In the beginning I wasn't going to get guest writers while I was out of town. But then the "Great Interview Experiment" dropped in my lap - so I had one thing to pre-post. Then in a moment of genius I asked my Dad to write for me (ya'll met him, remember?). And since I got TWO posts, why not go for THREE! I am thrilled to have Ms. Picket visiting us over here. She is truly one of those people that if she called me tomorrow and said she was visiting my state, I would totally let her crash on my couch and drink my beer. And ya'll know I don't share my beer with just anyone.

A few weeks ago, Minivan asked a question: would you erase any bit of your life if you could?

I was utterly all-positive thinking in the moment and said no and that every bad move brought me here and – cue music – and blah blah blah. Turns out I must have been having a weirdly good day, because I couldn’t stop thinking about that question and realized, um yeah Minivan dude: truth is, there’s like a thousand moments I would like to erase.

I’m not saying I would want to end up in different place, but FUCK YEAH and OMG and IS THERE A WAY?? Because ugghhhhhhhh: there are too many to count.

This is just one:

In a moment of extreme youthful disregard for my safety folly, I said yes when the Boy suggested we split for the night to his parents’ weekend house. We’d only known each other a few drunken hours but, still, we’d spent most of it in deep, DEEP serious intellectual thought so I figured we were basically in love.

I have no idea now what we were talking about, but that’s mostly because I probably had little idea then. I’m pretty sure I bullshit my way through most of the conversation the minute that I realized that this dude was in college for a reason – to learn something that would matter to the world – and that my usual repartee of music and songs and bands and concerts would probably not impress him.

He was all kinds of cute so I did my best bullshit, and when he asked me to move away and marry him spend the weekend with him, I said I win! let’s go. And we did. It was two hours away (who knew?) into a whole other state, somewhere in some Massachusetts wooded town where no one would have found me if he’d killed me, but the good news is he didn’t. The other good news is I kept my pants on the ENTIRE night (if you must know) (and which is probably some sort of miracle) and the whole escapade was pretty tame, come to think of it.

He made me a spinach omelet in the morning and even though I hate spinach, I ate it. We drove home and he let me play all my favorite songs and I sang every word to every one, my feet on the dashboard, my hair flying out the window, singing at the top of my lungs in my best Neil Young and Jane Siberry and World Party and Joni Mitchell and Joan Armatrading and the Beastie Boys.

I do not regret one minute of that weird weekend.

What I regret, and wish to erase, is the weekend later. The weekend after the Wednesday that I visited him in his apartment and should have realized that our love affair was pretty much neither. When I should have gotten the clue, but didn’t. When I should have read the signs, but wouldn’t.

The weekend later (after that Wednesday), we met at a house party of our mutual friends. I am pretty sure I actually dressed up for the event, and by “dressed up” I mean I chose the perfect jeans with the perfect holes and the best t-shirt that wouldn’t make my boobs look slutty huge but still hot.

We rendezvoused on the stairs. I knew this was the moment he would tell me that our weekend was the best thing that ever happened to him and that it didn’t matter that I really didn’t “get” Sartre or nihilism, I was the one for he’d been waiting for.

I looked up at him with my best come hither eyes and the sexy face that I’d been working on for about two months, and he said, “Do you need to puke?”

So yeah. Erase. Delete. Forget. I wish I could skip all of that ickiness and jump to the part when I was laughing my ass off and not thinking about my face or my boobs, because that’s when the really good offers came. And when my sexy face was, well, just my face.


Big Kahuna said...

OK ... I've thought it over and I will be your Dad. My girls are all bright, beautiful and witty. You will fit in nicely.

But undstand that Dad gets lots of hugs and does not pay for laser hair removal.

Carolyn...Online said...

Oh my. I just love Ms. Picket. Cringeworthy come hither puke moment.

MadWoman said...

Hahahaha! That was fantastic and not at all how I expected it to end. Excellent choice in Ms. Picket!

Jen W said...

O.M.G!!!! I just spit out my coffee.

Aimeepalooza said...

Oh, that's too funny and I am totally inspired to write about my own embarrassing moment with the, "come hither look."