So that sucked.

Come to find out, when people say that having a child will put a strain on your relationship, what they REALLY mean is, "You're going to want to kill him. Like... ALL THE TIME." Because, ha ha! This whole keeping someone alive thing is hard. Fucking haaaard. When you read that second hard, you should kind of grunt and double over because IT'S SO HARD.

Yeah. So since the baby was born, we've been kind of drifting around, the boy and I, drifting around each other in the same house but not really the same because our lives have been pretty separate. We don't parent together, we just switch off. This sort of seems to have evolved as a coping mechanism, but obviously is not. This is the exact opposite of productive living because we're doing it alone, but while kind of near each other, which is maddening. As you might be able to guess. Oh, and also, our baby was really colicky and miserable. Not easy. No baby is easy, obviously, but they're certainly made harder by tortured screaming 20 hours a day. (That? Is not an exaggeration. "Babies sleep all the time," is the biggest bullshitting lie I've ever heard and I would suggest you not repeat it to anyone, ever, lest they wind up with Baby O' Terror like mine was, and come for you in your sleep.) It's gotten better, the screaming, but still. Stress.

And last night, it all kind of compounded and blew itself to stinking, rotting bits, and The Boy and I wound up slinging words like, "You're a crazy pain in the ass to be around," (him) and, "You don't do ANYTHING! Why am I even HERE?!" (me.) Needless to say, it was terrible. We worked it out, but it sucked. Bad. And I need it to not happen again, because I just cannot take it.

So what I WANT (There's always something, isn't there. Me, me, me. I, I, I.) is ADVICE. Yes, I'm asking for it, so let me have it with both barrels. Tell me our fatal mistake was getting knocked up out of wedlock, or that we haven't even been together long enough (a year and some change) to raise a child together, or whatever. Include every admonition you can think of if you have to. Just give me advice on how to keep this from happening again, because as it's going now I'm going to be finding out how hideously Prison Orange clashes with my low lights. (Because I'm going to fucking ax murder him, for those of you just tuning in. Which is going to be the result of me constantly walking away to avoid saying I HATE YOU AND YOUR ASSFACE out of misplaced aggression.)

I'm too snarky to go to prison. I'll get shanked. Save me from myself, will you?

Miniscule. Tiny. Obsolete. Subatomic.

My sister is throwing me a baby shower. She's making the invitations individually, by hand, and doing everything from half way across the country. She contacted The Boy's mother to get addresses for close family, letting her know that there was a limited amount of space at whatever venue she's found for the day, and that since the invitations are hand made, there is a limit on how many can be done by the time she wants to send them out... The Boy's mother came back with a huge list of people. She was told again to pare it down, and answered with, "Well, maybe I'll just invite A FEW of my friends." ... Her friends? People I've never met? To my shower? Is this what people do..? Especially when told "List needs to remain small and intimate." Uh... Okay. But... Um. No.

So. The Boy called his mother to tell her to keep it simple. Close family, that's it. She said she doesn't want any one's feelings to get hurt, she wants to invite her friends, and he told her that no one wants anyone to be left out, but there's a limit. She then told him that she didn't see why she couldn't invite two of his ex girlfriends mothers.

Wait. What?

This is where I kind of tuned out. I mean, not intentionally. It felt like someone stuffed cotton in my ears. She wants to invite the Ghosts of Relationship Past to the baby shower that's being thrown for his current girlfriend..? In celebration of the baby they're having together? What. The. FUCK. I seriously felt like I was going into shock. He must've keyed in on the expression on my face, because he said, "Well, I told her no." I said, "Really? She really wants to invite your exes' mothers?" And he said, "Well, but, I told her no."

...somehow, that isn't getting through the haze right now. Somehow, all I can think is, "Really? His ex girlfriends mothers?" SOMEHOW, the fact that she was told NO isn't the FUCKING POINT.

I know that I'm not part of this equation to her. I know I'm just the weird, artsy girl that thinks she's too good for disposable diapers and formula, that's going to turn her first grandchild into a bookish softy; the girl that her perfect son accidentally knocked up, the poor boy. I know that. But really..? The fact that him saying no wasn't enough, that he had to explain to her why it wasn't a good idea for his ex girlfriends MOTHERS (who she doesn't even talk to. They aren't besties or anything, she doesn't even have regular contact with these people,) to come to MY SHOWER, and that she sort of fucking fought with him (!) about it? That... I just... I... REALLY?

