BYOK (bring your own kid)

A couple weeks ago, Joe and I went to a birthday party thrown by our friends, Adam and Nancy, for their one year old daughter. This was right after we found out that Tom and Kathy were pregnant. I had some anxiety about attending as I often do now when I go to any function where I'm supposed to make small talk with people who don't know about our infertility. I'm just not into it. It so often leads to questions about do we have kids or when will we have kids or do we want kids.

In preparation for the party, I nested that morning and we came up with socially inappropriate responses to random people's questions about when my husband and I plan to have children. Some of the highlights were:

1. I'm not sure, I think something might be wrong....see it started with all this vaginal itching and then this weird discharge. What do you think?

2. Oh gosh, me no, it would just be too confusing, trying to sort out all of the 'Baby Daddy' stuff.

3. I've been trying but it's not working. What positions did you use to have your kids?

4. I don't know...I'm really still sowing my wild oats. Y'know, sleeping around, doing drugs.

5. No, we're not ready, so we just have anal sex.

Later that day, Tom, Kathy, Joe and I all arrived to this party at the same time and were kind of just lingering in the doorway. The place was a mob scene. It looked like Elmo threw up everywhere. There were stranger children running amuck. Who the hell even knows this many kids? I'm a teacher and I know less. There were strollers, diaper bags and sippy cups everywhere I turned. It did not look like a promising place for an infertile to relax.

Adam saw us from across the room and came over to greet us. As he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, he said, "Congratulations on the baby!" Huh??? "Oh, not you. Kathy. I'm sorry, I mixed you two up." Adam then proceeded to go over and hug Kathy and congratulate her on her pregnancy.

Wow. I was stunned. That really stung. I hadn't even made it through the doorway and the first comment I get right out of the gate is congratulations on my phantom baby. This was going to be one hell of a party. I asked myself if I was going to cry, but determined that, surprisingly, I wasn't. The comment made me sad, don't get me wrong. It's just that it was also so insanely ridiculous that it somehow, in a bittersweet way, crossed over to funny.

My next thought was, "The nesties are not even going to believe this!"

The party continued...there was cake and a pinata and what seemed like six thousand children running around. The four of us were the only ones there (not exaggerating) who did not bring a kid or were not grandparent to a kid in attendance. There was no alcohol which personally really would have helped the situation. We left early, thank goodness.

Upon arriving home, I immediately got on the nest to post the latest. The response: " Crap, we totally didn't prepare you for that one! We only prepped for 'when are you going to have them'!"

Next time, I'm going to have to study harder. Maybe there's some kind of prep book you can buy, like when you have to take the SAT.

Tit for tat...but with more tats

Lucky

Georgia (standing) and Katie

NeeNee (or Nia)

What I'm Currently Mourning:

1. That I won't conceive a child in the traditional sense of my husband and I having sex alone without help from strangers.

2. That I can't participate in the pregnancy and parenting conversations that all of my friends seem to be having. I'm simply a benchwarmer.
3. That I'm so often in it, in my head, thinking about my infertility.
4. That, although I'm open about my infertility and proud in the sense that I put a face on something that many people don't understand a lot about, sometimes I feel like it makes me that girl, the one that people whisper about how it's such a shame and how long have they been trying for now?

What I'm Currently Celebrating:

1. That I have my husband who makes me laugh every day and who I love more than I can put into words.

2. That, as much as it sometimes hurts me, most of my friends are currently pregnant or have little ones and all of them are healthy and doing well.
3. That I have my two cats and my two dogs (see above).

4. That I have good infertility coverage. Right now, this is a huge blessing for us.

5. That I have a wonderful family.

6. That we have our home. Granted, it's a huge fixer upper and it makes me feel really poor, but it's ours.
7. That I'm in a position to be able to pursue my Masters' degree.
8. That I have the TTC 6+ girls on the Nest. They validate, support, make me laugh and all around rock.
9. That my list of what I'm celebrating is longer than my list of what I'm mourning.

Oh well...

It was negative. I'm going out to the yard to pee on something.

Hope against hope

Dare I be so foolish as to hope? Unfortunately, yes. Against my wishes, I have become hopeful that maybe, just maybe, my period hasn't arrived because I am pregnant. As I await my period from the your-Clomid-cycle-is-not-really-a-bust-and-we-were-just-tricking-you-cycle, I am preparing for the news of a big fat negative, but that little voice in the back of my head (and my heart) is starting to whisper, "maybe". Bleh.....

