One of those breakups

It was the one night The Ex said he would be back in town, and though we had made plans to see each other weeks before, he was avoiding me. "It's my mom's birthday and I don't want to leave the house," he texted. This irritated me, as I had been in an optimistic mood about our meeting all week. I called him and told him I could just come over and hang out, that it didn't have to be a huge deal.

"I just don't know if I can be around you as friends yet," he admitted.

"Okay," I said helplessly. "I can understand that."

"But... I really want to see you," he continued.

Ugh... "So...?"

"I guess I want you to come over," he decided.

I felt fine until I turned onto his street. When I called him, he texted me to say that he was taking pictures with his family. I parked across the street from his house and held back tears as I looked through the front window to see his entire family posing together in the dining room.

Shit, I thought. Should I leave? I watched as the camera flashed and they all broke apart. I can't leave now; I already insisted on coming and called him. What if somebody comes outside right now and sees me pulling away? How bitchy would it be to convince him to let me come over and then leave and say "Poor me, I can't do this"? Shit. I turned the car off. I looked at the house again and remembered how familiar it felt to pull up to this exact same view.

He called and I told him I was parked outside. "Okay, I'll come out," he said. I got out of the car and promptly dropped my keys on the ground under my car.

"Ahhhh crap," I muttered, bending down to find them in the dark. Actually, I was glad to have a distraction so I could delay looking at him. When I finally straightened out, he was right next to me. We made very brief eye contact, then hugged quickly.

"Hey, how've you been?" We both asked each other.

"Good," we both answered and started walking toward the front door.

... This is where we should be holding hands, I realized. "Is this going to be awkward? Being with your family, I mean?"

"I don't know," he answered. Obviously... dumb question, TAB I reprimanded myself.

"I mean, just... because I didn't know until the other night that you had even told them we broke up. Is everyone okay with me?"

"Yeah, of course, TAB." Great, everyone loves me still. That'll help.

We entered and I said hi to the dogs first, who ran to greet me. Then The Ex yelled to everyone that I was there. His older brother came downstairs and we hugged, then his younger brother and sister came over and hugged me. I said hi to his mom, stepdad, and older sister in the kitchen while they lit the candles on his mom's birthday cake. (I know, big family)

"1, 2, 3... Happy birthday to you," everyone started singing jovially. I barely held back tears while we all sang (seriously, who cries when they sing happy birthday?) I started to sing "dear mo-om" when that part came up, then quickly changed to her name. Soooo awkward, I thought, still not looking at The Ex.

Then as the song ended, his entire family made the most hilarious jokes so that I was instantly put at ease. His mom and I talked, his brothers and sisters told me stories... everything was fine. Except that we were standing two feet apart leaning on opposite sides of the hallway.

As people drifted to the living room, he offered me a seat and we listened in silence to everyone else's conversations. After a few minutes, he turned to me and quietly asked me to go upstairs with him. "Okay," I said quickly, hoping to clear up this awkward tension.

We got upstairs and found that no public space was free, so we invaded his little sister's room. "This is awful," he confessed immediately. "It just feels wrong. I want to put my arm around you or hold your hand, and I can't."

"I know," I agreed. "Same here."

He reiterated that he still wanted to be with me, which made it even worse for him. "Why can't we just live in the same place?" He mumbled dejectedly.

"Maybe we can see each other when we're both in town... I just don't know if now is the time, since this is so new. Especially since neither of us are really free, so we wouldn't even have time to be together."

"I felt fine until I saw you," he told me. I agreed; for a break-up from a 3 year relationship, I had been dealing with it spectacularly. No calling in to work sick, no pints of ice cream, romance movies, or crying. Not even any bad moods really. "Now, when I see you, I miss you. This is why I can't hang out just as friends. I don't want to just be friends."

We were unable to finish our conversation because his sister was coming upstairs, so we tried to find another place. We ended up on a couch in the garage, which was freezing. He said something to me and I nodded, but all I could offer was "I'm fucking freezing."

Frustrated, he brought me back inside where we sat in the living room surrounded by his family. Eventually, we said a few innocent words to each other.

"Oh, is that your new laptop?" I asked. He nodded. "Can I see it?"

He passed it to me and we showed each other a few Youtube videos and chatted. Then I typed in the Internet Explorer address box: "Do you want to talk more at all?"

He noticed a few moments later and wrote "I guess..."

