Hangovers & Hot Flashes

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  “I hate it when you do that.” Cara tells Michelle. “And this goes for all of you… the idea that because I’m with a woman, we must not have problems is beyond absurd. Zoe, do you really think that I don’t miss the first kiss? Next time you’re on urbandictionary.com, look up ‘lesbian bed death’. And Lauren, do you really think that co-parenting with a woman instead of a man is that much easier? Because last night we had a three hour throwdown over public versus private school, and, apparently, I’m an elitist bitch. And Vanessa!” she yells up to the platform, “I have no idea what the rules are about who gets to ask who out in a lesbian relationship! Rebecca and I made out in Zoe’s guest bathroom the night we met!”

  “What?!” Vanessa screamingly asks, leaning towards us, and putting up her left hand to her ear to try to hear.

  “Wait, really?” I ask. They’ve been together nine years. First I’ve heard of it.

  “Yes. And she still wants to fix your broken tiles if you ever want to upgrade your bathroom.”

  “Wait, you broke tiles?” Kayla asks Cara.

  “No, we bought the place with broken tiles," I am forced to admit.

  “Wow. You are so lucky Rebecca is handy," Lauren tells Cara. “All Zach knows how to do is call a guy.”

  Cara puts a fist on her hip and her voice darkens. “Once again – another stereotype.”

  “Cara, before you get too huffy, remember you got her a gift card from Home Depot for Christmas," Michelle points out.

  “It was not Home Depot, it was our local hardware store. And that’s not the point.”

  “Isn’t it?" Michelle retorts.

  Cara and Michelle have known each other since high school. So they’re at a level where Michelle feels comfortable starting a politically incorrect battle.

  “Did the boys start school this week?” Michelle asks Cara.

  “Yes.” Cara answers in a What’s your point? tone.

  “And who filled out all of the school registration paperwork beforehand?”

  “I did.” Cara states emphatically.

  Michelle considers that. Comes back with, “Okay, fair enough. Was there a list of school supplies you needed to buy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And who bought them?”

  “Becca.”

  “And did she get everything on the list, in its entirety, including proper colors and sizes?”

  “Of course.”

  “And did she take the boys to get lunchboxes and backpacks, even though neither of those things are on the list?” Cara opens her mouth to respond, but Michelle quickly keeps talking. “And did she know that Brandon likes Batman but Dash still likes The Incredibles…”

  Cara once again tries to speak, but Michelle speaks louder. “Which she knew she would have to order from Amazon a couple of weeks ahead of time? And did she do that when everyone was asleep? Right before she made lunches for summer camp?”

  Cara narrows her eyes at Michelle, who smirks. “The defense rests.”

  “You’re still stereotyping,” Cara insists.

  “Is it stereotyping if it’s positive?” Lauren asks.

  “Yes. Yes, Lauren, it is.”

  “Come on!” Vanessa yells to Alex. “You are the last person who lets fear rule her life!”

  “It is not so much fear as a healthy trust in the laws of physics!” Alex counters, still clutching the bar for dear life with her front paws and feet. “I keep seeing that Newton equation for gravity in my head! You know the one with mass 1 and mass 2 going at each other like a wife and a mistress at a trailer park?!”

  Vanessa yells to her, “If you let go! I’ll buy you a drink!”

  “I can buy my own drinks, thank you!”

  “How about dinner?!”

  “Can also buy my own…”

  “And I’ll let you see my driver’s license!” Vanessa promises.

  Alex lifts her head up over the bar, intrigued. “Weight and age?”

  “And my real hair color!” Vanessa offers, sweetening the deal.

  Alex immediately lets go, screaming the entire way down. As she crawls on the net to climb off the side, our instructor tries to give her some quiet encouragement. Lauren is up after Vanessa, so she trots over to the ladder to scurry up to the platform.

  Alex is back to us in a few seconds. “Okay, so we were talking about guys. What did I miss?”

  Cara recaps our conversation of the last few minutes. “Michelle hit on three men this week, all of whom were flirting with her like crazy until she became unattached, and are now ignoring her. So when we go out tonight, everyone’s number one priority is to get her laid.”