I had previously (and obviously) ruled out all possibility of a positive pregnancy test when I didn't ovulate. Then I ruled it out once again when, upon learning that I did in fact ovulate, I remembered that I had killer sunburn and did not fool around with my husband as a result. However....I did have sex one time post-sunburn-on-thighs but pre-news-that-I-ovulated, so maybe........

The million dollar question is, when did I ovulate? Was it before or after that one time? I don't know. All I know is that I ovulated sometime between cycle days 21 and 32.

Am I feeling lucky?

No, not really.

I was supposed to go for my blood test this morning, cycle day 39. I bailed out. Tomorrow I will go and get my answer. On a sidenote, can I also say that I hate that it costs me $20 to get a negative result? It should be free unless you get a positive because you're already paying for the negative in tears.

P.S. I even peed on a stick (stop judging me!). I don't even know how many days post ovulation I actually am, but I wasted money to pee on a stick. I couldn't resist. I wonder if it's the same if you just pee on a regular stick like from the backyard. Then I could satisfy my need to pee on things while still being economical and not having to see that single, lonely, stupid line.

Jacki Jaguar....this is your life

I need to preface this post by saying that I am not the type of person who has to go on Jerry Springer to air my dirty laundry, figure out who my baby daddy is or tell my mother that I am sleeping with her new boyfriend. I'm just not. But apparently....some days it feels like I am.

I have since recovered nicely from the news that Tom and Kathy are pregnant. My bitterness and rage has mostly subsided and they are now yet another couple that I am in awe of because they are growing a baby. Tom is leaving Friday for a year in Iraq (I can't even process this it makes me so sad, I'm sure I'll blog about it later). Last night, they had a bunch of people over for a last get together.

So Kathy has a sister, Marilyn. Marilyn's a freak. There's no better way for me to sum that up. Marilyn and I were in Kathy's wedding party together and Marilyn was not only mostly useless, but a huge hindrance. Picture "I'm jealous my sister's getting married before me" plus "I'm outrageously irresponsible" plus "I only think of myself and alcohol" and you'll have: Marilyn, maid of honor extraordinaire. Now add me, blunt-responsible-planner-Jacki, into the mix of Marilyn's antics and you have outraged-disgusted-tantrum throwing-Marilyn because how dare I say that we need her help with something (which I said very respectfully, I swear). So, yeah, we're not exactly close.

Can you guess who was at the get together? Ding ding ding ding!!! Marilyn! Let the mayhem ensue!

Marilyn brought two of her three children with her. Her two girls, three and six years old, are beautiful, amazing kids. I've hung out with them a handful of times and am happy that they remember me. I am thrilled when the three year old, Liza, draws a picture for me. I think it was me back in my Mr. Potatohead phase. Boy, I'm glad I grew out of that.

Side note: You should know that this small get together included five children, two pregnant people and three moms. There was a lot of pregnancy and baby talk. But I was a trooper. Sure, I was a drinking trooper, but I was a trooper nonetheless.

I'm hanging out in the living room and Liza sits down next to me. A few minutes after that, without thinking, I'm scratching her back. (My niece loves when people scratch her back and now I often scratch kids' backs without even noticing I'm doing it.) Liza's little voice pipes up, "Can you scratch my back harder?" With a pang of sadness, I scratch harder and wonder when am I going to get to scratch my own kid's back. Then I giggle as I watch her wiggle the back of her shirt up a bit so that I'm directly scratching her skin.

Later, after the party has winded down some (meaning the kids have left except for, of course, Marilyn's because she keeps them at grownup, alcohol filled parties), I head out to sit on the front porch for a little. I was in some kind of drunk, philosophical mood and wanted a few minutes to myself. Marilyn comes out, sits down and we start chatting. Here's the thing, it was a good conversation. It was a conversation about how she's disappointed in herself because she keeps trying to quit smoking and failing. I was encouraging, telling her that most smokers make several attempts at quitting before succeeding and to just keep plugging away at it. Each failure is getting you one step closer to the time you'll be able to quit permanently. We talked a little about our families. It really was a good, normal talk.

Marilyn heads in and I reflect on the conversation and myself for a bit. Maybe I've been judging Marilyn too harshly. Maybe it's just that we're different. Maybe we're just two people trying to make our way through this crazy world. Maybe I need to be more understanding and accepting. My friend, Andy, comes out and I share these thoughts with him. He's drunk. I think he was kind of indifferent to my thoughts, but I can't remember because I was kind of drunk, too. Liza joins me on the porch and asks me to blow bubbles with her. My heart fills with bittersweet emotions again as I wonder when I'm going to blow bubbles with my own kids. She invites me to scratch her back. I oblige.

