What are you looking at?

Tragic Love Friday: They're not lesbians (Not that there's anything wrong with that)

Shame on you dirty-minded TLF readers for taking Kayla and Cassie's innocent best friendship and turning it into something sexual. Lil' Frema was fourteen years old, people, a love-starved teenager who practiced different make-out techniques on her mom's living-room throw pillows; do you really think she was mature enough to explore the complexities of non-traditional relationships between consenting adults? Were there any lesbians in Flowers in the Attic? Think, McFly, think!

(When I was in high school, I actually did attempt to write about a gay pairing, as part of a saga that focused on the lives of four friends, but I didn't get any further than the first six pages because seriously, after writing a line like "Carlyle, I want you to be my only," the plot is all downhill from there.)

Anyway, part two! Part two is back with a vengeance, and perhaps a questionable explanation as to why Kayla and Cassie were hopping all over the continental United States looking for a girl who's lived in Cedar Springs, Iowa, the entire time, or at least since her year-long stint in an urban prison nursery. Then again, Jenna and Michael drove through Wisconsin to get to Iowa, so I wouldn't hold high intellectual expectations for any of these characters. Or said love-starved author. You understand, right? All of us, we were so young.

I'll shut up now. We have a prologue to finish.

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PROLOGUE - KAYLA (CONTINUED)

"Kayla!" Cassie's voice broke my thoughts. "Pay more attention to your driving. We're almost there." In a softer tone, she added, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah. I'm just scared, you know? It's been 14 years, Cassie. That makes her 15 years old. [Dope math skills! I guess Kayla got her GED in prison?] What do you think she looks like? Is she a good student? Is she being brought up right? Have Jenna and Michael told her about me?" I started to cry.

"Don't cry!" my friend said. "It'll be OK, Kay. I promise. I feel the same way you do. I'm dying to see my niece." [You'd think these women would've sworn off exaggerated death references forever. Such poor taste!] She lowered her voice. "We have to be careful about what we say around Kyle, too. You can't be breaking down like this. He's not a stupid boy. He'll get suspicous and start asking questions."

[And that's when I'll stop being polite and start being REAL. People can have car accidents in Iowa, too, you know!]

I sniffled and nodded, then checked to make sure Kyle was still sleeping. He was. Oh, he looked so much like me with his blond hair and blue eyes, that sparkled when he laughed. He didn't know how much. He'd never really seen my blond hair, only my dark brown. I'd told him he looked like his father, and that had made him proud. [I can't wait to be a dead beat, non-child-support-paying loser, just like my daddy!]

A few minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of our new home.

The house was small and white, and had rows of flowers alongside of the walkway. Cassie jumped out before I completely stopped the car, she was so excited. It reminded me of when she was a teenager [and made me switch seats before we tried to plow through the uterus of a pregnant woman. Memories!]. I woke up my son.

"Wake up, sweetie," I whispered in his ear. "We're home."

He opened his eyes slowly and gazed at the house through the car window. "It's so small," he said, sounding disappointed. [Ungrateful brat! He's lucky they're not sharing a bedroom in a studio on top of the local 7-11.]

"But that's only the outside, darling! Come on, let's go explore this place!" We got out of the car. "Where'd Aunt Cassie go?" asked Kyle. At that moment, she emerged from the house, her long dark brown hair covered with bits of drywall. "This house is great!" she cried. "It needs a lot of work, but that's no problem for us, right guys?" I smiled, and Kyle laughed. We were experts at fixing up houses. Everytime we moved, something in our new house or apartment had to be improved.

[So I guess two adults working behind the counter at Wal-Mart can afford a mortgage and private school! Good to know.]

As I entered the house with Cassie and Kyle, a warm feeling came over me. Cassie, Kyle and I didn't have to move anymore. I would be able to see Katherine from afar and watch her grow up. Maybe she and Kyle would go to school together and become friends. [Like kissing cousins, even!] I prayed that they did. I wanted them to form a bond that was like one a brother and sister would have. [Their bond will be JUST LIKE THAT. On an unrelated note, have you met Chris and Cathy Sheffield?] If only they could know about each other.

I sighed. I had done the best I could. Now all I could do was hope for the best.

[Kayla and Cassie are so the poor man's Thelma and Louise. What do you think?]

CHAPTER ONE - KATHERINE

I slid into my seat just as the bell rang, signaling it was time for homeroom. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Bray took attendance [it's killing me not to add the proper comma after Bray's last name, KILLING ME] and read the announcements for the day. As he did, I noticed a new boy sitting in the back of the room. That was strange. Most of the people in Adams High School had grown up with each other. There were hardly any students transferring, and if they did, they usually came in September; rarely in November. Before I could give it more thought, the warning bell for first period rang. I hurried myself to English. A few minutes later, the boy who was in my homeroom wandered in. I took my seat, which was next to my best friend, Shannon Sanchez. [Lil' Frema thought it was time to get some diversity up in here.] She was staring intently at the boy, and I playfully nudged her in the ribs. "So you noticed the new boy?" I asked, smiling.

"Mmmhmm," she answered, not taking her eyes off him. "I've never seen someone as fine as him in my whole entire life!"

[Even as a teenager I couldn't write youthful dialogue. So sad! At least I used "fine" instead of "built," though, right?]