"I really miss you," I wrote.

"I miss you too." He thought for a moment, then: "Do you want to leave?" I pondered, and laughed when he mumbled something and added on: "with me?"

Did I really want to go outside in the cold and talk about serious things, and possibly leave having caused more trouble than I set out to (which was likely, since I hadn't set out to cause any trouble at all...)?

"Sure."

Pregnant

In a horrifically realistic dream last night, I was pregnant. Not in the "oh-my-gosh-the-test-was-positive" way, either. I was 8 months pregnant.

And I had the cutest belly ever. Every now and then I became aware of my pregnancy; usually when I was drinking diet coke (a no-no), coffee (shit, that has caffeine in it too!), or alcohol (oh no, the baby is going to be deformed!). And then I realized that all 8 months I had been doing things pregnant women shouldn't do, and it might be too late to give the baby a pristine start. Then there was the fact that the baby never kicked.

When I realized that I was actually pregnant (and not just fat and hungry), I understood that I was "eating for two, now" and raided fridges. The hospital had a "pie floor" that was exactly as it sounds: an entire floor filled with racks upon racks of different pies.

And then there was the fact that I was pregnant. What the hell??? At eight months, abortion wasn't a consideration. I decided to put it up for adoption. Then The Ex arrived to tell me to keep the baby, to which I said "Why, are you going to marry me and take care of it?" He backed off, and then I looked down at my adorable little belly and freaked out: how could I give the baby away? I couldn't. What was I going to do? My future was ruined!

Then I woke up. And realized that I'm not pregnant!! Let's say that again: I'm not pregnant. How great is my life?

Then I wondered if maybe I should go on a diet.

I have plans to hang out with The Ex today, and so far I'm wavering between "it could be fine!" and "sometimes making out is just making out!" No matter what happens though, it will okay: I'm not pregnant.

Attention whores don't offer much support

The day after I had confirmed without a doubt that I was newly single, I called up AW. We both wanted to hang out, but as usual our ideas regarding possible activities were meager. Specifically, there was:

1) Rent a movie
2) Go visit the frats AW never shuts up about (she's in a sorority)

(Did I mention that I live in a suburb?)

I was tired, but this was the first time frat-visiting had ever been suggested. Movie-renting, on the other hand... let's just say that it's pretty much always the first option listed when we brainstorm.

"Let's go to the frats," I said. I'm single, I thought, I can even fuck one of these guys if I want! ...Super...

AW drove, and we ended up at a frat playing beer pong. Since she was driving, AW didn't drink. I attempted to make up for it by drinking any and all beer that no one else wanted to chug, and never made a single shot during the game. After a round, I stood next to AW and chatted with her for a moment.

"God, I suck at this game!" I complained.

"Last weekend, when we were playing bitch-beer pong," she replied loudly so the men nearby could hear, "I took off my shirt to distract the opposing team."

"Seriously?" I asked. The thought was funny to me for some reason. I guess I had never seen her strip. Also, I was tipsy. Also, I had forgotten what an attention whore she is.

"Yeah, and bent over and took my pants off." She looked past me at a particular frat boy while she said all this, demonstrating the 'bending over' part as if it could be interpreted another way. The frat boy came over and asked her a few questions, then went back to his shot at beer pong.

I pushed her playfully. "AW! What are other, respectable girls supposed to do for attention when girls like you are taking their shirts off and bending over?"

AW continued to look past me at the frat boy's back. "Those girls should take off their shirts."

Though I have been known to wear scandalous outfits when the occasion calls for it (Halloween, my school's skankily-themed spring dance, walking around campus..), AW's comment reminded me how much I hate it when girls like her attract men by flaunting their bodies. I have enough trouble getting guys interested in me (in the real way, mind you) without whores like her shoving their bosoms in everyone's face.

I pushed her a little less playfully. "What are we supposed to do if we don't want to be whores and take off our shirts like you?" I glared at her.

"Tough luck," she responded. "That's just how it works."

Though the object of her eye was the only cute guy in the room, and I was newly single (don't I get priority for my recent troubles?) and drunk, I let AW have him. After all, I'm only here for a month. Also, dating/fucking him would screw up AW's life more than if I dated/fucked him, since at the time she was already dating the frat boy's roommate.

I guess I was hoping for a bit more consideration: here I am, newly single, and nobody's pushing me to date or get some lovin'? For shame.