Maybe I'm just hormonal. I don't know. Maybe I really have been an orphan for long enough that I've forgotten how families work, how they step over lines and boundaries and whatever. But I'm pretty sure this wouldn't sting half so bad if I had a mother, too... But I don't, and it does, and I hate it. I don't want the mothers of random strangers invited to my baby shower. I especially don't want the mothers of my boyfriend's ex girlfriends, who are also strangers, invited to my baby shower.

And you know the kicker? Apparently, that makes me silly. It's just silly of me. I'm being silly, she says. Silly to only want friends and family there. Silly to not let this be about her and what she wants. I'm not the only one having a baby. (WHAT?! I mean, I know it takes a village but WHAT!?)

Well fuck that. I want to go to bed. I want to go to sleep. There's a difference between someone knowing they don't matter, knowing they're just hardly being tolerated, and having it throw in in their face that you don't give a shit about them or their feelings.

I'm not sure I've ever felt so very small.

Some kind of monster.

I went to get a new phone today because, although I don't believe I've mentioned it here, I FUCKING HATED MY PHONE. Hated with a passion that burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Hated A LOT. Which is all beside the point, it's not at all the point. I'm only mentioning it to procrastinate writing what I need to talk about, which is this:

I am a fucking monster. Now, before anyone gets any big ideas about how this is going to be one of those compliment fishing posts or I'm looking for someone to talk me out of feeling this way, you should wait. Wait and see why I say this. The only reason I'm sharing it is because seriously? People should be kept the hell away from me. Consider it a PSA and get the hell away. Just get away.

See, I was down at the phone place today getting myself a new phone because my old one was FROM FUCKING HELL, and I'm sitting there and I notice there's a flier on the representative's desk. I'm reading it upside down because I'm nosey like that, and I see two names I recognize. We'll say they're Dan and Judy. I think Hey, cool, I know a Dan and Judy, wouldn't it be funny if they're the same ones.

Then I see the picture. And it isn't cool, and I don't want to know this Dan and Judy anymore.

There's an under-lit photo of a blurry, unbelievably small person... Skin raspberry-red and ruddy and plastic-looking; delicate eyes hidden behind a black felt Zorro mask without the holes. A clear plastic tube disappearing between gaping, pencil-thin lips and down a tiny throat. Hands so small, the fingers look webbed.

There's another picture below it. Ink-stamped footprints. Between the foot prints is a penny to give perspective, and the feet are hardly bigger than the coin. Hardly bigger at all. The mind boggles, reels, spins away and gags, because feet that small are never attached to a body that lives.

I reached for the flier without asking, flipped it around to read what in the hell was going on...

Dan and Judy, friends I haven't seen in almost a year, were 6 months pregnant when Judy delivered their baby boy by emergency C-section less than 26 hours ago. The flier was asking for monetary donations to help differ the astronomical cost of hospital bills for mother and son, and hotel stays for the two parents to be able to stay near their tiny boy after discharge. They're 3 hours from home at a bigger hospital, and not that ANYONE has the money for this kind of thing, but Dan and Judy really don't. They've been hit with unemployment, are on assistance, and they struggle but they are so happy. Were so happy. Now that sunny disposition they face the world with has been clouded with fear and sorrow -- justified the first and premature the second because maybe, just maybe, their boy will make it. He could. They do, sometimes. They do. Don't they? He could.

I graduated with Dan, used to live downstairs from Judy. They've drifted out of my circle of consciousness and I from theirs, farther away than possible to be considered actual friends if any one's being honest. But I knew them once, and delight in seeing them still...

I didn't know they were pregnant. I didn't know Judy was having problems, bleeding problems, didn't know she'd lived the last 6 months of her life under the constant and very real threat of losing her son. I didn't know any of this, and it was a shock to the system, seeing this terribly small person who suddenly and surprisingly belongs to someone I care about. It seemed so unreal. Knowing that he may not live (babies aren't supposed to die.) Knowing how that must suffocate these two sweet people, staring at their son and willing him to hang on, baby, please hang on.

All of this registered in an instant, their terrible pain and fear and the delicate state of this tiny new person. It all flash-banged into my skull and became a part of my reality.