I rolled my eyes. Shannon often exagerrated things, but this time she was right. The boy's golden blond hair was wavy, and strands of it fell into his eyes, which were such a deep blue, it was like looking into the sky on a stormy night. For a moment, he looked me directly in the eye, and I quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. "Shannon, you're being too obvious," I hissed. Reluctantly, she turned away. "Do you think he noticed me?" she whispered. I laughed and was about to answer when my English teacher, Ms. Socha called the class to attention. [Another missed comma placement!] She took attendance, then called the new boy to the front of the room.

"Class, as you may have noticed, we have a new student. This is Kyle Hart, and he came from--" She paused. "Kyle, where did you say you were from?"

"California," he answered softly, his eyes scanning the room. His voice was low, but not deep, and his eyes looked like they were smiling.

"My, my," Ms. Socha [name of my fourth-grade teacher, who I loved so much] said, shaking her head. "Such a long way to travel. I hope you enjoy Iowa."

"I hope so, too," he said and sat back down. On the way back to his seat, Kyle smiled and winked at me. Shannon noticed.

"I guess he's not very shy," she commented.

"I guess not."

[The more I think about it, the more I wish I had cast this Jared Leto

than the one pictured here:

Jordan Catalano would've given that girl one hell of a wink.]

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Edited to add: Man, this excerpt was way too short. Blame it on the hustle and bustle of Luke's and my busy morning, what with him packing for Michigan and me type type typing away on the keyboard so I wouldn't have to bring my TLF notebook to work and I couldn't stop looking at the alarm clock because I didn't want to crawl into the office two hours before lunch.

Anyway, I'm home now, so here is the rest of chapter one. Because I am all about customer service.

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For the rest of the day, Kyle showed up in every single one of my classes. And in every class, he managed to give me some kind of sign, like a wink or a sly smile, which annoyed me to no end. [Do fourteen-year-old boys even know how to flirt? I thought all they did was throw gum in your hair and attempt to grab your tush.] After the dismissal bell, Mr. Bray called Kyle and me to his desk.

"Katherine," he began, "I guess you've noticed that Kyle has turned up in every class of yours."

I nodded, not looking at Kyle.

"I had his schedule made identical to yours for a reaon. Your teachers all gave rave reviews about your work. Since Kyle is a little behind [your mom's a little behind! Or likes it from behind, take your pick], I'd like you to tutor him, help him out with anything he has trouble with. The two of you could work out a schedule on when you'd get together. How does that sound, Katherine?"

This time I glanced over at Kyle, and his face no longer looked mischevious, just shy and uncertain. "I'll do it," I answered, smiling at him.

"Great. Well, that's it. You can go."

I exited the classroom and went to my locker. As I searched for my books, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and whirled around. It was Kyle. "It's OK. I don't bite," he said laughing. "Usually."

"Well, put your fangs away. I'm busy."

He looked hurt. "You don't like me, do you?"

Again, I was surprised at how easily his emotions could change. "I don't NOT like you. I hardly even know you."

[I'm not quite sure what the hell I was doing with Kyle's character. Showing off his range of depth, maybe? I guess somehow that morphed into Sexual Harrassment Caseworker's Worst Nightmare slash Insecure Momma's Boy.]

He seemed satisfied with my response. "Fair enough. I'm sorry if I rubbed you the wrong way today."

[And that wasn't even an innuendo!]

"You did annoy me a little," I admitted. "Why did you do all those things?"

"To get your attention. Did it work?" Kyle smiled again, and his eyes twinkled. For a moment, I was lost in them.

"Katherine?"

"Yes," I answered softly. "You definitely got my attention."

"I'm glad. When I saw you in homeroom, it was like I had met you before."

This time it was my turn to smile. "Maybe in another life."

[Or in the same uterus!]

Things were quiet for a moment, then Kyle said, "I better be going. I have to help unpack all our stuff."

"Where did you move to?" I asked.

"In this house on Gibson Road. It's really quiet around there. Nothing like California." I saw a trace of sadness in his eyes. Then he brightened. "Hey, if you want to start that tutoring thing soon, you can come home with me after school tomorrow."

"OK, it's a date." I liked Kyle already, and was glad he wanted to get started so soon. However, I thought this too quickly.

"No, no, Katherine. If it was a real date, we wouldn't be studying from books." He looked me over slowly from head to toe, then looked me directly in the eye and raised his eyebrows suggestively. It made me furious!

[We hear you, Kath. In college, a random guy at a dance club asked me to dance and five minutes later, he was shoving his tongue down my throat. Which was fine with me--I was actually trying to up my French stats, anyway--but still. Cheeky punk!]

"Kyle, for a nice guy, you can be a real asshole! That attitude may have worked with California girls, but it doesn't with me." I grabbed my school bag and slammed my locker closed. After giving Kyle a dirty look, I started to walk down the hall quickly.

"Katherine, don't be mad," he called, not attempting to follow me. "Life's too short, and you seem too sweet to be unforgiving."

"You're right, I am," I called back, trying hard not to smile. "Just don't let it happen again." I hurried down the stairs, leaving Kyle smiling in the deserted hall.

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Thanks for bearing with me today through my half-assery and for giving me permission to switch out the Jared Leto picture. Consider it done.

Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

Scene: The Frema-Useless Clutter household. Luke is cooking dinner while Frema runs a vaccuum through the apartment for the first time since February.

Frema: Thanks for not minding that I stayed late at work today. Come five o'clock tomorrow, all I want to do is get home, make my spinach dip, and pass out in a gas-induced coma on the couch.

Luke: Do you want to watch Stranger Than Fiction? Then you can go to Blockbuster tomorrow and exchange the mailer for another movie while I'm in Michigan.