Eventually, everybody heads in except for me. I'm still philosophizing (copyright: 2008). Infertility does this to me I have found. It keeps me in my head a lot, trying to make sense of my new infertile self in this very fertile world.

Finally, I'm too cold to stay out any longer and head in. I join everybody else to watch a movie. I stretch out on the floor under a blanket to try to get warm again. Liza, who's sitting in front of me, turns around and says, "Jacki, I'm cold." She crawls under the blanket, puts her little head on the front of my pillow and nestles into me. I can't really describe it. It's not a lump in my throat. It's more like a heaviness in my heart.

As we're watching the movie, I hear sucky sounds behind me. What is that? Are you ready? Sit down if you're not already because this is going to be more than you can handle. Marilyn is sucking face with a guy while her children are in the room. I'll pause while you reread that and let that sink in......................are you good now? Not good, but okay, because there's no way you can be good after reading that. She is making out with someone while her children watch a movie less than ten feet away from her. I'm so digusted and freaked out I can barely stand it. How on Earth are you fertile and I'm not? How do you get to have these beautiful kids when you're making out with someone while I'm filling your role of chief cuddler to your daughter?

Eventually, Liza wanders off and I doze off on the floor. The party, now small, continues but I'm too tired to join in. The noise of the party rouses me at different points but that's about it. Until my husband kicks my pillow. What the hell?

"Jacki, get up! We have to go right now...get up. We have to leave now." What? Why? Is the house on fire? What happened to gently rubbing my back to wake me? What's the urgency? I stand up groggily rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"What happened? What's going on?"

"Marilyn just touched me. We have to go!" Whoa...what?! I can now vouch for the fact that nothing will wake you quite as quickly as hearing the news that a slut has touched your husband. Mr. Jaguar then explains that he was in the kitchen, Marilyn came in, threw her arms around him and herself up against him and her mouth headed for his mouth. At the time, he had a freezie pop in his hand (Thank God for the freezie pop!), which he jammed in his mouth while turning his head and pushing her back.

Her response: "What? I'm just falling." What the f%ck? He then tells me that he tried to leave the kitchen and she ran to the doorway, fell to her knees blocking the entrance while making more inappropriate remarks and I'm sure sticking her skanky, little chest out. Mr. Jaguar made his escape through the back door with her trailing behind. Oh.My.God.

I stand there processing all of this information. My poor husband actually looks traumatized. You could tell he felt violated. He was so flustered. What's funny is I know my husband has women talk to him at the bar when he goes out with the guys. I completely trust him and don't really care who he talks to because I know he won't cross any lines. So seeing him so upset about Marilyn made me very aware of the fact that she had just taken a flying leap over many, many lines.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I hit her? I'm bigger than her and I guess maybe I could take her. I've never hit someone before. What if I do it wrong and hurt my hand? I do have nice hands. What if she hits me back? That would probably hurt. Also, this girl has clearly proven her white trash status. I'm pretty sure that all trashy people are squirrely fighters, like it's genetic. She may try to rip out my nonexistent weave or hit me with her shoe. It wouldn't be hygienic to be hit with someone's shoe. Decisions, decisions. I envision myself grabbing her from behind by her hair and threatening her through gritted teeth and then just leaving her there (picture Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing when he gets in a fight with that guy after leaving Penny's room after she had to get an abortion but then just says, "You're not worth it. You're not...worth it!" and throws him to the ground, yeah, that would be me). My optional variation of this plan is to push her face-first up against a wall and then threaten her through gritted teeth and then tell her she's not worth it.

I suddenly have a vision of her two children waking up in the middle of the madness. "Why is Jacki hurting Mommy?" or worse for me, "Why is Mommy hurting Jacki?" My decision is quickly made. I pass on my Swayze-crazy moment and just go home. For now, there will be no instance where good surpasses evil, where Super Jacki defeats her nemesis, where wholesomeness overcomes sluttiness.

As I'm falling asleep that night, I think back on the conversation I had with Marilyn earlier in the evening and my subsequent reflections. Maybe I've been judging Marilyn too harshly. Maybe it's just that we're different. Maybe we're just two people trying to make our way through this crazy world. Maybe I need to be more understanding and accepting. Or maybe you're just a whore who's trying to bang my husband. I laugh aloud and fall asleep next to my awesome yet now slightly scarred husband. Hopefully, he won't wake me up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, from a nightmare where he relives Marilyn trying to violate him.