And then I made it about me. Because I'm a fucking asshole.

I started thinking, well, I'm 5 and a half months along -- only two weeks behind them. Jesus, would MY baby make it, would he live? Would they be able to save him? Would I be strong enough to go through what they're going through without scratching my own skin off and shrieking PLEASE HELP ME to anyone with ears? Would my baby die like theirs might? How could I recover from that again, I couldn't, I just know I couldn't.

I started looking for differences that would push me farther away from my friends and their situation, started feverishly scouring my mind for things that would put me apart from them and their tragedy. This lady says Judy started having problems at two months, I haven't had problems... She'd been on and off bed rest for the duration, I'm fine. We're fine. It's not going to happen to us. God, don't let it happen to us. She smoked -- I quit months before I got pregnant. She doesn't take much care of herself, I've been so, so careful.

You see. Monster.

I KNOW BETTER THAN THIS. Sometimes you can do everything right and the worst still happens -- has happened to me and people I know and love, IS happening NOW -- and yet there I was, like some superior, self important fuck, trying to convince myself that I was better or different so that terror wouldn't come knocking at our door. And you know what? Regardless of what Judy does, has done or hasn't done, no one deserves what she and her husband are going through right now and what in the hell kind of person has that reaction anyway!? These people, I know them, they are (were) friends, they're good people. How dare I...?

The representative was Judy's sister-in-law. She's going to take Judy and Dan's older girl (She's two. She's beautiful and perfect and sweet,) to see her parents tonight, making the drive after work. I pulled a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet, asked if I could give it to her for Judy and Dan and their boy.

It's not that I have hundreds lying around all the time. I was going to use that money to buy furniture for our baby...

But furniture is sticks and cloth and nails. It's material, it's nothing and it doesn't matter.

That money, when I handed it to that woman, became an extra night Dan and Judy can be close to their son without worrying how to pay for it. It became a bill that was just a little bit smaller.

It became a tangible apology for the guilt that woman didn't know I was feeling. I'm sorry for being so selfish, I'm sorry your son is sick and mine -thank God- is still where he belongs in my tummy, I'm sorry this happened to your family.

I'm sorry for being so scared. I'm sorry that hearing about your ordeal made me fear that the same could happen to us -- I'm sorry that, even if only in my mind, I treated you like your pain was contagious. I'm so sorry.

Shitbags.

My right eye is twitching.

Not the eye itself but the lid, I guess, to be specific.

I've been up since 3 AM.

Do you think the two might be related? I do. Let me tell you a story. No, really. LET ME. I need to, or I’ll die.

This morning (early enough to be considered last night) I made myself feel very old for scolding complete strangers. I didn't mean to scold them. I wasn't going to do it, I was just going to ignore the situation because I didn't want any hurt feelings. So what if I was woken up at 3 AM and kept awake for an hour and 46 minutes (I was watching the fucking clock. So, too, would you have been. Watching the clock, that is, not tired, but THAT TOO) by total strangers, when they KNEW I WAS THERE SLEEPING? So what if someone LITERALLY would have gotten SHOT if I’d known where a gun was because they were making so much noise, it sounded like they were kicking the door in? (I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING. I would have shot someone. Because I don’t give a shit who you are, if you sound like you’re breaking into the house I’m sleeping in, I’m going to shoot you in the face if that is an option- as opposed to even entertain the risk that you’re going to hurt my unborn child. Yeah. THAT’S HOW IT IS.)

Aside: DUDE. If you are a guest of a friend who was nice and STUPID enough to let you crash at a family member's house without permission when she does not live there and has not requested permission to be there herself, let alone with company, TRY NOT TO BE A DICK. Seriously. Work on it as hard as you can, or you're going to have someone who's a scant FOUR YEARS OLDER THAN YOU ARE treating you like you're a fucking CHILD. Ha! Literally.