Frema: Nope, I've got the third season of Sex and the City, the first season of Murder, She Wrote, and the entire My So-Called Life series. My time is better spent on shows you won't touch with a ten-foot pole.

Wraps up vacccuum cord, proceeds to Windex the bathroom mirror

Frema: I can't wait to sit back and relax!

Luke: Do I ever force you to do anything?

Frema: No, no, I'm just excited about having some quality Frema time. You know, to do Frema things. By myself.

Luke:

Frema [hastily]: It's not that I enjoy it when you're away, but I still need to make the most of it.

Pause

Frema: You know I'm going to miss you, right?

Luke: Whatever.

Baby Steps Wednesday

Baby steps, indeed.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.2

I blame the absence of any truly significant weight loss this week on Luke's surprise dessert Tuesday night. The day had been going so well otherwise; me weighing in at a respectable 137.2 that morning, the two of us feasting on a light dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup, my future plans of nursing a small bowl of berry rainbow sherbet before bed. Then, suddenly, I noticed the oven was on.

Surprise! Luke said. Pillsbury cinnamon bread!

Foiled again!

In an effort to remain content with eating at home, we often pick up fun breakfast items from the grocery store to have on the weekends, like muffins or cinnamon rolls. Who knew one could partake in the joy during the evening hours?

After it finished baking, Luke presented his spontaneous masterpiece on one of our largest Target dishes, along with two forks, and we delighted in the gooey, frosty goodness. Ten minutes later, Luke had stopped with the delighting; meanwhile, I was packing it away like a rabid squirrel on the cusp of hibernating for the winter. The look on my husband's face clued me in that we probably weren't meant to finish it off in one sitting.

And to think I told my new ob/gyn I was giving diet and exercise "an honest try." Ha!

My appointment yesterday ended my journey to find a doctor who could manage both the care of my nether region and the delivery of my first child before either was actually necessary. The first one I met with two Fridays ago was receptive to all of my questions, but Dr. Wonderful (do you think she'll mind if I call her that?) took a more proactive approach in providing information. She initiated conversations about office procedures, equipment capabilities (3D ultrasounds right in their office!), how to time conception, standard L & D practices, and anything else you could possibly think of; plus, the fact that she was a young, healthy woman currently experiencing pregnancy herself--she's due at the end of the month--put me at ease right away. I knew within the first five minutes I'd found the right person.

Before I left, Dr. Wonderful sent me off with a generous sampling of prenatal vitamins, and it's now starting to hit me that holy crap, I'm trying to grow a baby inside of me. For the first time in my life, I'm counting the days on the calendar in anticipation of my next fertile window, Luke and I both so excited about finally taking the next step in our relationship as a family. There's no guessing how long it will be before the little person I'm so in love with already will assume his/her rightful place in the world, but knowing that we're finally OK with putting ourselves out there, well, right now that's fantastic enough.

Not so much that I'm laying off the junk food, apparently, but fantastic just the same. I'll get there, sweet baby, I promise!

A Blush-Inducing Public Service Announcement

The memory of losing my virginity is one that will never lose color. I was eighteen years old and on the verge of jetting off to college, and Nick and I had been dating for three years--not straight through, but steady enough that each break-up led to a passionate reunion, and every reunion foreshadowed an angry shouting match complete with name calling, door slamming, and hot tears running down one or both of our faces. You know, all the elements of a deliciously amateur teenage romance.

In the summer of 1998, we'd been together consistently since prom (another post in the making), and from that night, I remember everything. The positioning of his lava lamp; our spot on the bed; the CD set to repeat on his stereo. I was convinced that melting into each other, in body and soul would seal our commitment to each other and provide Nick with the life-changing revelation that after sharing such an intimate experience with me, he'd never be interested in anyone else.

In the midst of clumsily trying to find our way around the bedroom, we both had sense enough to use a condom, and continued to do so for the first two months of our sexual relationship, but by the time we finally (unknowingly) severed all emotional ties two years later, the only layer of protection in place was my spotty use of the Pill. What can I say? We were both virgins when we started, and I never once thought Nick had been unfaithful. The only thing I cared about was not having a baby.

One month into my relationship with Mike, who was lucky enough to date Trophy Frema for ten months, I still believed that to be true. However, thanks to all the literature passed around in high school health class, I knew the most responsible course of action when taking on a new partner was to undergo testing for sexually transmitted diseases. At twenty-six years old, almost twenty-seven, Mike had been with twelve women, and it strengthened my resolve all the more.

That's another day I'll never forget, driving the two hours with him to a congested Illinois suburb to receive services at a free clinic sporting stark, white walls and rows of plastic chairs littered with outdated issues of the Chicago Sun-Times. We waited another hour and a half to be seen, and during that time we sat silently because, really, is any sort of small talk appropriate when you're waiting to find out if any previous sexcapades ruined your fertility or planted warts on your privates?

Once our names were called, each of us was whisked away to separate examining rooms, and I solemnly spread my legs as a doctor who couldn't pronounce my name performed a pap smear conducted a culture under harsh florescent lights. When it was over, the nurse who assisted him gave me a brown paper bag filled with female condoms, assuring me that "your guy will thank you for these, honey, I promise." After I donned my clothes, I found Mike already waiting for me in the lobby. "How did it go?" I asked.

