A husband and wife are meeting in a restaurant to finalize the terms of their impending divorce. Write the scene from the point of view of a busboy snorting cocaine in the restroom.

I’m a busboy at La Snobberie. I don’t want to tell you the real name of the restaurant–for reasons you will soon find out. It’s a pretty good job—they’re willing to work around my class schedule.

I wish I didn’t have to work, but my mom thinks that I should Experience The Real World. Also, I need money for things that the ‘rents just won’t understand—blow. Yeah, yeah. I know. This is your brain on drugs, blah blah. I keep my grades up. Look me in the eye and tell me that YOU spent your college days studying the Bible and drinking herbal tea and I’ll just laugh.

So anyway, back to La Snobberie. Since I’m studying Psychology, I enjoy watching the people come into the restaurant and trying to figure out where they’re coming from. I have them divided into categories:

DATES: The girl always has perfect hair and runs to the bathroom every five minutes to spray some more gook on it or slap on another load of lipstick. The guy always thinks he looks great, but ½ the time I can tell from the look in his date’s eyes that he should have sent that shirt to Goodwill a long time ago. They both drink lots of wine.

MARRIEDS: Does everybody get tired of being married? It sure looks like it to me. Do married people ever actually TALK to each other? Most people don’t bring their kids to La Snobberie, but I go past the table and I hear things like Tonya’s SAT scores weren’t real good or Joey’s not behaving during Circle Time and I have to run to the head and snort just because I’m getting bored to tears just listening to them. Mom always whips out her cell phone and calls the sitter while Dad’s sitting there checking out all the cute young girls waiting tables.

But I want to tell you about the couple I saw in here the other night. Her name was Darling, I guess, because that’s all he called her. She didn’t call him that, though. I think she wanted to call him Asshole, but she called him Jason.

I heard him say “Sometimes old dreams turn into new dreams and all we can do is watch,” and I saw her nod politely and make stabbing motions under the table with an imaginary knife.

I heard her say, “don’t know how the house will sell in this market…” and “who will take the Citibank Visa..it’s mostly your golf stuff, you know!” and I realized that they were getting a divorce. That made me sad and I had to go snort some more blow. I saw that she was just about to break down and he looked sad but yet somehow strangely triumphant. It was plain that he had some new bimbo waiting in the wings.

“He’s taking it hard,” I heard Darling say. “He needs his father.”

Asshole, I mean Jason, arranged his face into a semblance of grief. “….be there for him…” I heard before I had to go clear another table.

….”years we spent together mean nothing?” I heard her say. God, it was frustrating! I wanted to just park my chair down next to them and pretend to be Dr. Phil and lay the smackdown on Asshole.

“…..always be very very special to me…” I overheard and touched the little happy stash in my pocket for comfort. I wished I had a real knife.

Look, I liked Darling and if my parents were any prediction of the future, Darling and Asshole were going to find that life after divorce was exactly the same as life before divorce—hard and lonely. They’d end up with other partners that gave them exactly the same amount of grief. God knows my stepmom is no angel, and now her dad has to go in a nursing home at like five thousand dollars a month. My mom’s dad is still healthy and even takes me fishing sometimes just like on the laxative commercials.

Darling’s phone rang. I liked her ring—it was “Sexual Healing.” Those old Motown tunes are pretty awesome, really, but don’t tell my friends I said so. Anyway, she apologized and left the table, and came back ten minutes later glowing all over.

…”just somebody I met on Match, we’ve had a few dates, that’s all..” I overheard her say with a big smile on her face. It was a smile of hope, and excitement, and anticipation. You could tell that she thought this one would be banging her night and day on alternate custody weekends. Doing her in the shower stall right next to the toy sailboats. Bending her over the easy chair that Asshole left behind because his new girlfriend wanted him to have fancier furniture. I was sort of enjoying the whole thing, too. I even mentally picked out a teddy for her—I thought black would look good with her red hair. They have some rad ones at Victoria’s Secret (My sister gets the catalog).

Well! You would have thought that somebody lit a fire under Asshole’s butt. By the end of the dinner they were holding hands and he was telling her that maybe they could park Taking It Hard And Needs A Father with his parents for a “rejuvenation weekend.”

I was so excited that I went to the bathroom and snorted a little more. Because even though I didn’t much like Asshole, it was clear he had something that Darling wanted. Maybe she didn’t want to stash the wedding pictures in the attic. Maybe she was remembering the day that Taking It Hard was born, or just needing and wanting the familiarity of an old love, one who knows you inside and out and still loves you in some weird way.

I was still taking it easy in the stall I saw some real flamer come in. He took a quick whiz and whipped out his cell phone.

“I think it worked,” I heard him say. “My! Playing Cupid is exhausting. Wanna meet me at Barnes and Noble for cheesecake?”

—————

Lorrie http://cluelessincarolina.blogspot.com is a southern belle from South Carolina who enjoys cursing, smoking, teaching college and raising her adopted Chinese daughters with her husband, who bears no resemblance to Jason, but several ex-boyfriends just might. She likes long walks on the beach and dining at expensive restaurants.

