hubbin buzzed in on my morning chat with PJ (i was in full “what an idiot” mode telling her the story) and when i told him who i was talking to he said “what, are you bitchin’ about me?” yes, as a matter of fact, i am. would you rather i bitch to your face about it, or dump it on my best friend? i don’t care he said, sounding like he wasn’t going to hit target on the way home for a card.

i am beyond being nice about this. yes, i get it, we went out to dinner, we went to a show, it was great. you still have to show me that this day means something to you, emotionally. you have to say something. and by the way, there are like three bazillion crayons in my house and a bunch of paper, a shitload of princess stickers and paints. all would be forgiven if he made something silly with boo last minute.

i have a valid reason for being upset. and i think it’s fair to let him know that even though 48 hours have past, i’m still hurt. that’s honest. and i guess i respect him enough to tell him that, rather than stewing in silence.

yesterday was our 11th anniversary. we went out friday night and when we got home and got into bed, it was around 12:30 AM. hubbin says, “happy anniversary”. i say the same. the next day, we are both not feeling well - everyone is getting sick at my house - but still. all day nothing. nothing, not one word. it wasn’t until we sat down to dinner and i gave hubbin two anniversary cards that he said anything. and it wasn’t that he said, happy anniversary, he didn’t really say that. he just said that he didn’t have a card for me.

we eat and the after dinner we start cleaning up and and he reaches for a hug. what’s wrong? he asks. gee, i dunno, it’s like you completely forgot that today was our anniversary. i mean, it’s 6:30 PM and you haven’t even said anything. (i figure by 6:30 PM if flowers haven’t been delivered or a card received he forgot or is a complete idiot). i said happy anniversary last night, he said. yeah, i was there, but that was last night, not today. saying it at 12:30 in the morning doesn’t mean you don’t have to say it today. it doesn’t get you off the hook. and that was it.

i’m hurt and humiliated beyond belief. i work my ass off and to the detriment of my own mental health. and no, i don’t feel well, and he’s complaining about getting sick. but i’m the one getting up with the baby at night, and i’m the one giving boo meds so she doesn’t get it too. AND YOU STILL HAVE TO SAY IT!!! it sucks that he didn’t get me a card. every year i tell him he doesn’t need to get me a gift as long as he gets me flowers. that’s all i want - flowers. and maybe an acknowledgment of the day.

i think most husbands would be thrilled to be off the hook so easily. for christsakes, you can order flowers online in advance to have delivered on the day you choose. you can have someone put “happy anniversary” on the card to be delivered with the flowers. it shouldn’t be impossible for a nearly 40 year old college graduate married for eleven fucking years to get his wife flowers or a card. but apparently it was this year.

and there will be so many things to blame, the kids, his getting sick, how busy we are, blah blah blah. you know, if you think long enough and hard enough there is an excuse for everything. but there is ABSOLUTELY NO EXCUSE FOR THIS. none.

fuck.

JCSG and I are working really hard at catching up. We are! Here we discuss David Sedaris’ When You Are Engulfed in Flames. And I admit to wanting to mess around with Tim Gunn.

strange turn of events, but i totally miss The Brit. think he’s vacationing in Scotland. that’s so nice to say. i wish it applied to me.

i guess i’ll just cling longingly to my e-mails from Barak Obama and Al Franken.

I’m so so sorry. I was a complete idiot in high school. Now, looking back at these pictures and reading what you wrote on the back of them…all I can do is type these words and hope that someday you google yourself and it leads you here.

I couldn’t see how extremely cool you were, and are probably still. I was waiting for someone else to ask me to prom senior year and he never did. So when you asked me in Mr. Hardy’s art class in front of everyone I had to say yes. And instead of taking it in stride, I let my preconceived notions of what senior prom is SUPPOSED to be get in the way of what was true, genuine affection on your part.

The only think I can say is, I had no idea how much you really liked me. I was too much a girl of the 80’s to even consider opening my heart to a way cooler throw-back Mod like yourself. And even when Jen tried to beat it into my head how poorly I was treating you, I just didn’t listen.

Hopefully, you found true love in Oregon. A girl who appreciates all you have to give and isn’t hung up on your shitty, bass playing best friend. You’re right, the signals I was receiving were diverted and deceiving. Too bad I didn’t get the message.