He was pretty quiet until we were almost to the stairway, where he stopped, placed his hands on my shoulders, and said, "I love you, but I didn't go through with it." Something about them wanting to stick a Q-Tip through his you know and him vehemently denying access. We argued about it all the way to the car, but ultimately he won, because he said he wore a condom with his last girlfriend, and he'd been tested a few times before, and he was positive he didn't have gonorrhea, and that was that. And even though I knew he'd been with four women in the last twelve months because the forms had a spot for listing your number of sexual partners and he commented on 2000 being a pretty good year, I didn't push the issue. Adding to the madness was the fact that I was still on birth control, but we never used a condom. Not even the female ones endorsed by my overly enthusiastic free-clinic nurse. I was in love, and I trusted him. For almost a year I trusted him, until we broke up, and Luke and I started dating, and soon we were asking questions about the other's sexual history. We brought up the idea of STD testing but never took it any further.

Until this year.

While reading through my Kerflop-approved copy of Taking Charge of Your Fertility: The Definitive Guide to Natural Birth Control, Pregnancy Achievement, and Reproductive Health, I discovered a whole chapter dedicated to the correlation between STDs and infertility, and by the end I couldn't believe how reckless I'd been to kabosh testing after Mike and I parted ways. Suddenly all of my former hesitations--Where will I find another free clinic? What if the doctor calls me a slut? What if Luke thinks I don't trust him?--paled in comparison to the possibility of passing something harmful along to our future baby.

So today, after conducting my second ob/gyn interview in two weeks, I explained my concerns to the doctor, and she didn't grimace in disgust or tsk tsk at my careless behavior. Instead, she arranged for me to meet with the phlebotomist and have my blood drawn to test for HIV, hepatitis, and syphilis. I'll see her again in six weeks for a culture, where she'll gather samples to test for gonorrhea and chlamydia.

Do I think I have a sexually transmitted disease? No. Do I think Nick or Mike ever cheated on me? No. Do I think Luke contracted anything from his previous partner? No. Am I experiencing any out-of-the-ordinary symptoms? No.

But do I know for sure?

No.

And my budding family deserves better.

Edited to add: Upon further consideration, I don't think the exam I received at the free clinic was a pap smear, since they aren't able to check for STDs that way and the doctor knew that was my sole reason for coming in. Culture, the term my new ob/gyn used, is the correct term.

Tragic Love Friday: Part the Sequel

Here it is, folks. Numero dos. Part two. The sequel.

And just like I'd hoped, we've got a few more readers along for the ride. Since last week's TLF blog-off, we've made a believer out of Isabel, who in turn converted Carrisa, Operation Pink Herring, and May. All four combed through the archives and finished part one this week, which is no small feat considering how long winded both lil' Frema and Adult Frema are. If you have time, go back and read their comments and encourage them to keep it the hell up.

Big, hearty thanks are in order to David, Silly Hily, and Molly for participating in the contest, and a special congratulations to Hilary, who gone done scored herself the first season of 90210 on DVD. All three can relive their synopses through their limited-edition copy of the Tragic Love Friday Original Mixed Compact Disc Soundtrack, featuring music--well, not inspired by the story, exactly, because the story came first--but a play list that leads you through an appropriate "musical narration," if you will, songs that inspired deep, meaningful conversation between Hilary and me on Google chat. Prizes will be distributed in April because dudes, we so shot our budget for March.

Anyway....

Before we delve into the next chapter in our friends' tragic lives, I need to give you some backstory on how the sequel came to be. If I remember correctly, I don't think I actually planned on writing one. Love, Betrayal and a Baby was conceived (no pun intended) during my last two months of eighth grade and wrapped up sometime over the summer. Once finished, I just kind of sat on any residual thoughts while I prepared for and acclimated to attending high school at an all-female, Catholic institution, coming to grips with things like wearing a uniform and making sure you have change for the bus and wondering if any of the other girls had come from a place where throwing textbooks out of the math teacher's third-floor window was a commonplace occurrence.

By the time October rolled around, I was itching to write again. I knew these characters still had some life left in them, had even more self-absorbed, catastrophic moments to share. Plus, I was so proud of being able to come up with such an enormous plot all on my own, even if it was filled with countless holes, and I came to love Jenna, Kayla, Cassie, Michael, and David--oh, David, you poor, dead bastard--like they were real people. I wasn't ready to let them go.

After writing a brief outline of the major plot points that would provide the foundation for part two, I just ran with it, picking up nine years after Jenna's final narration, which means everyone except Cassie (yes, yes, the bitch is back!) clocks in at thirty-two years of age. Cassie is one year younger.

You're dying to see what they look like, aren't you? I thought you'd never ask.

To refresh your memory, here's the teenage cast:

And here they are all growed up and adultish:

Just like our sister soaps aired on that fancy gadget you call a television, sometimes the characters who originate a role aren't necessarily the ones who see it through. In part two, Kayla changes her appearance just enough to put Christie Clark out of a job, and Daphne Zuniga was too upset over her lack of "screen time" in part one to consider joining us for the sequel. But Toni Collette will do just fine.

Look at the smirk on Kristian Alfonso's face. Jenna better watch out, is all I'm saying.

But this story isn't just about the adults. Because now they're parents! With children! Who are just as crazy as they are!