This post is part of the September Blog Exchange. This month’s exchange is a little different – we’re all writing short (fictional) stories based on the 13 Writing Prompts found at McSweeney’s. You can find me at Lorrie’s site today, and the full list of participants can be found by clicking here.

Since it’s hard to steer away from a train wreck like Forbes.com, I had to check out their recently published list of America’s Drunkest Cities.

I am [proud? ashamed? embarrassed? amused?] to report that Columbus ranked #3 on the list, just behind Milwaukee and Minneapolis-St.Paul. That means the top three drinking cities in America can be found right here in the Midwest. In fact, overall the Midwest scored high on the number of cities on the drunk list, and Ohio even more so: we’re one of two states to have three major cities in the top 20. (Cleveland at #7, Cincinnati at #16)

There were five stats used to rank these cities: state laws, number of drinkers, number of heavy drinkers, number of binge drinkers, and alcoholism. Personally, I think they should have included number of frat boys per square mile into the stats, but I guess that didn’t fit their methodology.

Here in Columbus, its clear we’re a city that loves our booze. There are bars everywhere – dingy holes in the wall, sports bars, dance clubs with fully stocked bars, and upscale pubs are found on nearly every corner. The Arena district (home of the Columbus Blue Jackets) has its own brewery/restaurant – stop in for a meal, stay to witness beer brewing! But we don’t stop at beer, either – we love our wine, whiskey, and mixed drinks, too.

Now, you might ask: why would Columbus drink more? Well, besides the fact that we have one more holiday than the rest of you (because really, where else but Columbus can you celebrate Columbus Day?), there are several reasons to drink that don’t involve a day off work. Reasons such as:

– OSU football team wins a game (the drinking is usually joined by burning dumpsters)
– OSU football team loses a game (also accompanied by burning dumpsters)
– OSU beats Michigan (this one usually warrants a step up to car fires)
– OSU marching band plays Hang On Sloopy (or the tuba player dots the ‘I’ in Script Ohio)
– OSU fires a coach
– OSU hires a new coach
– OSU goes to a bowl game
– OSU faces suspending a football player for assault/robbery/rape/being an idiot

Yes, Ohio State University athletics factors into a lot of the drinking around here. For those of us who aren’t rabid fans, we have one more reason to drink: we live in a city crazy about college football, which means if there’s a home game, it’s best to not go near the campus district all day long for fear of being stuck in nightmare traffic.

We also must listen to nothing but talk of upcoming games on TV and on the radio. And if your favorite radio station happens to be “The Home of the Buckeyes”, you can no longer listen to music when the game is on.

What am I trying to get at here? This Saturday marks the beginning of OSU football season. Drink up, fans.

Me? After all this writing, I think I need a drink, too.

OK, on the next first down, everyone chug. Got it?

(Geek note: If you read this title and answered “I’m Jean Valjean!” or “2-4-6-0-1!”, pat yourself on the head, you little musical geek. I was thinking the same thing when I wrote it.)

Over the weekend, I was digging through my purse and found an ID card. The photo of myself and Cordy was taken just about a year ago. Something looked off in the picture, and I studied it hard, while also glancing in the mirror.

I showed it to Aaron and said, “Look at this picture, and look at me now. This picture is only a year old. I looked great when it was taken. I looked young. But now look at me! I’m so different now, and I look so much older, but it’s only been a year.“

Aaron glanced at me, and said, “You don’t look that much different, although you do look more tired and older around the eyes. That’s probably the difference. You really do too much.“

He’s right. I do look more tired now, and because of that, I look older. I’ve aged 5 years or more in just one year. How did that happen? And how can I reverse it?

I look in the mirror and I sometimes lose myself in it. Like Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored, I think I’ve lost track of who I am. I’ve changed so much over the years that I would find it hard to answer the question, “Who are you?”.

Twelve years ago, I was a teenager entering college, unsure of what I wanted to be. I chose Elementary Education. Why? I don’t know – it looked like an easy program, I liked kids, and teaching sounded cool. I quickly changed my mind, and after changing my major four times, settled on History.

Eight years ago, I was starting graduate school, confident that I was going to become a history professor, with a focus on women and social structure in Tudor Britain, while also acting in renaissance faires on the side. Grad school didn’t work out (mostly the fault of the school), and after a quarter I was moving again and looking for any job I could.

Since that point eight years ago, I’ve done the following: worked in a daycare, designed and maintained a Web site for the library a major university, designed and produced e-learning courses, went back to graduate school for Theatre History, taught at the university level, dropped out of grad school yet again, got married, had a child, worked as a student advisor for another university, started a blog, and went back to school to pursue nursing.

Yeah, you could say I’m a little indecisive.

(Side note: If you asked anyone from my high school, they would never have guessed I’d be where I am. I doubt anyone expected me to marry, and they all thought I’d go into math or science, because I was the nerd who was too damn smart, while totally lacking in social ability.)

