Undiscovered Gyrl: The novel that inspired the movie ASK ME ANYTHING (Vintage Contemporaries) (17 page)

Some ugly freak on YouTube is claiming that ten years ago he gave Barack Obama a blow job in a limo while they did cocaine together. Everybody knows it’s a lie but meanwhile the video has gotten thousands of hits. I hope it doesn’t destroy him. It’s times like these when I really hate the world. It would be so great to be able to believe in just one good pure perfect thing. That’s all I want.

This morning I told my mom I would like to start therapy. She calmly sipped her coffee and asked why. I said that there were some issues concerning my dad I wanted to deal with. She said that sounded like a wonderful idea. Deep down I knew she was celebrating. How do I know? Because right in the middle of lunch while I was laughing my ass off at Paul’s imitation of Margaret’s decorating client (he is gay, rich and from Texas), she called to tell me that I have an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Elaine Sherman. Mama didn’t waste no time! Hahaha!

When I hung up, Paul asked what that was all about. I lied and said my mom had made me a gyno appointment so
I can go back on the pill. He asked why I was doing that since I don’t have a boyfriend.

I said “I’ll get one soon. I have to. If I go too long without sex I turn into a werewolf.”

You should have seen his shocked face. I deserve to have my ass kicked for remarks like these. Haha! But isn’t it amazing how fast I thought of that perfect lie? I am so creative.

Even though I am never going to have sex with Paul, that does not mean I am not dying of curiosity to know whether he wants to or not. If I learned that he was secretly fiending over my body I would be incredibly flattered. Margaret is so lucky to have him, she has no idea. Lately when she comes home from work she’s in a really great mood, still high from her exciting day, but when she sees Paul everything changes. She turns grumpy and serious. She doesn’t even kiss him hello. And when Paul kisses her she barely reacts. What happened? They were so happy once. Maybe the brawl I overheard was just one of many. Paul never mentions any problems in their marriage. Is he just being a gentleman?

I am happy that Dr. Sherman is a female, because the last thing I want to be thinking about while I’m bearing my soul is whether my shrink is sprouting a boner. I like her a lot.

She is the fun, cool, warm Jewish mom everybody wishes they had. Great big toothy smile. Black poodle hair parted down the middle. Big hips. Black boots and shawl covering big, probably saggy boobs. Behind her desk is a framed photo of her with her handsome bearded husband and three smiling boys. My mom made an excellent choice.

Instead of gushing my whole life the first day, I just discussed what brought me there. She listened to the Mr. Silaggi story, taking notes and asking simple questions. When I was done she inquired about my feelings toward men in general. “Men with a capital M,” she said. I told her that I prefer brilliant older ones because they know who they are and I can learn from them. I told her I find guys my own age shallow, insecure and intellectually unstimulating. Plus they come way too fast! She laughed at this. Which made me think we can be friends.

Then I guess because I had brought up sex, she asked me the weirdest question. She asked if my nipples were sensitive. Why did she ask this? It sort of freaked me out for a sec. Do girls who have been molested have sensitive nipples or something? Insensitive ones? Mine are on the numbish side. When guys suck on them, I pretend it’s driving me crazy but it doesn’t. I told her this and she scribbled it down on her yellow pad.

When our time was over, she said “I have homework for you. I want you to write a letter to Mr. Silaggi.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

“It’s not for him. It’s for you. I want you to get your thoughts and feelings down on paper. Write anything you want. Just make sure it’s the truth.”

I agreed.

I got an email from VaudevireLM, who asked me why I don’t go on the birth control pill for real instead of lying about it. Well, Vaud, the reason is simple: I am too vain. I break out from the pill. Mostly on my forehead. Also I get 25% less horny. Plus pulling out and condoms work great. The hard part is being strong enough to demand one or the other. For instance, I was so messed up, I never told Nick Dempster to do either. He wore a condom anyway, I think.

Obama kicked more mother-butt this weekend in Maine and somewhere else. I saw a little bit of a speech. He said he wants kids to go to school not just to learn how to pass tests but also to learn music, art and poetry. How unbelievable is that? I bet my old boss Glenn A. Warburg loves him too. If I ever speak to him again, I am going to impress him with how much I know about politics.

Today while we were eating naughty take-out burgers, Paul mentioned that Cole has been having nightmares lately. He starts crying in his sleep but even after they wake him up he goes on weeping for like half an hour. Margaret thinks they are just the normal “night terrors” that all kids have but Paul thinks it’s because he is traumatized from Margaret being gone all the time. He said that when he shared this theory she went ballistic.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“What can I do?” he replied. “Love my kid and hope Maggie decides to be a mother again someday.”

He is really pissed at her and I don’t blame him. If she wanted a career so bad she shouldn’t have had children.

Three more wins for Obama. Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, I can!

I cried all the way home from work. My hormones are back. Which means I am not pregnant. Yeehaw!

My first Valentine’s Day ever that I did not have a boyfriend. The last thing I expected was that Paul would give me a present. When he handed me the little box, my first thought was that it was going to be some sort of gag gift. Come on, he’s a married man! Well, it wasn’t. It was a rose-gold antique locket with three tiny diamonds and a ruby in it. By far the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. I was so surprised I couldn’t even speak. He said to open it. I did and inside the locket was a tiny picture of Cole.

“Someday when you have a child of your own, you can put his picture in there but for now Cole will have to do.”

I threw my arms around his neck and gave him the biggest hug ever. It wasn’t enough. I just had to give him a kiss. But I knew if I kissed him with too much passion and he freaked out, it would be the most embarrassing moment of my life. So I kissed him half on the mouth and half on the cheek. He was definitely not expecting it but he didn’t mind. So I did it again and then sort of paused near his face. His breathing changed. When he gently pushed me away, he said “You probably shouldn’t tell Maggie about this.” I didn’t know if he meant the locket or the kisses. I still don’t know. Maybe both.