  “And teach me how to use Tinder," Michelle adds.

  “Right. Vanessa will do that. Zoe has apparently lost her goddamned mind and is sending her hot husband out to a bar. So our second priority is to get her kissed.”

  “And maybe I could borrow someone’s email address and look around Ashley Madison," I add.

  “No. The answer is ‘no’,” Cara tells me firmly.

  I give her a pouty face while she continues, “Kayla is bowing out of our bar night, probably because she is the sanest member of this group...”

  “I like to think of myself as the white sheep of our little family," Kayla jokes.

  “As do we. And we’re back to you, Alex. So once again, Connor is the playing the ghost of relationships past, only this time he’s added some spice to the mix by sticking you, of all people, with a dog. And yet somehow you got an age appropriate man out of the deal.”

  “I don’t have him. I just found him. Truthfully, I don’t know what do with him yet.”

  “And Alex has the floor," I say, wanting to hear the latest gossip.

  Alex melts from Type A bitch to fifteen year old girl in a record three seconds. She looks up at the sky, as if she’s trying to remember something, then says, “Um… okay. He’s a widower, has three daughters, one of whom is awesome, Kris. Other two are in college. I asked Kris what his deal was and she says he’s not dating, but trust me, he’s gotta be. And…” Alex looks to Kayla. “What do you know about female Viagra?”

  Kayla’s eyes widen, but only for a second. “That many patients have asked me about it. All of them male, asking for their wives or girlfriends.”

  Cara looks confused. “Wait. Don’t you have female patients?”

  “Of course.”

  “And yet none have been…” Cara begins.

  “Not one. Usually, it takes all of my self-control not to say to the guy, ‘You want to know why your wife doesn’t want to have sex with you anymore? Rubbing her belly once and whining about how long it’s been does not count as foreplay!’”

  Alex shrugs. “Well, the point is probably moot. But I sure like hanging out with him. And… also he’s the first guy in forever who I’m not unconsciously comparing Connor to. It’s refreshing. It’s like… I’m not thinking about John as an antidote to get me over Connor. I’m just thinking about John.”

  Unconsciously comparing men. I remember when Tom and I were doing our on me/off me thing, I constantly compared every guy I dated to him. And the weird thing was all of them were better. They were happier, they were nicer to me, some of them were cuter. And yet, I always went back to Tom. It wasn’t until I met Carlos that I truly forgot about Tom.

  My thought is interrupted as we watch Vanessa flip off her bar, do a flawless somersault in the air, then effortlessly catch the instructor’s hands as he hangs down from his feet on the other trapeze.

  “How the Hell is someone our age still that flexible?” Cara asks, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

  “Oh, our age! That reminds me!” Alex says, “I gotta go grab her wallet before she retracts her offer.”

  Twenty

  Alexis

  You know, I know that you’re a middle child and as such always avoids confrontation. And I know that you don’t want to deal with me or the dog. But to not answer me back at all is disrespectful, unloving and unkind. Fuck off Connor!<
br />
  I look down at my phone screen, poised to hit Send.

  Then I delete it and type:

  Tunny misses you. I do, too. Please call me.

  I suck.

  After we finished our trapeze lesson, (and by “we” I mean “they." Because there was no fucking way I was ever going to sit on anything that high ever again unless it was a first class seat during takeoff). Lauren, Kayla and Cara went home to the loving bosoms of their families. (Okay, in Cara’s case her oldest was vomiting, so she went home.) Which left Michelle, Vanessa, Zoe and me to dress (not so) slutty, and try to pick our way through the trash heap of losers drowning their sorrows at a Brentwood bar known for it’s middle aged clientele.

  God help me.

  Why did I agree to join them? Uhhh… let’s see… Because I have a crush on a guy I have no shot at, I have an ongoing head fuck with another guy, and I have another guy (the dog) who I’d rather not deal with this evening. Why not add another lame stud to my stable?

  So to the bars!