 

Which brings me to the most popular ailment plaguing daytime: the Soap Opera Rapid Aging Syndrome, commonly known on message boards as SORAS. This is the method used to replace all those love children who in reality would be no older than six or seven with sexually aware teenagers determined to peddle their romantic wares around town, just like their mothers and fathers before them. Obviously these aren't the actors and actresses lil' Frema was thinking of back in 1994, but adult Frema thought it best to fill roles based on how well each person matched the mental pictures dancing in her head. She is fully aware that AMC's Alexa Havins is really twenty-five years old and in no position to play Katherine for Lifetime's adaptation, and Jared Leto could never pass for fourteen, and Daniel Radcliffe is all tied up with Harry Potter (Julie Marie Berman is probably OK; I'm not sure what she's doing on General Hospital these days) but hey, Gabrielle Cateris got away with playing a high school junior at thirty, so DON'T NOBODY JUDGE ME.

One more thing. (I know it seems like I'm dragging this out, but really, you want to hear this.)

Part two is a little more...tragic than part one. It's still cheesy as hell, make no mistake, but the storylines are quite intense at times, and some of the scenes are a little graphic. But this isn't surprising, is it? I was a teenage soap opera junkie who spent all three middle school years devouring every book V.C. Andrews ever wrote. That shit was bound to crop up sometime.

OK. Here we go. As always, spelling errors remain intact.

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Love, Betrayal and a Baby 2

PART ONE

PROLOGUE - KAYLA

My body shook with excitement as I stepped off the plane. I stared at the many trees, long stretches of grass as far as the eye can see, small houses scattered along the dirt road, and let out a sigh of happiness. [Did the plane land in someone's yard?] My years of searching hadn't been for nothing. Next to me, my 14-year-old son Kyle looked around and shrugged his shoulders. "Why are you so happy, Mom? Cedar Springs, Iowa doesn't look half as great as some of the other places we've been to." I laughed and hugged him. "Appearances can be deceiving. I think we're really going to love it here." I glanced at Cassie. She had tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong, Aunt Cassie?" asked my son. She smiled. "Nothing. I'm just happy that this is going to be the place we can settle down in."

"You mean we're gonna be staying here for good?" he cried [isn't living in Iowa every boy's fantasy?]. I nodded, and he grinned. "That's something to be happy about," he said, "although I can't imagine why you guys chose this place."

The three of us picked up 3 suitcases and went to the car I'd rented in advance. My car and the rest of our things would be coming by U-Haul trucks from our old home in Sacramento, California, in about a week.

[What? U-Hauls are the best way to transport a car!]

My mind was spinning as I followed the directions that led to our new home. "What's the house look like?" asked Kyle.

"I don't know," I replied. "My real estate agent picked it out. I'm sure it'll be fine for us, though. She said it's perfect for a family of three." [All y'all who fret over things like home inspections and personal taste are just too big for your britches. Make your agent earn her keep and pick your house for you!]

"Where will I--?"

"Kyle," interrupted Cassie. "Stop asking so many questions and enjoy the scenery." I could tell she was nervous by the way she kept folding her hands. I felt the same way. As a matter of fact, I'd had knots in my stomache since I had received the phone call from my private investigator 3 weeks ago.

"I've located your daughter, Ms. Hart," he'd said. "Her and the adoptive family, the Spencers."

I had burst into tears as soon as he'd said that. Mr. Johson [should've been Johnson, but I was too lazy to try and squeeze in the "n"], the investigator, had said more, but that first sentence was enough to start me and Cassie packing with Kyle. Finally, after 14 years, I would be able to see my daughter again.

I can see the day I gave up Katherine Marie so clearly in my mind, it's like I'm reliving it all over again. She had only been a year old at the time, and I had been in prison. I hear her babyish voice screaming "Ma-ma! Ma-ma! No-no-no-ma-ma!" as she was taken from me. That had truely been the worst day of my life.

I sighed and glanced in the backseat at my son, who had fallen asleep. Kyle wasn't Katherine, but he made up for so much in my life. It saddens me that someone so dear to me had been created in such a hideous way.

It was about a month after Katherine had gone, and at that period in time, I was depressed, which made me vulnerable. Two security guards realized this, and one day, they came into my cell. They cursed at me, stripped me of my clothes and spat on me. I was brutally beaten and, when I was nearly unconcious, raped repeatedly by both men. I ended up with a head concussion [like a wise Rachel on Friends once said, if it's not against a headboard, it's just not worth it], 2 cracked ribs, and a fetus.

Still, people refused to believe I was raped. All they did was transfer the security guards to a different wing in the prison. I was told by everyone I had "asked for it." [Cracked ribs as foreplay? Next Oprah.]

My parents had not taken Katherine in when her year in prison with me was up; that was why Jenna and Michael had adopted her. I had no one who would take care of her for me, and I knew she wouldn't have a good life with me. But I just couldn't give away another child; Katherine had been one too many losses for me. I told my parents the circumstances under which Kyle had been conceived, and they took care of him until I was released from prison.

By the time I had served 3 years of my 6 year sentence, I was free to go. [Way to go, Illinois!] Cassie only had to serve a year and a half of her 3 year sentence, but they made her serve the 2 years at the women's Sanitarium. That meant I had been out of jail for six months before she got out. She moved in with me and Kyle, and soon after we began our search for my daughter. The search was important to Cassie, too. She's Katherine's aunt. [We know, honey. Just like Bastian in The Neverending Story, we were right there with you!] Her brother, David Donovan, is--was--my daughter's father. I use the word "was" because David's dead. He was murdered by Cassie and yours truely. Actually, murder is such a strong word. We didn't mean to kill him. It was Jenna's guts we wanted splattered all over the street, not his.

I guess everyone makes mistakes.

