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.