There’s a Tear in My Non-Alcoholic Beer

July 25, 2005

GURGLE . . . BLURBLE . . .GURP . . .


Sorry – just coming up for air from the OCEAN OF MY TEARS to write this.

Seriously people . . . I haven’t cried this much since the months before I was diagnosed with clinical depression (including the infamous Five Day Crying in Bed All Day and Subsequently Causing Me to Lose My Job saga.)

Okay – so I’m not crying at this very moment – because I’m at work and I have to keep it together (AND I’m still on Prozac – which, might I add, my doctor HAS APPROVED!)

Friday was okay. Friday night we had a beautifully healthy dinner at Kamado’s and then went to the new Whole Foods – which might I add was INCREDIBLE! I’ve never been to one. Thank GOD Baton Rouge now has one because HOW have I LIVED without the GELATO BAR all this time!?!?! And you know – I heard the gelato scooper girls saying that it was much lighter than ice cream because it’s made from milk instead of cream.

I also enjoyed the chocolate dipping station – where I was handed a free chocolate covered macaroon by a smiling employee. I think I stared into the chocolate fountain for far too long, though. To tell the truth –it was kinda like being in Wonka’s factory.

Anyway – so then Saturday . . . ah Saturday.

It was decided that we’d go car shopping that day (a tearful and horrific experience for anyone other than P. Diddy) and so that meant that the Beetle had to be cleansed and purified.

Okay – so I’m not the cleanest person in the world. Okay – so I keep a messy car. Okay – so the very fact that I keep a messy car made Chad almost not ask me out again after our first date.

You see where this is going . . .

Angry words are exchanged amidst me carrying in all manner of items from the car and into the house or trashcan– (the shoes I wore in my sister’s wedding last November, a variety of Rubbermaid dishes that I carried my lunch to work in, CDs, old magazines, more CDs, shriveled French fries, notebooks, at least 7 bags with books or papers in them, thousands of crumpled receipts . . . you get the idea).

And this of course, leads to the whole Ginger, how can you expect me to trust you with a new car when I see how you’ve treated this one. . . line of conversation.

Anyway – so the crying begins and escalates – there are accusations on all levels (by me of course) – there are conspiracy theories.

Somehow – it manages to work itself out. I don’t even remember how, because I was drunk with emotions.

So – we head out to the KIA dealership (as shameful as that is to admit.) Okay – so we don’t have the best credit track record and we want to get something relatively decent but we’re not in the market for a Lincoln Navigator for GODSSAKE!


First the saleswoman (which I thought would be a refreshing turn of events) wanted to sell us some Optima piece of shit which to me looked strangely like Gary Hart’s face. Don’t ask me where I got this from – but I was repulsed.

I don’t know . . .

What do you think?

Annnyway – I don’t want to go into too many details about it – because it’s just so ridiculous. I will say that it was hot – that I was bitchy and that several car salesmen and one woman were probably praying for my death by the end of the day.

I mean – since when did they start making damn cars so SMALL! And I’m talking about the insides of the cars – because the outsides of the bitches are gigantic. I’m sitting in the seat and the steering wheel is touching my thigh. And I’m like –there is no way this is going to see me through month nine. I mean – if the airbag deployed and hit my stomach that was maybe one inch away from the wheel it would KILL MY CHILD! (I think I actually yelled this at some point.)

We almost got a Mazda Tribute – which was quite roomy and would have easily seen me through month nine. Hell – the Beetle would, surprisingly, but it’s not an infant friendly car – as far as trying to get a child in and out of it.

Anyway – we didn’t. I’m glad because I found out it had rolled over in some test. AND it was a gas guzzler.

Sunday – I just cried all day for a myriad of reasons. Chad was being his usual gross “smell my finger” self and it made me burst into tears and feel rejected and fat. I cried about Mr. B and his fleas. I cried about the tuna steak I’d eaten for dinner the night before, after I’d accidentally read an article about mercury poisoning in the copy of Fit Pregnancy in the bathroom. I cried about how fat I am and how I’m going to go into orbit in just a few weeks. I cried about my lack of self control with food.

I just felt sooooooooo shitty about everything. Mostly I feel alone – wishing there was some other obese pregnant girl I could hang out with. And I feel guilty – thinking that my super-size is going to render the baby handicapped in some way. And I keep thinking – sooner or later, someone’s going to get ugly with me. Someone’s going to say the words I fear the most: You had no business getting pregnant at this size.

I just feel so different. People around me talk about pregnancy and when they were pregnant, etc. But it’s not the same for me. I’m not going to see my belly button pop out. I’m not going to get the linea negra. I’m not going to be cute during this time. Ever. I’m not going to hurt in 2 months- I’m hurting NOW. I’m just terrified because I keep thinking that none of the norms apply to me and that I’m just venturing into this alone. And that nothing I read from other pregnant women really applies to me because I’m so fat. It’s DAMN DEPRESSING.

Anyway – I had managed to stop crying until I got a call from my stepmother. She was calling to ask if I’d seen Simone’s baby (my old ex-best friend that I wrote about here.

You see, my stepmother has a way of dropping little bombs on people. I’ve noticed this. She won’t just ask you “Did you know Simone had her baby?” she’ll say “Have you seen Simone’s baby yet?” – which somehow makes it worse. Because she assumes that I knew. I mean she knew, so. . . Oh wait – you didn’t know? Oh well . . . I would have thought . . . I hope I’m explaining this well enough.

Anyway – turns out she had the baby last week sometime – don’t know when. AND I wasn’t called. It made me so sad. AND she had a girl.

So that began a whole new cycle of hysteria.

I didn’t get out of the house yesterday – but I’d dried up at about 3 or so. We then proceeded to watch the Good Times marathon and now I know that line is really “hanging in a chow line” right before they say “Ain’t we lucky we got em.”

Anyway – that’s my sad weekend. Sorry to be so blue – but the pregnancy book said writing about it was good.

12:35 p.m. ::
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