[Can you tell I also read a lot of Christopher Pike? I was totally channeling his sarcasm.]

I'm 32 now, and it shows. I have faint wrinkles around my eyes and mouth, and I'm a few pounds heavier than I should be. [Dude, when your portrayer is Hope from Days of Our Lives, you've got no business complaining about your weight.] I changed my last name from Evans to Hart, cut and started dying my golden blond hair to dark brown right after I left prison so Michael and Jenna wouldn't recognize me, when/if I discovered their whereabouts. I didn't want to send them packing and never see my daughter.

[Didn't you know? Hair dye also renders your facial structure completely unrecognizable! At least, it will in Iowa.]

It was only last year when I could afford to hire a private investigator. I didn't have a steady career; neither did Cassie. We moved around too much. Instead, we each took on 2 or 3 low-paying jobs to pay the rent. Between the two of us, we even managed to send Kyle to private schools at times. He's an extremely bright boy; he's a year ahead of himself at school. He could even be brighter, if we didn't move so much. The longest we've stayed in one place is one year; it was in New York, and only because Kyle wanted badly to graduate with the kids he'd manage to stay a whole year with. He cried for weeks when we'd moved from there to Calif. It was one of the few times he'd allowed me to see him cry.

Kyle has no clue as to the reason we move so much. [Um, neither do we! Apparently your maternal instincts are about as reliable as a ham sandwich.] Cassie and I tell him that you only live once, and that we want to make the most out of life. There are many things he doesn't know. He doesn't know Katherine exists, and I will never tell him the truth about why he was born. [Which means of course he will learn the truth about why he was born.] He thinks his father is a man who left me when I was pregnant because he was scared of fatherhood. I otherwise created a nice father figure for him to look up to. It would shatter him to know otherwise.

[I actually started laughing the minute I typed "pregnant," because poor lil' Frema really had no clue. "Kyle, even though your father is a coward who would rather flee the state than be a part of your life, he was a stand-up guy. You would've loved him! You both like the same video games!"]

As far as Kyle is concerned, Cassie is my sister and his aunt. A child needs family in his life, and I really can't give him any. [Except the grandparents you forced him onto!] And Cassie loves him like he was her real nephew. That's all that matters.

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The DRAMA, it has started anew.

Also, in case anyone asks, I did not spend all of last night and part of this morning working on this post. That would be totally embarrassing, right?

Bah Humbug Thursday

Because I can't very well call it Wednesday if I'm posting at 1:12 Thursday morning, can I?

My last official Weight Loss Wednesday entry was on March 7, when I delighted in a lovely reading of 135.8 pounds. Then I went to Chicago and had a grand ole time. Two pounds of grand, to be exact.

It's been downhill ever since.

LAST WEEK'S (SECRET) WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.8

I don't know what happened to bring about this new blasé attitude, but for the last two weeks I've eaten whatever I liked without paying mind to the consequences. It all started the Thursday before our Chi-town extravaganza, upon Luke's receiving a totally well-deserved but completely unexpected cash bonus from work and our decision to celebrate with a dinner out; it snowballed on Friday with a trip to Steak 'N Shake after our Jerry Seinfeld show and climaxed several times during the weekend over mushroom pizza, my dad's barbeque ribs, and bagels at Panera to hold us over for the drive back home. The following Friday I gave in to my burning desire for two dollars and forty-two cents' worth of grease and potato at Chi-Town Dogs and Beef, maybe to relive happy memories from the city, I don't know, and then on Monday we dared to step foot in a local burger joint because nothing sounded good at home. The finale last night? Spinach dip. And if you think it's good with one cup of Parmesan cheese, imagine the ecstasy that follows an extra fourth. I don't know which was more offensive to my scale's delicate senses, the extra three pounds or the unabashed flatulence.

We were doing so well there for a while. I thought I'd finally become the master of my nutritional destiny, perfected avoiding the triggers that lead to junk-food cravings that in turn lead to spending money and ultimately credit card balances that give me nightmares to this day. One weekend away and it all went to pot. But for some reason I don't have it in me to muster up the appropriate level of concern, partly because I'm still living off the high you get from a smart hair cut and therefore have convinced myself I can wear the extra pounds so long as I keep my salon appointments, and partly because so many other things are out of wack that reflecting on my life's path over a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone from Baskin Robbins doesn't sound so bad.

What am I thinking about? I'm thinking about how Luke and I have accelerated our plans for family expansion and are curently moving full speed ahead in all things baby. About our very recent decision to hold off on buying a home right now and how this will probably lead to caring for an infant in this eensy weensy one-bedroom apartment, not to mention my dermatologist's "skin therapy" is leaving tiny red dots all across my nose and forehead and I'd much rather use the perscription money for a pedicure. Nothing's wrong, exactly--the baby news is quite exciting!--but it's like someone took the Earth from their gym shoes and sprinkled it all over our short-term road map. Dirt is everywhere. Everything feels unsettled.

Still hanging in there with Lent. I've slacked off a little on the Bible reading but haven't missed more than four nights altogether, and the characters on All My Children continue to manage fine without me, though sometimes I miss it so violently I can't hear. Luckily, Blockbuster Online has filled in some of that screen time; this month alone we've seen The Departed, Lady in the Water, The Night Listener, and two episodes off the second disc of Big Love, which, can I just say, made my night when I saw a Suze Orman cameo and Lionel Richie "Hello?" cover within just twenty minutes of each other. They almost made up for the absence of Bill Paxton's butt cheeks. I'm setting high standards for episode five.