There's a reason mom doesn't know

If you followed me here from my last blog, you know that I recently broke up with my boyfriend of three years. The final conversation I had with him, in which I told him I wasn't interested in being his fuck buddy or anything of the sort, happened over the phone while my friend AW was in the room.

At one point during the phone call, my mom walked into the room to tell me goodnight and saw that I was upset. "Are you okay?" She whispered. "No," I said. She made a face and put her hands on her hips, in what appeared to be a huffy-yet-joking manner. I covered the mouthpiece and said "Mom, it's not funny." I then struggled to hold back tears.

AW told my mom that I was on the phone with The Ex, and my mom became more genuinely concerned, leaving the room so that I could continue my call. When I hung up, I had to tell AW what happened. Then I told my dad. Then I told L. Then I blogged about it. Then I told S. I felt kind of bad for not telling my mom why I had shooed her out of the room, but she didn't ask me what happened, so I procrastinated. After a few days, I fooled myself into believing that I would never have to explain it to anyone again if I just avoided the topic.

Then L's mom came to visit us. My mom and her have a polite friendship that grew out of my close friendship with L. The mothers chatted for about an hour while I attempted to entertain L's 10-year-old brother. At the end of the "okay-I'm-really-going-though" portion of our standing in the entryway next to the front door (about 20 minutes), L's mom asked me a few questions about school. Then she asked "How is that boy of yours up in ____?"

"Oh, um... we broke up," I said breezily, then looked awkwardly at my mom. How bad is it to find out about your daughter's big break-up at the same time a distant acquaintance does? Pretty bad, I figured.

L's mom was clearly uncomfortable that her polite question had revealed some personal information. "Oh. Well, you'll be all right, things change. Biiig changes happening, aaaaall the time," she said in an unecessarily comforting tone. (Had I burst into tears? No.)

It was one of those moments when you're required to express both sympathy and optimism even when it's not appropriate. One of those "I'm SOOO sorry your dog died three years ago even though you probably haven't thought about it in a few months and got a new dog."

Shortly after they left, I went out to dinner with my mom and stepdad. After a break in the conversation, my mom turned to me and said "So tell us what happened with The Ex." She sounded excited, as though she was asking about a vacation or first day at a new job.

I delved into the story, starting all the way in October, which was the last she had heard anything about our relationship. I realized how out of the loop she had been compared to my dad who got a phone call every time I had an argument, and felt bad. She was my mother and I never told her anything about my personal life.

Our food arrived during my explanation, so I paused until the waiter left. I felt very awkward resuming the story, but I finished it anyway. After neglecting to tell my mom so much, I wanted to make up for it by telling her the whole story now.

Just as I finished, the waiter returned to ask how our food was. I assured him it was absolutely excellent, looking down at the uneaten bite of fettucine dangling from my fork. The waiter walked away and I took the bite, waiting for a response from my mom.

She turned to my stepdad and said, "You know, I was talking to someone today who still doesn't have their power back on."

And thus I was reminded why I don't tell my mom anything that happens to me.

But everyone celebrates Christmas

My stepdad invited me to attend his very last luncheon before he retires. If we wanted to, we could call it his "retirement luncheon." I showed up with my mom and tried my best to remember all the people who approached me to remind me of the funny story from when I was six. For the most part, I succeeded at feeling guilt-free for not remembering any of them.

I sat at the end of the table with my family and tried to enjoy my half-cold turkey dinner (Thanksgiving = Christmas?). I tried to strike up a conversation with the two women across from me while skillfully avoiding the fact that I didn't know if I had met either of them before. The best we came to a conversation was when I tried to get them to answer a riddle on a card I found on the table. When they didn't know the answer, I tried to get them to guess it invoking the rules of the game catch phrase, which I enjoy immensely. They simply didn't understand what I was doing. Their faces read: "Why isn't she just telling us the answer? We already gave up."

When the band was late in taking the stage, my stepdad took the microphone and announced that we were going to do a talent show. He began by singing "White Christmas." Then a nice lady came over and did a duet of "Silent Night" with him. Then they tried (and failed) to recite "A Visit From St. Nick". Then everyone looked around at each other, not sure what to do. The band was still setting up. People started suggesting more Christmas songs to sing, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were any non-Christians in the room.

"Why don't we sing a non-Christmas holiday song?" I suggested.

One of the ladies from across the way looked at me. "Like what?"

