Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 10

I've got to leave for the movies now.

LATER . . .

Mom just called back. She found Oscar. Actually she and this guy Richard from her book club, the one who's in love with her, only Mom doesn't care, found him. Richard is this really, really nice guy who won't pick a book when it's his turn unless Mom also likes the book. And he insists on bringing food to the house whenever it's Mom's turn to host. Richard = total devotion. Mom = total insanity. The guy is good-looking, about 50, and as far as I can tell is bucks-up. What is the deal with that? Mom would rather get involved in a torrid chat-room affair. I sent her a clipping about a murder where a wife hooked up with a guy on the Internet; husband followed wife to the motel where they were meeting, shot everyone including himself. All Mom said was that it didn't apply to her because she wasn't married anymore.

Meanwhile, I went to this French film, part of on-campus foreign film series. Dreadful, depressing, subt.i.tles. Felt intelligent. Felt really bored, also. Afterward Thyme insisted on discussing it. I had to pretend I'd actually watched the whole thing instead of sitting there daydreaming about going to movies this past summer with Grant, and daydreaming about leaving town tomorrow for Madison. Can't wait to see Jane. Can't wait to be around other people.

10/14.

"Courtney, you've lost weight! You're so skinny!"

That was the first thing Jane said when I got out of the van at the UW Student Union, staggering a little because I'd been scrunched up in the back.

"Look-you're not even strong enough to walk!" Jane said.

"I am, too," I said as I gave her a big hug. Then I explained what happened: the bus didn't show up like it was supposed to. We had 2 cargo vans, and that was it. People were literally fighting for seats, until they decided to have a lottery. I don't think I've ever prayed so hard for anything in my life, except maybe that they wouldn't serve chicken at my graduation party. So they'd given away almost all the seats except for this one in the way, way back-and that was mine. Practically under the luggage.

Jane said the first thing we had to do-after lunch-was go find some clothes in my actual size at the thrift shop. I guess I hadn't noticed, but now that I'm back in civilized society, and Jane has a full-length mirror, I guess I am looking sort of like a 14-year-old boy with my baggy look and short hair. "You're like a stick. Haven't you been eating?" Jane asked.

"Sure," I said. It was just that the cafeteria pickings for vegetarians are woefully slim. But I supplemented. Constantly. "Of course I've been eating, Jane, don't be ridiculous." But when I thought about it, not that much, really, except Twizzlers, plain bagels, and chocolate soymilk. Hm. Maybe I am a 14-year-old boy.

Jane took me to an Indian restaurant. All delicious. All stuff that I absolutely couldn't get in Wauzataukie. Felt like I was in heaven, or at least a colder facsimile of Boulder. We drank coffee, talked and talked, walked up and down State Street, bought cheap earrings and cool boots, and then Jane drove me to this place called Ella's, where she insisted I order something called the #1. Turned out to be a pound cake sundae, with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge and whipped cream. "Jane," I said. "You know I can't eat this."

"I saw you eat a banana split this summer at work," Jane reminded me. "So break your rules again-do it for me, Courtney. We have to fatten you up."

"I'm not a cow," I said. She made me sound like I was getting ready for the slaughterhouse and wouldn't fetch a good price at auction.

"You're not anorexic or something dumb like that, are you?" Jane asked as she stirred sugar into her coffee. "Because we all made a pledge to each other that we'd never go down that road." She hit her spoon against the table. "Oh, no. I forgot how bad you are at keeping your pledges."

"I am not," I protested, as my mouth literally watered.

But Jane looked really worried. And the sundae looked really good. But I couldn't, I told her. But then I did.

And it was delicious.

Perhaps it's time to reevaluate my survival strategy. Instead of being vegan, I could be a lacto-vegetarian. Let's face it, eggs and milk are easier to find around here than alfalfa and seaweed.

"Anyway, I'm not bad at pledges," I told Jane. "Grant and I pledged to make our relations.h.i.+p work, no matter what. And we're doing it."