The weather's still exhibiting Sybil-like tendencies, but the recent time change means the sun doesn't set until around eight o'clock here, so I'm sure it's only another couple of weeks before Luke and I can leave our own sneaker dust on the path of the city's various greenways and the trails winding through our state parks, which should increase my motivation to get physical (physical) once again. Plus, I've signed up for a free, six-course home-buying series at the local university over a series of lunch hours spanning March and April, so the more I learn about credit reports and mortgages and escrows and such, the less willing I'll be to blow our down-payment money on smoothies from the mall. At least, here's hoping.

(Speaking of credit reports, OMG. My first class in the home series focused on money management and credit maintenance, which whatever, Suze has so already told me everything I need to know, but it did encourage me to obtain a free copy of my credit report for the first time ever. By law, every individual is entitled to receive one free copy a year from each of the three major credit bureaus, but until now I was afraid to. It's kind of like going to the dentist; nothing's wrong as long as you don't go, right? But suddenly I knew I couldn't be a baby about it anymore. If there's an error on my report, it needed to be fixed before Luke and I stepped foot in a bank to ask for wads of dough. Luckily everything was in the proper order, and the report itself was surprisingly easy to read, but I was still blown away at the sheer amount of detail. I can tell you the highest balance accrued on the Fashion Bug card I had for two years in Rensselaer or what I paid towards my Limited statement in June 2005. I know all the different ways my name's been spelled in U.S. mail and how many different addresses I've had. Twenty-two pages. It's all there.

Have you ever seen your credit report? Because you so should. Really.)

(...And one more: Have you seen Isabel's rockin' post about TLF? If not, GO. Go now.)

At One Point, I Even Liked Titanic

First things first. Deal or No Deal. It was on tonight. For two hours. And during the first sixty minutes? Firefighters. It was a blessed, blessed thing. (Although wait, my dad is a lieutenant for the Chi-town fuego department, so that might be weird) very nice. Even better was the twenty-four-year-old Hot Dog on a Stick employee who was pulled from her usual routine of squeezing lemonades and refilling ketchup bottles to win sixty-two thousand dollars. Apparently Shell had been with the hot dog place for nine years. She didn't have any children to support, and her arms and legs bore no evidence of track marks, so I'm not sure which events in her life led to the questionably long tenure, exactly, but I'm hoping her newfound wealth provides her with ample motivation to give them notice, buy a suit, and snag an interview with a more upscale establishment, like, I don't know, Barnes and Noble. Then she could afford a copy of Suze Orman's Women and Money and really make something of her life.

Secondly, you can all sleep soundly tonight, for yesterday I finally succumbed to the gods of the gag-me-with-a-spoon genre and watched The Notebook. My sisters love The Notebook. My friend Trina hung up on me when she found out I was watching it because she felt guilty about keeping us apart. And when Silly Hily learned via Google Chat that I found the movie for a measly four bucks last Christmas, bought it, and then returned it for a refund, she said--and I quote--"If I knew you in person and saw you on a regular basis, I would beat you the next five times I saw you." That was probably the kicker.

Two hours later, I was quietly sobbing over my corned beef and cabbage leftovers, because Jeez Louise, who wouldn't cry at the thought of a dying old woman suffering from Alzheimer's who can't recognize her own husband, a man who has nothing better to do than read aloud scribbles from a college-ruled, tattered journal? If Luke hadn't chosen to join me for the last ten minutes, I could've gone all out with the yelling and pulling out of my hair, but in an effort to maintain some semblance of dignity, I conjured up a scene from an early episode of Scrubs, the one where Bob the dementia patient randomly tackled various hospital staff out of nowhere while shouting, "Who am I?!" Did you guys catch that one? It was really funny.

Seriously, though, I'm a sucker for tales of gut-wrenching misfortune. Like the time a few years ago, when I was flipping through the channels at my parents' house and ended up using the belly of my sweatshirt as a hankerchief because there was a movie on Lifetime in which an entire town was reeling from a hurricane slash flood slash tornado slash any other natural disaster you can think of, and an elderly couple and their adult children were loading onto a small boat to head for safety because said natural disaster was on its way back any minute, and the mother said she couldn't do it, couldn't leave the house her father had built with his own two hands to be carried away by the ravenous appetite of the Earth, so the father decided to stay behind and drown with her, and the adult children floated away on their life raft, while the couple stood frozen with fear in their living room, clutching to each other while swirls of water danced around their ankles.

Even though my entire knowledge base for this small-screen masterpiece had been accumulated in fewer than eight minutes, my eyes were blurry with tears, and I felt like the spirit of the Lifetime Network had captured my heart and slurped out its essence with a straw, because the love, it was REAL, people. And the couple's impending death? Well, that just fucking sucked.

I also remember losing it over Go Towards the Light, another made-for-TV movie, about a little boy who was diagnosed with AIDS, and if you're looking for a good reason to hiccup into your pillow at two o'clock in the morning, just imagine a mother holding on to her son while he takes his last, ragged breath, encouraging him to--you guessed it--go towards the light. Go ahead, read the quotes. If you can make it to "My heart took a picture" with a dry face, there's simply no hope for you or that withered vessel you call a soul.

The Notebook was good. Young love and social prejudice always make for a fun time, and I adored Rachel McAdams's forties wardrobe, and Ryan Gosling's house rocked the casbah, and the sex scenes.... Well, let's just say I wouldn't mind replaying the extended versions in my head on those nights when Luke is out of town. Or running to the store for milk. But ultimately it was one predictable cliche, starting with Noah's insistence that Allie lay in the street with him because she needed to do something for herself for once, or something. Whatever.