Be sure to look for me next week on Jerry Springer's latest episode, "She's a ho, fo' sho". I promise to throw my shoe and hopefully, I'll have an opportunity to bear my breasts to the audience and all of America. Well, the people of America that actually watch Jerry Springer.

BFN and then....

So I got my blood test this morning to confirm my non-pregnant status. The nurse told me to expect a call confirming my negative result after 2:30 and then they'd call in my Provera prescription. My phone rang around three and the nurse says, "Well, you're not pregnant...however..."

Wait!! What??!! There's a however?! What could the however possibly be?

"You ovulated." What?! My cycle day 12 ultrasound revealed many, unfortunately tiny eggs. I humored the doctor with a cycle day 20 ultrasound just to be sure, only to find even more unfortunately tiny eggs. And now on cycle day 32, you're telling me that, lo and behold, 100 mg of Clomid actually worked but too late for any of us to actually notice?!

Motherf%cker.

"You have to wait another week to see if your period arrives naturally, come in for another pregnancy test and then we can give you the Provera." Arrggghh....hell! I flash back to the past week or so....could I even be pregnant? No. I got wicked sunburn last week, on my inner thighs no less, and so sex was so not happening. I don't have a shot at being pregnant. And now I just have to wait another stupid week to get the ball rolling (I know, I know, it's a lesson in patience, blah blah blah, I don't wanna hear it right now).

I don't actually say any of that. My response is more along the lines of "Okay, thanks."

Here's the weird thing. I'm actually annoyed that I ovulated. I know what you're thinking, I should be grateful. But this is my blog so I get to be honest. I'm annoyed. For a couple reasons. First, we missed the big O so I never got to have the IUI. That part makes me want to kick my ovaries for d!cking around for the first 20 days. Second, and I've been pondering this part for awhile, (insert my whispering voice here) I don't think the Clomid is my answer. I don't know why. It's just a gut thing. I don't think Clomid is what's meant to give me a baby. I have no real rationale for this nor medical expertise, it's just my big hunch. And so I'm kind of aggravated because this means I have to spend more time taking Clomid since it actually did its job and made me ovulate. I have to spend more time on the treatment that I don't believe is the answer for me. I had already changed my mindset to one more month of Clomid and then moving on to the next step. I had done all of my reading up on injectables and had my game face on.

Now, I don't need anyone to leave me comments about how I'm negative and I should be counting my blessings. I know and I'm counting. I know that the fact that the Clomid worked is medically a good thing. I know the risks of injectables, especially with PCOS. It's just that I had already processed and accepted the fact that the Clomid didn't work. I'm a planner and I had already made my plan. Planners are not impressed when they have to change their plans. I had moved on from this cycle. And now....I have to make sense of things again.

OK, God. I understand that I don't get to control everything. Point made. And I guess thank you for the pleasant surprise of ovulation. I'm sorry it's taking me awhile to appreciate it. I promise to be on board with your plan by next week.

Special days...meh

So today is not only Father's Day, but it is also my 11 month anniversary of trying to make a cub. Hmmm...how about that? Luckily, I did not know the date until about an hour ago so my day was relatively decent considering the holiday. Tomorrow, I will go to my RE's office before work to take a blood test, pay twenty dollars to confirm that I am in fact not pregnant (duh), and get a prescription for Provera. And then on to cycle seven and 150 mg of Clomid. I have one confirmed ovulation since I started trying to conceive and two likely ovulations from early on before I started temping. I last ovulated in late March on a sixty five day cycle.

With my 1 year anniversary lurking just around the corner, I would just like to say to it:
I see you out there and when you get here, I'm going to punch you in your stupid face. Seriously, I'm going to beat the crap out of you. And I'm probably going to be drunk when I do it, so I'm going to have all sorts of drunken adrenaline. I'm going to be like a ninja. So watch out.

With the school year busily winding down and preparing to start my Master's program later this month, I haven't paid much attention to the date. A few days ago, it hit me that Father's Day was in fact this weekend. And all I could think was, I wasn't able to make my husband a father.

Tag, I'm it! Woot!