"Mm." Jane took a sip of coffee but didn't say much else.

"What?" I asked. "Our relations.h.i.+p is surviving just fine."

She stared at these little Beatles marionette things that were dancing around, near the ceiling.

"Aren't we?" I asked, waving my spoon in front of her face. "Or do you know something I don't?"

"Hey, I don't know anything," Jane said. "I just think it's kind of unrealistic to a.s.sume you can be exclusive for an entire year when you're not together. Your relations.h.i.+p might be fine," she said. "But are you?"

I might have just been getting woozy from the sundae, but it sounded like she was being really critical. Of me and Grant. What's to criticize? Not me. Not Grant. So is there something else I should know about or worry about?

JANE HERE:.

Hi, journal. Haven't talked to you lately, but want you to keep an eye on your owner/creator. Very worried about Courtney. Short hair, gaunt, looks pale. Wonder if it's because she misses Grant? Romantic, but stupid (sorry, Court, but you come first). Or it could just be major Vitamin D deficiency; no milk, no sun. Well, either way, Courtney, you need to put on some pounds. You're supposed to gain the freshman fifteen, not lose it. Very worried about Beth, also. She goes out almost every night, cracked up her mother's car that one time, is getting D's in her cla.s.ses, and on top of all that is not being very nice to Bryan.

10/15.

I never even saw Jane write in here. How funny.

Unfortunately I'm back from Madison. Had a great time with Jane and new bf Charles and saw his band and everything. But now I'm back in the land of total disasters.

While I was gone, Joe came over yesterday and brought Mary Jo flowers and told her she was beautiful and skinny, and I get the impression he spent the night, ew, and now they're off on a date at Il Fromaggio. Boy can tell her to lose weight and then take her out for lasagna and breadsticks. Like a couple of multicultural carnations make up for the way he insulted her and broke it off out of the blue. Multicolored carnations, whatever. I feel like going to the restaurant and spying on him, making sure he doesn't say something about he just realized what he was missing, blah blah blah. If I had his cell phone number I'd call it and tell him there was an emergency at home.

I just know he's only doing this because he misses her, or he needs something from her-not because he cares.

"Courtney, you don't know that," Grant said when I called him to complain. "He might have the best intentions."

"They have a giant midterm coming up," I said. "His intention is to pa.s.s bio. And Mary Jo can help him do it."

"You're shortchanging Mary Jo," Grant said. "Don't you think he might miss her? She seems like a really great person, and you said she's cute, so . . . why wouldn't he want her back?"

There it is again. That Mary Jo wors.h.i.+p tone.

"The question isn't about Mary Jo," I said. "The thing is that Joe is a heinous individual and can't be trusted."

"You're too hard on people, you know that?" Grant said. He sounded sort of critical. How dare he? He's not here, he doesn't know Joe. If he met him for even 2 seconds, he'd hate him. But suddenly I'm the one who's critical?

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. I have to go to the library," I said, and rushed off the phone. Stupid Joe is now ruining Mary Jo's life, and my life with Grant as well.

10/16.

Mary Jo and I got into a huge fight this morning because I told her that Joe was only using her. She said he wasn't and that I was really mean to say that, and only someone as "jaded and s.k.a.n.ky" as me would have such an evil thought.

Jaded and s.k.a.n.ky? Sounds like a kids' show. 2 new dwarves have been added to "Snow White": Jaded and s.k.a.n.ky! Oh-don't forget Critical. I'm just getting so many compliments lately, I can hardly keep track of them all.

Can I help it if I've gone on a few more dates than Mary Jo? Which isn't her fault. And it isn't my fault. She should trust me when it comes to Joe.

Want him to drop out of this school and stop ruining Mary Jo's life, and, by transitive property, my life. I hope he flunks out. Soon. Sometimes I feel like I am more involved in their relations.h.i.+p than my own. But that's because theirs is in town and mine isn't. Where is mine, exactly?