Without suggesting a Hanukkah song, all I could think of was Jingle Bells. That song didn't seem nice enough to represent my idea, so I continued thinking.

The lady still looked confused. "You mean like 'Away in a Manger?'" She asked.

I gave up. "Sure," I said, and went back to eating my stuffing.

Bad manners at the doctors office

Hi, new blog!

My new name will be The Accidental Bitch, or TAB. Also note the new picture. I think she's hot and though I may never wear that exact outfit or play with my hair in a spotlight with my back turned to people, we're going to pretend that that's me.

So anyway, enough about me.

Haha just kidding.

I injured my hip in August, my last week before returning to school. I had just done some light jogging, per the instructions of my physical therapist (my leg had been hurting for about a year and I was getting physical therapy to supposedly fix it). I was in that oh-so-sexy V position, bending to my left, when all of a sudden I heard a distinctive popping sound. "Shit fuck shit," I believe I said, getting up to see if it would hurt to walk. It didn't, but I continued to swear intermittently.

I sat down to dinner with my parents, and when I tried to get up I found that I couldn't walk. My muscle began twitching in my leg every few minutes (or if I was walking, every few steps) and it was incredibly painful. I made an appointment to see an orthopedic doctor. We'll call him the "bad doctor." The bad doctor told me that I had pulled a muscle. Having dealt with an injury on my leg that hadn't gone away for a year, I was skeptical.

"What if that's not what it is?" I asked him.

"Well, there's a small chance that it could be something else," he replied soothingly, "but I'm almost 100% sure you just have a bad muscle pull."

I wasn't soothed. "But I heard a 'pop'," I protested.

"Well if you want to, we can get an xray and MRI and I'll prove it to you," he told me.

Please do prove it to me, Mr. Smartypants, I thought. "Okay, I'd like to do that."

I got an X-ray and he took a look at it, saying "See, there's nothing wrong here. There are no abnormalities in your hip, everything looks good. If you still want to get the MRI, you can go schedule one and we'll call you with the results."

I scheduled an MRI and he called a few days later. "You have some interesting results," he started. I was smug for a few seconds before I realized that overall, that wasn't a good thing. He told me I have a torn acetabular labrum, didn't describe what it was, and expressed doubt about the necessity of surgically correcting it. I got off the phone with him and had no idea what to do.

I was soon able to walk without immediate pain, but every night my leg would ache. After a month and a half, I did some research on the good 'ol Internet to see what this little "acetabular labrum" was and how to fix it. After researching for several hours, I found that the acetabular labrum is a piece of cartilage in the hip socket. Recovery without surgery is highly unlikely, so I called a surgeon and made an appointment. January 5th.

I saw the doctor on Wednesday for my consultation. He put my Xray up and said "You have some abnormalities in your hip." The bad doctor was wrong. The good doctor (this one) said he could fix the abnormality during surgery and I would hopefully never have a similar injury again.

On my way out, I sat down with a surgery scheduler who told me what to do and what not to do before the surgery. I asked her, "I heard that a lot of times before surgery they give you medication to help with anxiety, would that be possible?" Not that I'm a druggie or anything, but my dad had told me they would probably give me some happy pills and if I could get a prescription for Valium... all the better.

"He isn't really one to give out Valium before surgery," she responded.

"Oh, okay," I shrugged, but on the inside I was mourning my fleeting chance at a relaxing pre-surgery vacation.

And then she had to be a total bitch. "You just have to remind yourself that it's not a major surgery. You know, it's done with a scope so it's no big deal." The surgery is done with tiny instruments that they snake up through two tiny incisions in the thigh. It's called minimally invasive surgery. But still. Did she have to act like the surgery was comparable to taking a 90 minute nap? It shouldn't matter how big a deal the surgery is compared to open heart surgery; if people are freaking out over it, they can freak out. I decided to remind her of this.

"Yeah, well, it's not as though I get surgery every day." I glared at her and then smiled. "But okay, no big deal!!"

The new blog

Welcome to my new blog.

I'm exhausted.

I'd like to dedicate this post to the person who titled their blog "Accidental Bitch" because it probably looks like I stole her idea. However, I did not. I brainstormed for many hours before coming up with the apparently unoriginal idea of calling my blog "The Accidental Bitch" all on my own.

I then found her blog and used the title anyway, because I was excited about my original and charming idea.