •
I’ve felt sick and sore all day. Why didn’t I just drive home once I knew there was no way I was going to have fun? I should have just curled up and read a book. I am still only of Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead. Did I really think getting wasted and boning a stranger was going to make my life better?
Right now Mark Aubichon and my mom are sitting around the kitchen table planning their wedding and laughing their happy asses off. I hear them down there. What could be more depressing?
I wish I had never given Nick Dempster my phone number. I am almost positive he slipped something in my drink.
LATER: 9:18 p.m.
Nothing to do tonight so I stayed home and regretted.
Your emails today have been full of hate, judgment, crude humor, accusations and insults. I know this is the price I pay for being honest. Still it’s hard to take. From now on I will delete all emails the second they turn cruel.
Just so you understand that I am not a total waste of space, I did something very cool recently. I wasn’t going to blog about it because I was afraid if I told you when and where I did this thing, you would figure out what state I live in. But I will leave out all specifics. What I did was volunteer for Barack Obama! (I have misspelled his first name many times and not one of you corrected me. Dummies!) I woke up at 5:00 a.m. and drove really far to the place where the speech was going to be. My job was to show people to their seats. My reward for doing this was that I got to hear him speak in person close-up. When he finally arrived and the crowd began screaming, stomping on the bleachers and clapping their hands to “Yes, We Can!” my whole body shook with excitement. I trembled along with the sea of inspired people. When he finally walked across the stage I was like a deranged groupie. I started screaming and reaching out my arms to him like he was my savior. He is skinny but really gorgeous. He made a touching, awesome speech. On the news I was in front of the flag behind him and to the left. Sorry I can’t tell you which speech it was or which news. Paul was amazing to let me go do this. He was proud of my service, he said. He even paid me for the hours I missed!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Nick Dempster left a romantic message today like we are boyfriend and girlfriend. Only thing is, he got my name wrong. What a spectacular douche. I will not call him back.
Super Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Obama did awesome tonight in the biggest day of elections ever. He didn’t beat the crap out of Hillary, but he tied her and for an unknown black man that’s pretty huge. The only tragic and embarrassing thing was that I didn’t vote! You’re going to want to strangle me at how stupid I am but no one told me I had to register first! I went down to the school all proud and excited to vote for the first time and I was totally humiliated.
I yelled at my mom “Why didn’t you tell me I had to register before I could vote?!”
She said “Sweetie, it never occurred to me. You’ve never shown the slightest interest in politics.”
I said “I’m not interested in politics! I’m interested in Barack Obama!”
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Joel Seidler texted me at work today, begging me to have dinner with him. I should have just said no. It was a horrible, painful night. I feel like crawling under my duvet and sleeping forever. It started off okay. I told him everything that happened since the last time we talked. Even though I knew it was pretty cruel, I told him about Nick Dempster. I did it for two reasons. One is that when you tell a male friend about slutty sex with another guy it’s a way of telling him that you would never ever have sex with him. (If Joel and I are going to be real friends he must know this.) The second is that I thought maybe he would say something to make me feel better. Like “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Every girl has stranger-sex at least once in their lives.” That sort of thing.
Instead he thought for a long time, staring darkly and blowing smoke, then said “Were you sexually abused when you were little?”
WTF? Not what I’d expected! I laughed. Sort of. More like a snort. I was thinking “Dude, what planet are you from? Get over your Jewish self.” I personally know nine girls in my high school class who have either been molested, date-raped, raped or incested. And I have always been really thrilled not to be one of them. Whenever I see grown-up versions of them on TV crying over what happened to them 20 years ago, I’m always like “Yeah, it sucked. Men are shit. I get it. Time to move on, babe.” Joel just assumed from my snorting reaction that my answer to his question was “Hell no,” so he flicked his cigarette and started to think harder, like maybe there was some other reason why I’m such a crazy bitch.
While he was thinking, I started remembering some really disturbing stuff that occurred when I was little. It’s not like its stuff I forgot about. I just never thought it was very important. It was like a dirty story you heard that happened to somebody else. Or memories of an R-rated movie you saw by accident one night on TV when you were too little to understand it. Or something you fantasized about when you were stoned and the next day you aren’t sure if you imagined it or if it rea
lly happened. (Does this even make sense?) Anyway, while Joel was thinking, I realized these memories weren’t some cool secret. They were serious. Then the question was, Do I tell Joel or continue to keep it private? I think maybe he saw this question on my face, because he started saying “What? What? What?”
So I told him what happened. Every summer when I was little we used to rent a cabin on a lake. Our next door neighbor was named Mr. Silaggi. He was a chubby Hungarian man with a squashed button nose like Santa Claus and a thick accent. He used to sit around all day in his bathing suit and black knee socks. The summer before my parents got divorced my dad quit drinking and hid our TV in the garage. He wanted no distractions because he was going to write a book about the worst injuries in sports history. My mom had just lost my baby sister (she was born dead, two months premature). She was so depressed, she didn’t really care about no TV But I did. A lot.
Whenever I got bored, which was almost every day because there were no other kids around, my mom sent me next door to watch TV with Mr. Silaggi. Mrs. Silaggi would serve us lemonade and little folded-over Hungarian cookies with prunes inside. Whenever Mrs. Silaggi left the house, Mr. Silaggi would put me on his lap and stick his hand in my bathing suit bottom. He would rub me and squirm around underneath. I didn’t really know what he was doing but I knew that even though it felt weird and good, it was not allowed and if I told my mom about it, she would never let me watch TV over there again. So I didn’t tell her or anyone else.
Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries) Page 14