10/17.

Mary Jo and I are talking again. Or rather, we were, for about 3 minutes. Mary Jo aced her bio midterm yesterday; Joe didn't. So after they got their midterms back, he broke up with her again.

Mary Jo very upset. So upset that she mistakenly started talking to me again; forgot about silent treatment.

I tried not to say "I told you so," but I'm not very good at that. I have this thing where I just really really enjoy being right. Except that I wasn't enjoying it, because Mary Jo started crying again. Whatever I said came out totally wrong, and she went out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

"What was that all about?" Thyme asked, coming across the hall. Behind her, loud reggae music blared. "There is way too much hostility around here. I think it's because of the asbestos in the carpeting."

"No, it isn't," I said. "There's nothing wrong with this dorm! Except the people in it." Then I slammed the door in her face. I really don't know what came over me.

Oh c.r.a.p. Now Thyme hates me. Mary Jo hates me. Krystyne came by, pretending she wanted to "chat," but was fis.h.i.+ng for information to fill out her weekly "conflict report" to the housing office.

10/18.

Mary Jo is on a hunger strike. I went to get a fruit juice from the fridge tonight, and discovered the cupboard is bare. Completely. "What happened to all the food in here?" I asked.

"Oh, I got rid of it all," she said.

For a split second I wondered if she ate it all. One of those breakup-induced binges. But she said she threw it out because her sponsor told her to remove temptation from her life.

"Sponsor?" I asked. "Temptation?"

She's joined some on-campus group that makes it sound like dieting is a religion.

"How about if you just sort of cut back?" I suggested. "You only have like five pounds to lose, at most. At most! And you look fine anyway and shouldn't worry about what Joe said."

"Easy for you to say," Mary Jo grumbled. "You've dropped at least ten pounds since we got here and you have a terrific guy back home waiting for you." She made it sound like we were off at war together, sharing a bunker.

Then she showed me all these brochures from this weight-loss group. Scary. She's convinced she'll get Joe back if she does this. Should I throw this stuff out so it can't work?

Meanwhile, I'm supposed to be organizing this giant rally for Sat.u.r.day, have to meet with the group tomorrow. Need new ideas.

10/19.

Where is Grant when I need him? Not home again. Left a message. Just got back from huge party at Mark/Marc/Marque's house. One of his roommates has it every fall, and it's called the "Oshkosh Slosh," because he's from Oshkosh and so are a bunch of people here. I didn't get sloshed, but I did dance a lot. Maybe a little sloshed, earlier, but switched over to water 3 gla.s.ses ago.

Funny thing happened. Was talking to Marque about Grant and how much I miss Grant and so he asked if I had a picture. Which I do in my wallet. Crumpled but still cute. So I was showing it to him and he was totally impressed. Marque and I sat on the stairs and talked for an hour about relations.h.i.+ps and how hard they are and how great they are, etc.

Then Marque asked if I worry about Grant being with other women, because after all he is hot. Marque said if he dated Grant he wouldn't let him out of his sight. I thought that was very funny so I kept laughing. Then suddenly it wasn't funny and I was almost crying. Then Marque hugged me and said just because he was paranoid and insecure didn't mean I had to be.

Then a bunch of Badicals showed up and we all danced and I forgot about missing Grant. At one point I did tipsily hara.s.s Wittenauer about his first name, and he said as if his initials weren't bad enough, he was also a 3. What? I asked. He's a lot cuter than that, I thought. Why was he rating himself only a 3?

Then he cracked up laughing and said he had a 3 at the end of his name. Like Junior, but a III. So his initials are actually WW III. Can you even believe that?

"I'm surprised you can spend so much time trying to change the college name," I said. "Don't you want to spend all your time changing your own initials?"

"Is there a group for that?" he asked. "Do you want to organize one?"

"Actually, yeah," I said. "But I'll tell you my middle initials some other time."

What a fun party. I really need to go to more parties.

10/20.