  If you want to swim like an Olympian, you don’t just jump into the water, splashing around aimlessly. You get a coach. If you want to learn the rules of upper middle class dating in middle age, you get Vanessa.

  Vanessa is a reporter for a financial news network, and until today, no one knew her real age. She tells everyone she’s thirty-four. And until today, I totally bought that.

  I did not divulge her real age after I saw it. Instead, we made a deal that if I kept my mouth shut, she’d hook me up with her dermatologist. Silence well spent.

  Vanessa has one thing the rest of us don’t: she is irresistible to men. Yes, she’s beautiful and successful, but there’s this other quality she has. I can’t put my finger on it, but it makes men not act like themselves. Maybe a fur lined… well, never mind. The point is, she seems to know how men think, and as such, is now holding court with the three of us to give us pointers about attracting the less fair sex.

  “Rule 1: Don’t show your cards too early. No mentioning of kids, mortgages, ex-husbands…” She points to Zoe with a slight eye roll. “Or current husbands obviously. Rule 2: Always… ALWAYS… let the guy come to you. If he does not have the balls to come up to you, you should not be sucking on those balls. Rule 3: There are a bunch of sites that will tell you to think outside the box, and to not let things like the guy being two inches shorter bother you. That’s bullshit. Unless Peter Dinklage walks in, you are not dating a dwarf. Rule 4…”

  As Vanessa continues, my phone beeps. I look down to see a text from Kris.

  Your living room toilet exploded. I swear I didn’t do anything. Dad is coming over now.

  “Noooo…” I groan to my phone.

  “I’m sorry," Vanessa argues. “But if a guy is sporting rolled up jeans or a man bun at forty-five, he’s got to go.”

  “Not that," I tell her, immediately standing up. “I have to go. My dog walker just texted me. Apparently, my toilet exploded. And her Dad is on his way over.”

  “Wait. John?” Michelle asks excitedly, sitting up straighter. “Kris’s Dad? The one you have a crush on?”

  Another text beeps. “Noooo...” I repeat to my phone. Then I point to Michelle. “I mean yes. But shit, he says he may have to snake my lines.”

  Zoe begins, “Man, I wish a guy I had a crush on would…”

  “Stop it! It’s not funny! He’s going to find… God knows what he’ll find. I gotta go.”

  And I book out of there.

  Forty minutes later, I have pulled into my garage, and am racing into the kitchen to get to my guest bathroom toward the front of the house. When I walk in, I hear a bass thumping, and a woman’s voice crooning from my speakers…

  One… don’t pick up the phone. You know he’s only calling ‘cuz he’s drunk and alone.

  I miss the next line, but as I walk through my house, the woman continues to sing/advise me…

  Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning. And if you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.

  When I get close to the bathroom, the stench hits me, and I almost throw up. It smells vaguely like the Portapotties from concerts in my youth. Nooooo…

  As I approach the guest bathroom, Kris turns down the music, and walks up to me quickly, holding a towel around a very wet, freshly washed Tunny like he’s a newborn. “I swear I did not flush any tampons down your toilet," she tells me with all kinds of seriousness.

  “I told you not to mention the tampons!” I hear John growl from my guest bathroom.

  “I’m sure you didn’t," I assure her, trying to stay calm as I quickly assess the situation: my hardwood floors just outside the bathroom door are covered in bright white Frette towels. “Quite a mess here. Thanks for cleaning up. Although I have beach towels in…”

  Kris grimaces. “Oh, believe me, I already used those. They’re in the wash. I used the kitchen towels, too. It was quite an explosion.”

  And John was here to see all of it. Fantastic. Well, it’s been less than a week. How attached could I be?

  John emerges from the bathroom, looking so hot in a T-shirt and jeans that a little part of me wakes up despite my mortification (and my menopause). “You need to sue your contractor," he tells me. “What kind of idiot redoes three bathrooms without snaking out the lines or replacing the toilets?”

  “Uuuhhhh… Me?” I say, wincing a little in embarrassment.

  John looks surprised, so I quickly rush to explain, “Well, everything was just costing so much money. And you want your money to go to production value, not studio overhead.”