Please don’t tell me that kissing Paul was wrong. Trust me, I know. But sometimes when a gyrl is hormonal and lonely, life happens, okay? Deal with it.

Once my period comes I will stop being insane, I promise. Don’t worry, I will not try to seduce him. And do you know why? Bitter truth #4:
All sex has consequences, most of them dire.
You see? Paul is a good teacher and I am a good student.

I would kill for a beer right now but Mark is getting annoyed with me for constantly stealing his supply. He calls me “Miss Beer Belly” now. He thinks this nasty nickname will get me to stop drinking because he knows I would rather die than be fat. Only problem is I have lost weight lately! My stomach looks the best it ever has!

The liquor store that takes my fake I.D. is 20 minutes away. Driving there would require the putting on of clothes. Maybe it’s worth it. Besides beer, I would also like some dark chocolate, potato chips and a big box of Sweet Tarts. How come? You guessed it. Hormones, baby!

On TV the newscaster is talking about a psycho kid who went berserk on a college campus today and started shooting people. There have been so many incidents like this
lately. Sometimes it feels like there are thousands of sick people out there ready to attack. That’s why we need to live life to the fullest while we are here because it could all be over so quickly. One minute you’re trying to discover your bliss and the next you’ve got a bullet in your brain.

This is when most bloggers would start lying big-time, but no matter how hard it is to tell you this, and no matter how much you’ll hate me for it, I refuse to bullshit you. I know what you are thinking. Bitter truth #1:
Complete honesty is a complete lie.
Well, maybe Paul’s wrong about that one
.

This morning I thought if I never tongue-kissed Paul in my entire life I would look back one day and think “Shit, why didn’t I do it just once?” Yes, all sex has dire consequences but is kissing sex? Not really. Only if you let it be.

As soon as Paul got home for lunch all I could think about was when and how I would kiss him. Since it was only going to happen once, it had to be perfect. I got a little bit obsessed. Like when you’re dead broke and you’re all out of cigarettes and you’re walking down the street and all you can think about is bumming one but no one you see is smoking
and pretty soon you get so desperate you will smoke anything. You turn into an animal. You start looking in the gutter for a butt. That’s what I was like.

The perfect moment did not come during lunch. We ate big salads and played with Cole and talked about a million things. Then afterwards, Paul went straight upstairs to work. I was so frustrated I felt like screaming “No, no, come back! I have some dessert for you!” After Cole went down for his second nap, I walked all the way to Paul’s office door. I lifted my fist to knock but chickened out.

By the time Margaret got home from work, Paul was in the kitchen cooking a pot of his world-famous chili and I was so nervous I could hardly talk anymore. As usual she greeted me and asked about my day, but barely even said hello to her husband. She loaded the day’s pumped milk from her little portable cooler into the freezer then took Cole upstairs to nurse.

Paul had my pay envelope ready. He handed it to me and said “Goodbye, sweet girl, have a great weekend.” All of the sudden the moment was perfect. I could barely breathe. I put both my hands around his neck (they were shaking!), and I smiled sort of crooked and cute and said “I still haven’t officially thanked you for the present.” I gave him the sexiest, slowest, deepest, wettest kiss. I honestly thought he was going to die he grabbed me so tightly.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered painfully.

Almost every guy I’ve ever kissed in my life says something
about my beauty within ten seconds after they kiss me for the first time, but nothing was as wonderful as hearing it from Paul.

“So are you,” I whispered back.

I popped up on tiptoe, kissed him deeply again, then spun around and walked quickly to the door. I grabbed my coat and left without saying anything.

Before you write me a vicious email, ask yourself if deep down you aren’t a teensy bit jealous?

Paul paid me $950. When I got home, I did the math. 40 hours at the usual rate of $13 per hour comes out to $520. 22 hours of overtime at the overtime rate of $15 an hour comes out to $330. So he paid me exactly $100 extra. Was this an accident or a Valentine’s Day tip? Maybe if he had known the kiss was coming, he would have given me $200 extra! Hahaha!

Bleeding has begun. Perfect timing. Seriously.

I went to therapy today totally planning to tell Dr. Elaine Sherman what happened with Paul and I. But I just couldn’t.
I knew what she would say. I told her about Dan instead. She pretended it wasn’t that big a deal but I could tell she was pretty shocked by his age. She asked me a ton of questions about what our sex life was like. I’m not sure what she was getting at. She never lets me know what she’s thinking. Toward the end of the hour she asked if I had any new insights into Mr. Silaggi. I was too embarrassed to tell her that I hadn’t thought about him at all since our last appointment, so I shared an old insight instead. The one about me eating ants and daddy longlegs and how this showed a lack of self-esteem on my part that might be related to what Mr. Silaggi did to me. She agreed completely. Then she asked if I had written the letter to him yet. I lied and said that I was almost finished.

I don’t really want to be in therapy right now. I am not comfortable discussing Paul with Dr. Sherman.

Genius idea. Stand by.

Okay I just sent an email from my mom’s old gmail account. Check it out:

Maybe I am a coward for stopping therapy but I honestly think it would be disloyal and inappropriate to discuss me and Paul’s relationship with anybody else. Except you, of course!

Nick Dempster just called again. I am so sad and lonely I almost picked up. Boy, he must have really loved date-raping me.

Dr. Sherman wrote right back to my mom at the old gmail address and said no problem, she understood perfectly. She said I was a special girl whom it was a pleasure to get to know even if only for such a short period of time.