So I've been tagged by Echloe who is one of my rockin' nestie friends. Echloe, forgive me for taking so long to do this. So for this game of tag I have to write a six word memoir... a Meme. From Echloe's blog... "The Meme originated over an idea that was prompted by the book written by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, Not Quite What I was planning: Six Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure. It's a compilation based on the story that Hemingway once bet $10 that he could sum up his life in six words. His were- "For Sale: baby shoes, never worn."

And so here's my Meme:

Can you pause for awhile, please?

It basically sums up my feelings on everyone's lives around me moving forward while I feel frozen here in my infertility. Friends have gotten married and pregnant in the time that my husband and I have been trying to conceive. Sometimes I just wish everyone could freeze while I move forward for a bit so I can catch up.

I am supposed to tag 5 more people, and they will write a Meme, and then continue the game by tagging 5 more blogs, etc., etc. I am tagging Chrysallys because she rocks, Calhoun because she just started her blog and I'm so excited to read it, Sharra because she makes me laugh, Alli because she just got her BFP (woot!), and Jackiemac because I'm eager for the day when she gets her BFP.

grateful for grateful

This journey through infertility has left me frequently in a foul mood. Infertility is nearly constantly with me in a way that I can't describe to a fertile person. It's just always....there.

I am a grateful person by nature. My father worked hard to instill in me a sense of gratitude for the little things. I grew up happy to have a bottle of bubbles, a box of Lucky Charms, an animal to care for. As an adult, I'm still happy to have the bubbles, Lucky Charms and pets, but it's more stuff, too. When I'm stuck in traffic, I often remind myself how fortunate I am to have paved roads to drive on and a car to get to where I'm going. When I step outside, I'm happy for the warmth of the sun on my face. When I watch the news, I'm reminded how blessed I am to have been born in the United States. Despite our country's many issues, I realize there are devastating struggles going on in so many other nations. Watching my students play at recess brings me joy I can't express. The sound of crickets makes me close my eyes and sigh with contentment.

And so now I'm infertile. And things are just....different. I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking over this whole thing and trying to make sense of it. The way I view my world has changed. Things are cloudier. My outlook is hazy. Like I'm so wrapped up in what I don't have that I'm often failing to recognize what's right in front of me. The littlest things remind me of my infertility and it just hurts.

A couple of days ago, I was outside with my husband and two dogs. Joe was coaxing the dogs into enjoying the first time in their kiddie pool. Watching them, gratitude and contentment just washed over me. In that few minutes, life was good and I didn't feel infertile. And it struck me. I'm grateful to be grateful. My eyes welled and my chest ached. I'm just happy to have this moment where I feel grateful because the feeling is so much fewer and far between than I'm used to.

I don't entirely know yet what life lessons I'm supposed to get out of this whole infertility deal. Frankly, some days I'm not even interested in learning the lessons. But I think that recognizing that I should be grateful just for the moments when I actually feel grateful is a good start.

Why I'm going to Hell

She is pregnant. She as in the one person who was not supposed to get pregnant before me. She is 7 weeks pregnant.

Many of us have a she, the one person who is just going to send us into a blind rage of devastation if she gets pregnant before us. Mine is a friend, Kathy, who lately feels like more of an acquaintance. In another setting, I'm not sure we'd find each other to become friends since we don't have much in common. But here, we are, having discovered each other because our husbands are best friends. And so we muddle our way through a friendship that is sometimes awkward, but other times quite rewarding. She and I have lately had some issues in our friendship that we have just recently struggled through patching up, but that's a different topic entirely.

Let me start from the beginning.....

Friday was a great day overall. I was finally starting to feel more like myself after some rough infertility days (see my two previous posts). I had a fun day with my students. We had our annual tech meet. It's this day when the kids work in small groups to complete a project and, while it was a hectic day, it was fun. I drive home, feeling the warm sun on my face, grateful that is is finally the weekend. I chat on the phone with my friend, Annie, who is Kathy's sister-in-law. Annie even asks me what I am so happy about. My response: I dunno. I'm just in a good mood. It's so nice out. (Not that I'm usually miserable. I just had extra pep that day.)

My husband arrives homes from work and tells me we're invited to Tom and Kathy's to grill. Sounds great. More time to sit outside and appreciate the weather. Head right over. The husbands run out to grab some stuff at the convenience store. I make myself a drink. Kathy and I are chatting while I mindlessly flip through a gossip magazine, my back to her, as she folds laundry.