So, like I was saying: I honest-to-god wasn't going to say anything because as nasty as I can be, I have that whole STRANGER ISSUE that I've talked about here before, wherein I don't like them. I seriously, really, really don't like strangers. It's not that I'm afraid of them, necessarily (but sometimes I am) it's just that I don't really want to impose upon them (EVEN WHEN THEY'RE KEEPING MY PREGNANT SELF AWAKE WITH THEIR DRUNKEN B.S) or like, have them touch me or anything. Ever. And I don't like to make people feel bad. Even when, like I may have mentioned here very subtly, they are keeping me awake. When I'm pregnant. At three AM. And their “host”? SHE'S GONE TO BED, AND WAS NEVER BEING AS LOUD AS THEY WERE. So their loudness was INFINITELY MORE IRRITATING.

Another aside! : DUDE AGAIN! So, like, when I was a partier -- which I was, semi-professionally for a very short time, and on an occasional basis for many-a-year -- and I was at someone else's house after the bar? I kept my noise level where their noise level was. I did not throw myself into the house, proceed to slam every door I saw, and yell. Nor did I (and this is the kicker) have very loud, drunken adult activity sessions on the couch I found in the living room if A: my host wasn’t a GREAT friend, B: that couch did not belong to my host, and C: it wasn't obvious that I was going to be using the couch as a vehicle to get my rocks off, and I wasn’t given express permission to do it. IT here being USE A STRANGER'S COUCH FOR SEX. Because that, right there, is trashy, and I don't care how young or drunk you are. Have some self respect. Also? Maybe some respect for the person who's house you’re in, or the person sleeping 15 feet away from you would be cool. Just an idea. (I know having drunken sex on a stranger's couch is all hot and sweaty and impromptu and spontanious and just really young and super sexy, but not when there's a pregnant girl who practically owns the couch you're sexin' on trying to sleep 5 yards away. And you're being REALLY LOUD. Like, JUNGLE NOISE LOUD. And the couch is slamming into the wall like you're trying to break that fucker down. Seriously. Not cool.)

Feh! So! To continue! I wasn't going to say anything. After all, NOT MY HOUSE. And like I said: I don’t like to be mean to people. So, I was just going to like, get up and go on my merry way. (At 4:45 in the morning by then. You guess exactly how merry my way was by that point.) But then I was looking for my flip flops in the dark, because I didn't want to turn on the light and embarrass the people that had been keeping me awake (!??!) when I realized that there was no more noise. (There had been a lot of noise.) Which made me realize that while I was fumbling for my shoes in the dead of night, the two people that were in the dark room at my back had done the FREEZE AND PRETEND WE’RE ASLEEP thing, so that I would be polite enough to leave them alone.

Let me stress that, because I don’t think I have: They were pretending to be ASLEEP (the thing I had been, before they had totally disrespected everyone in the situation by being loud assholes) so that I would not confront them (about being loud assholes)… So they were relying on my decency and humility (of which they had none) to keep me from confronting them about what they had been doing. Which meant they knew they were being assholes and didn’t want to get called out. (F'in WHAT!?)

So, like… Obviously, I had to say something. It literally wasn’t even an option because all of this occurred to me in a split second, and I couldn’t really stop the INSTANT RAGE that bubbled up and out of my mouth. Before that second, I had not been angry. I had been put out, because I had been sleeping before they decided it was appropriate to be rude, but I was understanding because dude – young and drunk. Whatever. We’ve all been there, or near there, or can understand the motivation or lack thereof. I personally, pre-gestationally, had quite the love affair with Mr. Jack Daniels and was known to sing Elton John loudly while falling down the sidewalk. What the fuck ever. I generally try not to harsh out someone’s buzz. Judge not, and all that.

So, with my back to them (Still not wanting to embarrass the little fuckers -ha!) while getting my shoes on, I said very calmly, very clearly:

“Do either of you even KNOW the person who’s house you’re in right now?”

…Silence.

WELL FUCK THAT, YOU LITTLE SHITBAGS.

I’d not two minutes before heard them making some very specific noises that only happen when two (or more!) people are doing very specific things (And we ain’t talkin’ about whittling here, folks,) while making an incredibly active effort to destroy the property of someone I’m protective over – and so, obviously, am I protective over his shit - and they were going to pretend to sleep when I was addressing them? AFTER THEY WOKE ME UP AND KEPT ME AWAKE, they were going to pretend they HADN’T been so incredibly rude? Hell to the no, home skillet, I don’t even think so.