I have decided not to drink at any more parties. Or drink anymore at parties. Or even go to parties. Not fun.

Have a major headache, still, and lost my wallet last night. I have no idea where. Completely irresponsible of me. I've retraced my steps-well, okay, so I can't remember every single step. I'm not Thyme. She did use her photographic memory to go through all the routes we walked together.

Funny how easy it was to make up with Mary Jo and Thyme. Perhaps Thyme's photographic memory is failing and she doesn't remember me shutting the door in her face?

I skimmed the Lost & Found section of the paper, and I've been to every Lost & Found desk there is.

"A wallet? Er, no," everyone said, trying not to laugh, as if everyone knows that no one ever turns in stolen wallets.

It's not like I had much in there.

Just my entire life history. My complete ident.i.ty.

Feel very weird about hanging out and laughing with Corny last night. Like I did something wrong, had too much fun or something, and now must be punished.

Which is why Krystyne just came by and told me I had to go to a housing workshop tomorrow at 1 P.M. Mandatory.

10/21.

Housing office called it "So You Got Off on the Wrong Foot: A Remedial Roommate Workshop."

I called it "Three Hours of My Life-Gone."

Mary Jo and I were there, along with Thyme and Kirsten and about 50 other miserable-looking students. Housing office won't let you move, but will spend time and money to force you to get along?

We had to do all these really stupid exercises to rebuild trust. Then we were supposed to turn to each other and each person got 2 minutes of "freestyle open expression." I went first, and I didn't even talk for 2 minutes, and if I did, it was all about Joe and what a bad choice he was for Mary Jo and how I wanted to protect her from him.

Mary Jo then started her rant and couldn't stop. She said, "No wonder you want to change the school's name. You don't agree with anything. You think everything should be one way, your way, and when it's not, you decide it's wrong," blah blah blah. I stopped listening, which was a mistake, because part of the exercise required repeating back what she had said.

"You never listen!" Mary Jo cried. "That's another thing that drives me crazy."

We left there with a giant 3-ring binder called "Cope, Don't Mope." And some extra credit that has to count somewhere.

10/23.

There was some mail waiting for me today. Not the good kind. The kind that comes from the bank when your account is overdrawn. Well, of course it is, I thought-my wallet was stolen, my Tyme card was stolen-I'd already called the bank to report this, so I'm not responsible.

I went down to the bank to talk with a customer service rep. Unfortunately I got the same cranky woman who couldn't spell my middle name and lectured me on balancing my checkbook and not bouncing checks. "I was just about to call you, Ms. Vun Dragoon Smith," she said. Like I was about to make her day, because she could get all her b.i.t.c.hiness out in one customer transaction and then go home early. I tried to explain that the checks had bounced because someone stole my Tyme card. I told her I'd never actually written a bad check.

"Do you understand the concept of checking at all?" she said, as if I were 7 years old. "Listen, you are in big trouble here with us. And I warned you, didn't I?"

"But don't you see? We're dealing with a case of ident.i.ty theft," I said. "Didn't you see that Sandra Bullock movie?" I explained how easy it was to have someone take your name, everything about you, and start acting like you, and start spending money like you- Then she went to a file and came back with my signature card, and also photocopies of the bounced checks. They were all ones I'd written myself. A few of them while slightly impaired, apparently. Couldn't quite make out who they were to. It had nothing to do with my Tyme card.

"I'm sorry. Your account has been closed. Permanently," she said. "And you owe us two hundred dollars in fees."

Then she smiled. Yeah, she's so sorry. She lives for this.

10/25.

Excellent news. Marque found my wallet at his house! Took him out to Koffee Kitchen to celebrate. After we ordered I realized I had no cash. Had to ask him to cover the meal. Very embarra.s.sing. Now owe him 2 lunches.

Called Grant on the sly from Funders today. Told him about finding my wallet and joked how Marque was only keeping it because he thought Grant's photo was cute. He didn't even laugh. He was all preoccupied with something.