Trying to find things I’m passionate about has been difficult. I’ve never really had career goals – I just wanted a job that paid enough so I could do what I wanted to do with my life. Of course, I never exactly specified what it is I want to do with my life. I like writing (although not forced writing – term papers are always such a pain to write), I like babies and children, I like medicine. Nursing has so far held my interest for the past year, as has blogging, and, if it isn’t obvious, I love the parenting gig, too.

But nailing down any specific plan for my life is near impossible. I can’t tell you where I want to be in 5 years, probably because I know there’s a strong chance that whatever I tell you won’t be the reality when we get to that 5 year point.

I know that I must slow down. Relax. Take more time for myself. But how? I’m already 30, I’m starting over in school, and I’m barely into my role as mommy. Plus we’re now officially trying for baby #2, which makes me extremely happy, although a little nervous as to how we will work another child into our schedule. I don’t have time to slow down!

Some good news: Aviva and Devra at Parentopia took pity on me during my last soul-searching post and have offered up some excellent tips and advice. You can check it out on their site. For those of you who did want to participate in their help session, now’s your chance. Write a post about whichever topic you picked, detailing your problem, and then let them know it’s up and they’ll offer their help.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe that a mere four or five months ago, Cordelia had only a tiny handful of words, and we weren’t even sure if she knew they were words, or if she just liked the sounds she was making. I would repeat things to her over and over, trying to coax new words from her lips, looking into her eyes for a hint of recognition at the sound of words like kitty, mommy, sleep, or eat.

Now, just over three weeks before her second birthday, I can’t shut the kid up. She talks nonstop, all the time.

Oh sure, as in months past, she often rambles on incoherently with the same inflection and tone as real words, but lacking any further resemblance. But now, more words and sentences are making their way into her brain, and she rehearses them frequently in front of us.

The amusing part of all of this is that she doesn’t require a conversation partner. She gladly carries on both sides of the conversation, unaware that half of what she is saying should be said by someone else.

Knock, knock!
Who der?

Yes, she’s learning both sides of a knock knock joke. She never waits for me to answer “Who’s there?” Soon my little version of Rain Man will certainly be quoting both sides of Who’s On First.

But it doesn’t stop with jokes. Cordy will also give running commentary about objects she sees:

Oh! Wook!
What izzt?
Itza ball!
Wook!
Where ball?
Der itz is!
Oh! Wook!

The above one-person conversation is carried out in roughly 20 seconds, and repeated over and over again, with no pause to allow you to join in on the conversation.

With a string of phrases like that, I can only assume that either she is simply practicing the phrases she knows, or she has no short-term memory like Dory, and the ball is new to her every 10 seconds. I seriously hope my first assumption is the correct one.

But reaching this point in language development is exciting. She’s now expressing her thoughts with words, instead of the tried-and-true scream. Instead of me playing 20 questions – “What do you want? Are you hungry? Are you tired? Do you need Blue? Do you need a diaper change? Do you want to watch TV? Do you want to run outside?” – she’s now giving her demands clearly and as precise as possible. While she is still ambiguous much of the time, the connection has been made. We are learning her language as much as she is learning ours.

I can also see the frustration on her face now, as she tries to express herself with the limited amount of words she knows. This is the age where receptive language is growing more rapidly than expressive language, meaning they understand many words, but can only express a limited number of them. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to understand so much and yet only have a small set of words to draw from to express yourself. Add in an underdeveloped emotional control, and it suddenly makes sense why tantrums are so common at this age.

While she is developing language in her own way, it is also interesting to see the habits she is picking up from Aaron and me. When she is exasperated with us, she will often exclaim, “Okay! Okay!” just like we exclaim when she’s screaming and we’re trying to hurry to fix whatever is causing the crisis. Because of this, Okay! has also become a stand-in for the word yes.

I’m really looking forward to seeing Cordy’s verbal skills increase in this next year. I remember when a friend’s son turned three, and I remember how well he could communicate at that birthday party, when only a year before that he wasn’t saying anything more than sound effects. The next year will continue the already rapid transition from being a baby who relied on me for everything to being a little girl who will determine her own preferences and do things for herself. By next year, she’ll hopefully let me into her head, telling me stories only her imagination could dream up and sharing every thought she can with me.

I only hope I can keep up with her.

Hello? Would ya quit yakking and give me a push?

The lovely Ohio weather was crap today, and we had a toddler bubbling over with energy, which of course is a combination destined for disaster. So we spent the afternoon at COSI. I’ve posted about it before – it’s one of the most awesome places to take a child under 5.

As usual, she runs for the water table first. It’s not a good day for her without getting wet.

“I have to take a nap after this? No way!”

Fun with airjets and foam balls.

Going down the slide on her own (after nearly running down another kid).

Driving the ambulance, loaded with sick babies. Hey, she’s a giver.

She doesn’t realize that we’re about to take her home for her nap.