Hope you are well.
Love,
Jodie

boo’s recent injury still weighs on me. hubbin and i talked a little bit about it last night, but i don’t think things went very well. i don’t feel any better and usually when we have a chance to talk it out, we both walk away feeling great. maybe there is more to talk about.

i just feel like i want to press pause. but only for myself. i want everything else to keep going. i need a replacement bot. seems that i’m just going through the motions anyway, why not just get a FemBot in to do what i normally do or don’t do? then i could go off and work on myself and come back at this with a different perspective.

i think the reason for all of this is that my Mom’s birthday is coming up this weekend. she would have been 65 this year.

this is where she started to freak out a little bit.

i grabbed her hand and walked her to the bathroom to put it under running water. this looked like a scene from a horror movie. i mean, is there is a certain look to blood swirling with water. the water keeps running, the blood keeps gushing, you think of that scene in Poltergeist with the guy pulling his face off and the chunks fall into the sink. ok, it wasn’t that bad, but still this is my daughter we are talking about!

to say that boo was brave is an understatement. once i turned the water off and got some tissue to put pressure on the gash she had dripped more blood into the sink. but she was starting to calm down. we went back to sit in the living room for a bit with me applying pressure holding her hand above her head. by the time hubbin got downstairs (he was in the shower the whole time), it was still bleeding pretty badly. he tried to tape it up, but she bled right through so i made the decision to take her to Urgent Care.

now, i’m not one of these mom’s that takes their kid in for every little thing. but gashes that don’t stop bleeding after ten or fifteen minutes need to be looked at. thankfully, the urgent care TV was tuned to SpongeBob and boo was content to just sit on my lap, snuggling and looking pitiful. to my amazement, buns was the one to really cheer her up. he was blowing raspberries (his new six-month-old trick) and she found this really funny.

the nurse ended up putting some kind of surgical strips over the wound. three strips because she’s three years old, she got three stickers and now mom needs three glasses of wine. she was pretty tuckered out though when it was all said and done. she had huge circles under her eyes (massive blood loss?) and fell asleep before we finished one book.

i feel like an idiot. it’s basically my fault she got hurt. but i’m really glad i didn’t second guess myself for taking her to Urgent Care. the doctor said even though boo didn’t need stitches, we got really lucky. i know he’s right, but i’m still freaked out.

A Quick History
Junior year in high school, my BFF (Psycho Jen) and I went on a school trip to England. I had been there the previous year with my parents and grandparents. It was a jazz band, dance thing and we traveled around performing and staying with host families, etc. The first week there we mainly stayed at and around Dulwich College, outside of London. There we met several handsome, charming, british blokes. We both stayed with a young man named Silas, There was the Holden Caufield-esque Marcus (who kissed me a lot and wore pants tighter than my own) And there was Elliot. Jen did a much better job staying in touch with Elliot and Silas long-term. I don’t have a valid reason for letting either one of them fall by the wayside. Let’s just say life got in the way.

Most Personal
I fell in love with Elliot, naturally. I have a feeling PJ did too. Elliot set the standard for me as far as men are concerned; tall, dark, handsome, smart, funny. The only real difference between hubbin and Elliott is that Elliot is British. Elliot pointed this out to me at PJ’s wedding - which he flew across the pond for. Then with a wink and a smile he added that hubbin was just a poor substitute for him.

Kiss and Tell
My freshman year in college, or maybe it was my sophomore year… PJ and Elliot came down to Iowa to see me. Like all truly great college adventures, it’s a haze of booze and giggles. I remember Elliot psyching everyone at a party out by filling an empty Vodka bottle with water and then drinking more than half of it down. He literally dragged me out of that party and i cut myself on the door frame. I still have a scar on my collarbone. We ended up going back to my dorm room and making out for what seemed like hours. PJ was not pleased.

The Stripey
Somewhere along the way, Elliot gave me his College Stripey. They give them out for…how did he put it? “Outstanding performance / contributions to College life”. It’s basically a black blazer with blue stripes and the college crest on the pocket. Apparently, and this might just be in my own mind, it’s a big deal and not something you should just give away to some American Girl. Lucky for me, Elliot did give his away, to me, and again I don’t think PJ was pleased.

Flash Forward
Two weeks ago at breakfast PJ says something along the lines of, “I hate to ask, but…” She said that she had asked me to send Elliot the stripey back once before. I don’t remember that. “Well, his boys are at the college now and he’s going to start teaching there and he really needs it back.” Okay.

i found the stripey in the cedar closet downstairs and took it to the dry cleaners. i hate sending it back. not that i’m a cold hearted bitch who won’t honor a request. but i have/had genuine feelings for the person that gave it to me, and by sending it back, i feel like i’ll have no proof at all of how cool i was. not that it matters. it’s really silly to hold on to stuff like that, they are just things after all.

i guess, by sending it back, i’m admitting to middle age. that boisterous girl is long gone and i’m just not ready to accept that. so it appears that i am in dire need of a silly adventure. something reckless and youthful and slightly dangerous. although, i’d have to find a babysitter first.

Pardon the delay - and I’m sure the BCB website is going to be updated soon - but here it is, the JULY edition of Bookclub Bitches.

Bookclub Bitches #14 - It’s a Bird by Stephen Seagle.