  He furrows his brow, looking at me blankly. “She means she wanted the money on the screen," Kris clarifies.

  “Yes!” I say, gratefully pointing to his daughter while looking at him. “Why pay for new toilets or sewer lines when the wow factor is coming from the marble counters?”

  John takes a moment to absorb my statement and collect himself. Eventually, I get a, “Fair enough. Toilets aren’t that hard to install. My truck’s out back. Let’s go to Home Depot and get you three new toilets.”

  “There’s a Home Depot open at eight o’clock on a Saturday night?” I ask, surprised.

  “Eleven," he tells me. “Let’s go.”

  We quickly leave Kris and the dog and are soon driving down the PCH in his pickup truck. “Thank you for this,” I say once we’re loaded into the car and on our way. “Let me know how much I owe you.”

  John smiles. “You don’t owe me anything. Think of it as my way of paying you back for being so nice to my kid all week.”

  “Well, that’s been easy. She’s great," I tell him truthfully.

  He smiles.

  And then we’re quiet. I start patting my lap nervously. Look out the window. Honestly, I have no idea what to say to this guy. How is it I can be so good at talking to people at my job, yet so bad at talking to him?

  “You can put on music if you want," I suggest awkwardly. “I really liked that song you were listening to.”

  He turns to me quizzically. “What song I was listening to?”

  “You know, the one about don’t be his friend or you’ll sleep with him?”

  John laughs lightly. “Oh, that one," he says, amused. “The I Will Survive of my daughters’ generation.”

  “Really? Who sings it? Maybe I should download it.”

  “Dua Lipa. It’s called New Rules. Just do me a favor… don’t play it a zillion times and study every word like you’re studying the Bible.”

  I giggle. “God, who actually studies the Bible?”

  He appears startled, so I backtrack. “I’m sorry. Do you study the Bible?”

  “Ummm… well, not all the time. But I have. I took a comparative religions course in college. You have to study the Bible for that, among other works.”

  “Oh," I say, taken aback. “So, do you… like… go to church all the time or something?”

  He tilts his head back and forth quickly ever so slightly, trying t
o decide if I’ve insulted him. “Not all the time. But yeah, I go to church most Sundays.”

  “Huh," I let escape.

  “Bit of judgment in that ‘Huh.’”

  “What? No, I’m just surprised. Most men only go to church if their wives drag them.”

  “Well, I did have a wife who dragged me for many years. And her funeral was at our local church. So yes, I still go. What about you? Ever hit church?”

  “Sometimes. Midnight Mass mostly. My sister Lauren usually drags me to the Midnight Mass near her house.”

  He nods. “Well... If ever want to join us for Midnight Mass, Our Lady of Malibu is gorgeous that time of year, and the priest usually gives a pretty inspirational homily. Are you Catholic?”

  “Episcopalian," I say, then immediately qualify my statement. “I mean, you know. Kind of. But I like Midnight Mass.”

  He smiles. “You should come. Kris would love it.”

  “Kris is amazing," I begin.

  And we spend the rest of the car ride talking about his kid.

  Which was fine. Because despite toilet explosions, stray dogs, a hideous dating resume, and a possible harem to battle, I have a date.

  Granted, not until Christmas Eve, and I will have to ditch my family to go, but a date nonetheless. So my night is looking up.

  Twenty-one

  Michelle

  I was starting to envy Alex and her abrupt departure. If it were a regular girls’ night, I’m sure Zoe, Vanessa and I would be having a great time. But instead, Zoe and I have been sitting like wallflowers in a corner booth, and I feel like a pimply teenager at her first dance trying to figure out how to talk to an equally awkward teen. I hate dating. Truth is, I didn’t like it the first time. How am I going to go through all of this heartbreak and trauma a second time?

  “What about that one?” Zoe asks, pointing to a blonde with thinning hair.

  I think I physically recoil. “He’s practically bald.”

  “You don’t think he’s got a Prince William thing going on?”

  I make a face. “I don’t want his Prince William anywhere near me.”