I flipped the bedroom light on, turned around, took a couple of steps further into the living room and leaned toward them. They actually had their eyes squeezed shut. Like babies, pretending to sleep. (If you’re going to be brazen enough to hole drunken, naked gymnastics on a stranger’s couch, be brazen enough to make eye contact with that stranger’s pregnant, tired girlfriend when she confronts you about your bullshit, children. And yes, suddenly, apparently: The Girl, THY NAME IS CONSEQUENCE.) So I raised my voice a few million decibels and repeated:

“YOU. BOTH OF YOU ON THE COUCH. Do either of you KNOW the person WHO’S HOUSE YOU’RE IN RIGHT NOW?”

They actually flinched, both of them. Thus unable to ignore me or continue this little I-can’t-see-you-so-you-can’t-see-me game, the guy gets up OFF OF THE GIRL (Yeah. YEAH.) who was seriously covering her face with one hand because the light was burning her poor rude little drunken eyes, and he goes, “What? Yeah. Um, dumb-girl-who-put-us-up-out-of-the-kindness-of-her-misguided-heart-even-though-the-homeowner-wouldn’t-have-approved-of-this’s-name-here’s brother. Yeah… Um, I met him once.”

You don’t even know his name? Well, fuck that, too!

“Oh, awesome! Well, just to be clear, THAT’S NOT WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW SOMEONE AND FUCK ON THEIR COUCH. You guys are NEAT.”

Then I left. And if they’d had a car, I would have slashed its motherfucking tires, because I was so angry that my chest was aching. I seriously thought “Am I going to have a heart attack from rage? I haven’t been angry in so long that it’s actually going to kill me?” I have rarely experienced something SO. DAMN. RUDE.

And from what I hear, the father of my child came home shortly after I left and regulated some shit… Which makes me feel bad for his sister, who was just being nice to her friends, but just for a second because come the fuck on. Those friends were really, really disrespectful. And if I’d still been there when he lost his shit? I would have been right there with him, chewing ass. I’m really proud of him for standing up for himself because he doesn’t always, because he really doesn’t like to be angry. But this situation? This was OBVIOUSLY going to make him angry. You can’t know him and believe otherwise. You can only have hoped to avoid getting caught doing something that would make him this angry. Which, um. No. There’s some strangers bodily fluids on his micro suede couch. Pretty sure he’d catch on one way or the other, being paid to DETECT shit like he is. WE don't even have sex on that couch, you stranger assholes!

Word to the third aside: If someone came out of the bedroom they’d been sleeping in, in a house that was like a BILLION PERCENT more their property than mine, scolded me for being seriously stupid, and then stormed out into the dark because oh my god, it’s not even DAWN YET? I’d probably get the hell out of Dodge. Not these two geniuses. Nope. They stuck around to get their asses reamed by someone who does a much better job than I do. I yell a lot, so the impact is lower. He NEVER yells, so it’s shocking and terrifying. And he hates having to yell, which makes him angrier.

Most of all, he really hates disrespectful people. Some of us aren’t new to the whole drunken scene (and are, you know, ADULTS AND SHIT) and realize that it’s never cool to be disrespectful. It’s ALWAYS a dick move. ALWAYS. And these people weren’t only being disrespectful, they were doing it in his house. Without his permission to be there.

Dooooode.

Not a good plan. Such a bad plan that it comes with sirens, on fire, flashing neon, with stickers that say BAD FUCKING PLAN and a midget to read the REALLY BAD PLAN stickers repeatedly and in various ominous accents.

Moral of the story: Don’t wake me up at 3 AM. No, scratch that. That wasn’t the issue. Don’t wake me up and KEEP ME UP for close to TWO HOURS with your bullshit behavior and then try to pretend you haven’t done anything, or I may be forced to break my foot off in your stupid, stupid ass. Furthermore: Don’t piss off my boyfriend. He never gets angry, and when he does it is a terrible thing. Terrible.

Also: My eye is still fucking twitching.

Pussy Boy go -splat-

I almost ran over my ex today. Literally.

See, he does this thing where he pretends he can't see me, when he... uh, sees me. He'll physically turn away, hunch his shoulders, and pretend really hard that I'm invisible. This extends to anyone I might be with, even if he's good friends with them. They don't exist, nothing exists except whatever is in the exact opposite direction of wherever I am. He'll actually turn to keep his back to me, without any sense of irony, spinning in circles if I keep moving around him. I wish I were exaggerating, but I'm almost sure he even closes his eyes. He honestly is PRETENDING I'm not there, not just ignoring me. He's make-believing. My hand to Jesus, I swear it's true. He does this with a complete lack of humor, not seeing how rediculous it is at all.

