Pssst. Guess what?
I don’t think your weekend was better than mine.
Why, you ask?
That’s right. Start hatin’. I met one of the funniest, smartliest, best writerliest bloggesses on the interwebs on Friday, and holy shit, this girl DOES NOT disappoint in real life, people. If you have never read her blog, please get your ass over there right now.
I was admittedly nervous to meet Jenny, namely because I may be the most awkward small talker ever, and have been known to fill long silences with painfully bad comments like “These fries taste very potato-y.” The only other times I met someone off the internet was during my JDate years, and so from those experiences, I had residual PTSD that Jenny would somehow greet me as a balding, awkward, sweaty Jewish guy.
Not so, my friends. Not so. After about 30 seconds of chatting with her knew without a doubt that I would be friends with this girl, even if IF never entered the picture and both of us had magical Michelle Dugger uteri.
We kicked off IFF (Infertile Fridays) with a meal at Ruby’s–a cute little diner that I (weirdly enough) worked at in high school. The best thing about meeting up with a fellow IF blogger is that the bullshit has already been cut through and I never have to worry about her saying something like, “Jayden’s in the 99th% percentile for height!.” or, “Don’t you guys want kids?” Instead, we seamlessly alternated between stories on how we met our partners in crime, to jack off rooms in the RE’s office. After dinner, we headed over to the movie theater where I nervously purchased my ticket to see Sinister.
Confession: I am a huge. HUGE. baby when it comes to horror films. (ask Jenny–she’s still healing from my claw marks in her arm). The entire movie was spent either with my hands in front of my face, screaming like a little bitch in Jenny’s shoulder, or annoying the 16 year old boys sitting next to us by muttering “ohmygod, ohmygod…” under my breath.
Bottom line? Jenny is completely fabulous. We are fully intending on pulling more infertile shennanigans around LA some time in the near future, and hope that we can get a good group of us locals together. I will be posting more details about this next week. Hint: it will not involve a trip to the Grove, Color Me Mine, or any other place where smug fertiles and their offspring congregate. So if you’re anywhere near LA, please keep a date in November open for an outing.
When I got home, Hubs was at a birthday party, so I was home alone. In my dark, creaky house. After watching a movie with a psycho demon child eater and whispering children who draw on walls. In my moment of stellar judgement, I thought smoking some pot would be good to help me relax. Instead, it made me highly paranoid, and I basically had two legitimate heart attacks after hearing a very loud creak coming from the living room. My text messages to Hubs went something like this:
Me: 10:30PM: I’m home, where are you?
Me: 11:00PM: Hey, where are you?
Me: 11:30PM: ?????
(smoke more pot, fully believes her husband has been in a fatal accident)
Me: 12PM: Can you please text me back? Your phone is not letting me leave voicemails.
Me: 12:15: Ok. Text me back NOW. I’m getting worried.
Hubs: 12:20 Hey cutie! We’re at Olde King’s Head. Come by!
(waaaaay too high, trying to play it cool, and fully believing that there is a demon child murderer in the house )
Me: 12:21 Too late. I smked pot an cent drive.
Hubs: 12:22 Boooo
Me: 12:23 A demon may or may not be in our house.
Me: Just roll me over and do me when you get home.