"I have something to tell you that I'm scared to tell you..." Oh f*ck me, you have got to be kidding me! F*uckity f*ck f*ck! She doesn't even have to keep talking. I know what's coming next. And it does, "I'm pregnant." She continues on and I think I even answer a few times but I don't know what I said. All I know is that my chest hurts and it's hard to breathe.

I am so grateful my back is to her so she doesn't catch my initial reaction of sheer horror. I muster up the strength to turn around and face her and mangle my way through a few minutes of conversation about her pregnancy. How she found out, how she can't believe it happened because she wasn't even trying (insert f*ck you here), how the baby looked on the ultrasound. I, meanwhile, am doing the world's worst job at faking enthusiasm while trying not to burst into tears. It is just awful. I make myself another, rather large drink. It's work to keep from running out of the house.

My husband walks in the door with Tom. I'm looking at him frantically. He's staring at me quizzically. Tom starts talking to my husband and the three of them get into a conversation. I make a beeline for the front door.

Once outside, I realize I'm not really sure what to do from here. I'm expected to sit and enjoy dinner with them when all I want to do is run away to lick my wounds in solitude, maybe while rocking back and forth. I don't have my keys. I'm not wearing any shoes. All I really have is my drink in my hand. Hey, at least I have this drink in my hand. That's something, right? I crumble on the curb in tears.

My husband follows me out. All I can manage through my sobbing is, "She's pregnant." Tom hadn't told him yet. My husband puts his arm around me and I continue to cry...and drink. I would give a million dollars to leave right now. I would give my right arm. I would give my first born...wait, no, take that part back. My husband stays with me for a while. We talk. Mostly I just cry and keep saying that I don't understand why God is letting this happen. I say some hateful stuff. Really hateful stuff that I'm too ashamed to even share. The whole thing really brings out the worst in me.

My huband eventually heads back in but I just can't. I"m not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out for a while. He heads back in again. I'm not ready. The tears keep coming. My husband comes back out to tell me it is time for dinner. He heads back in. I muster my strength and head in. I go to the bathroom first to wash up. After splashing water on my face, I am no longer splotchy and only have red, teary eyes. Great, I can't wait for dinner.

If you're ever looking to have a really awkward meal, I highly recommend having dinner with a couple immediately after you broke down sobbing in response to them sharing their joyous news. We spend about 10 minutes talking about pasta salad because it is the only thing that will fill the void.

After dinner, the boys go outside to smoke cigars. Kathy and I sit down to watch TV. Knocked Up is on. We watch it. I can't even comment on the fact that this was the movie we ended up viewing. It's too ridiculous. While watching the movie, I check my phone and see that I have a text. Are you ready for this? You won't even believe me. It's that ridiculous. It's from a coworker and says: Is that you on the curb? Are you ok? Oh.my.God. A teacher I work with drove by and saw me sobbing on the curb. That's f*cking awesome. I stare at the text, pondering the odds of her driving by when I realize that earlier Kathy mentioned that she already told my very good friend (and her sister-in-law), Annie, about her pregnancy and Annie talked to me today. She didn't tell me! Why wouldn't she tell me?! I'm instantly angry with her and fire off the following drunk text: You didnt tell me. She texts me back but I don't answer. She calls me but I don't answer. I'm surprised I sent the hostile text in the first place and am afraid that I will say angry, hateful things to her if I talk to her. I continued to stew over the fact that I'm watching Knocked Up during this whole debacle.

So you may be wondering, whatever happened to the drink that was in Jacki's hand earlier? Oh, don't you worry, my friend. It was guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled. And guzzled down quite quickly. And refilled again....and so on. Until, about halfway through the movie, when I get up to refill again and walk into a doorway. Not through a doorway. Into a doorway. It's time to go home.

I approach Mr. Jaguar to announce this news. Kathy interrupts to let me know that she can drive me home. She doesn't mind and the boys are still working on their cigars. Awesome. Let's get in a car for more awkwardness. I hand my husband my car keys to drive himself home later.

Thankfully, I only live a few miles away. About a mile from home, I realize my house key is attached to my car key which is now attached to my husband instead of me. Hmmm...we get to my house. Front and back doors are locked. There is no way I'm going back to Kathy's house. I'll sleep in my yard first. I find an open window. Kathy is begging me to let her help get in the house being as I am inebriated. Go away, pregnant girl. I got this. I balance myself on the armrests of two plastic chairs and climb in the window with what I'm pretty sure is the agility of a gazelle which, up until this very moment, I never knew I actually possessed. Kathy may be willing to argue this part of my story, but I'm sticking to it.