Something about me being mind-numbingly happy and getting pregnant with my new boyfriend's kid a scant 5 months after I kicked him out of our apartment has apparently put his balls in a bunch. Or something. Me, personally, I smile and wave and chalk it up to a bad relationship come to end. We don't have to be friends, but there's no reason for us to be enemies.

He doesn't feel that way. He feels like I'm a giant evil douche bag that broke his heart (I kind of did that) and doesn't care (no... no, I don't, actually.) He's just a much better victim than I am. He's happy with it, so whatever. I try not to go against his wishes -- which he was specific about: "I never want to see The Girl again as long as I am alive." He not only said this to me, but to every common friend we have. He may have written a letter to the President and copied it to the Pope, for all I know. He's very serious and stern about it.

I digress! Moving along! So, I was driving and I came to a stop light on a corner, where I was going to turn right. I saw him standing on the corner, to my right, and he saw me so he did the THING. He turned away, stared straight ahead, and pretended I was not there. (Seriously, you can see him thinking I can't see you, I can't see you, La-la-la-la, I can't see you... It's bizarre. Mostly because he's 32, not 4.) When the light turned, I turned right.

Well, I don't know if he thought he could also pretend away my car or what, but he actually stepped in front of my MOVING VEHICLE. I'm not even kidding. Like, he stepped off of the curb and IN FRONT of my CAR.

I'm not actually clear on which of us has the right of way in this situation, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't step in front of ANYONE without looking. Also, mind you, this is the person that I would gladly strangle into unconsciousness, and he realizes this. (I can't suffer perpetual victims and pompous assholes. I tried -for three years, yo- but I just can't.) He knows I have no patience for him and absolutely zero remorse about our relationship ending. I used to care that his feelings were hurt. Then he turned into a douche bag. Not surprisingly, I quickly stopped caring.

Now why in the hell would a person step in front of a moving vehicle being driven by someone that wouldn't stop to see if they were alive after running them over?

Motherfucker has some balls, I guess. I don't know. My best guess would be that he actually expected me to wait for him to cross the street. (Have I mentioned he's pretty full of himself? And over confident? And that everything is a power struggle, that he always has to be in control, and right, and you have to always pay complete attention to him and what he wants, and that by not being the first one to continue on his way, he would feel inferior? Because, oh yeah, THAT.) Or maybe he really thinks that by pretending I am not there, I won't be. Maybe he's got some kind of magic disappear-o power that he hid very well from me. I can see that being a possibility, and although I didn't FEEL invisible, I can promise you that I know for a fact my CAR was not. It was very real, very hard, and aimed right for his body.

So to make a long story longer, his reflexes seem to have improved since I helped him box up his shit and get it out of my apartment, because he very narrowly avoided my bumper by throwing himself backward onto the sidewalk.

I hope he skinned up his hands. Or at least his ass. I hope what he takes away from this isn't that I would gladly run him over (I wouldn't. But I'm not going to STOP if he steps in FRONT of me,) but that you can't just pretend things don't exist -- they're still there, moving through the world, all around you. All you're going to gain by refusing to look at something is the benefit of not realizing you're about to be run over.

Dude.

I just went to the door to pay the pizza man. I always inclue a handsome tip because hey, I was obviously too lazy to pull myself out of the ass groove in my couch to go and get the artery-clogging sexiness that you were so kind to ferry to my door, so here's a fiver, and you have a nice night, Sport.

I opened the door with a smile, and as we're exchanging food for money he goes, "Wow. You've got a huge apetite." And then he snickered.

Yeah. Thanks. I hope you enjoy never getting tipped at this address again, jerkwad.

Also, Mister I'm-middle-aged-and-passing-a-heaping-helping-of-judgement-to-help-your-greasy-food-go-down, let me remind you: You're middle aged and delivering pizza while wearing elasic-wasted sweat pants with a curious stain on the crotch. Additionally: I'm an angry stranger. I could have GUNS in here, for Christ's sake, people have been shot for less.