I'm surprised that I wasn't more taken by the movie, but I think I'm drawn to snappier love stories, ones with sharper wit, like When Harry Met Sally or While You Were Sleeping. However, I do have a soft spot for How To Make An American Quilt, which documents the life of a young Winona Ryder as she prepares to marrry, gathering anecdotes from the women in her life about their own romantic hardships and struggles with love. Just like the old couple dying in the flood, I cried because the characters' histories felt so real to me, so true, and at the tender age of fifteen, it was impossible to fathom that one day I would have a love story, a history to share with other women, and my own lessons to share. Plus, Claire Danes was in it and I was hooked on My So-Called Life, so there you go.

C'mon, ladies and gents, have at it. Which flicks turn on your water faucets?

Tragic Love Friday: The Idiot's Guide (and Some Random Jack Handy-Type Deep Thoughts)

When I unveiled Tragic Love Friday during NaBloPoMo, I had no expectations for the outcome. Mainly I wanted to hop on the "I have a weekly feature" bandwagon without putting in a lot of extra effort and poke fun of my adolescent persona at the same time, a little person with a flair for the dramatic and a passionate yearning for love, specifically the love acts she read about in her V.C. Andrews novels.

My biggest fear? That people wouldn't like it. That people would dismiss even the idea of the story as childish and amateur and not worth the four minutes it would take to read each post. I paid special attention to the comments section, looking for specific names and wondering if their absences equalled a lack of interest. As the conclusion to part one drew near, I played around with writing a comprehensive synopsis outlining the characters and major plot points, hoping to entice my non-TLF-reading buddies to at least give the sequel a shot. (Then I got smart and finagled you people into doing my dirty work for me. Thanks again, Internet!)

Whenever a person does anything creative, it's hard not to become attached to it and want others to do the same. That piece of work reflects blood and sweat and tears and effort, makes a statement about what you value. When somebody rejects it--for whatever reason--it's hard not to take it personally. Because it is personal. Even if it's silly, it's part of who you are.

It wasn't until today, though, while combing through three uniquely fabulous TLF reviews, that I realized getting caught up in who's not paying attention does a serious disservice to the ones who've joined you for the ride.

Make no mistake, I'd love to get more readers for Tragic Love Friday. I harbor wild delusions about book agents and script writers stumbling across this small-town Web site and pestering me for full-time work so I can quit my day job and become important and famous. But until then, I'll be focusing on how happy I am that anyone reads this blog, period. If you love TLF, that's wonderful. If you don't, that's OK, too. (Not wonderful, but OK.) It's nobody's job to fawn over every damn word I post. (Well, except maybe Luke's, and even he's stopped following TLF.) Just the fact that you guys keep coming back here leaves me humbled and eternally grateful.

Hmmm. That was pretty deep for a Friday, huh? I'm going to shut up and my reviewers do their thang.

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER ONE
by David McNelis

(Which I inwardly refer to as "No He Did Not Just Write A Freakin' HAIKU About TLF")

David was stupid
and he slept with two best friends
Consequences felt

His sister was nuts
and plotted to kill Jenna
by running her down

Kayla was to help
since she got knocked up as well
David was fertile!

Mike stood by the side
A real invisible man
in love with Jenna

Jenna wasn't sure
what the hell she was thinking
when she stole Katherine

But she was distraught
from being made to go "POP!"
by her friend Kayla

And since her David
was struck outside the DQ
by Kayla and Cass

She took the biggest
butcher knife in the hiz-ouse
to snatch a baby

Frema had crafted
A super-max with babies
That let Jen in

Pick up the kiddie
and stash it inside her shirt
Blind security

Let's go to Iowa
And dumb Mike comes along, too
Map reading be damned

Wisconsin it is
With sunglasses and kissing
Police do close in

After being on
the hood of Whitesnake's (Mike's) car
Confessions too late

Prisoner transport
across state lines just to see
a baby is safe

A year has gone by
and the baby starts talking
A one-year-old talks!

But now it must leave
To Jenna's arms it will go
and Michael's arms, too

They had a wedding
and a Paris honeymoon
Do not go to jail

Five years down the road
Twins, a teacher, and Jenna
Living in Iowa

Tragic Love Friday
takes a hiatus for now
See you here next time!

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER TWO
by Silly Hily aka The Hilarazzi

(Before she wrote this, Hilary printed out every page of TLF because she didn't want to "leave something important and vital out." I am in Internet love with her.)

Part I

Chapter 1

We are introduced to most of the gang on their last day of school. Only the summer separates them from their senior year of high school. They have all the knowledge and wisdom in the world. They are adults. (Come on, isn't that what we all thought at that point in our lives.) Jenna and David were maybe forced to grow up before the others. They are expecting a child together. Cassie, David's sister, was excited to be an aunt. Kayla on the other hand was a bitter bitch. She had been David's girlfriend for a year and a half. Kayla asked Jenna to talk to David since they were having problems. They broke up though and in the process of Jenna consoling David, they fell in love. Fast forward three months and Jenna was knocked up...by David. You'd be a bitter bitch, too. Oh, and did I mention that Kayla and Jenna were, and I stress "were," best friends? Kayla's family was like a second (or first) family to Jenna, since her parents were often away. Jenna had another best friend to rely on though. His name is Michael. He's that guy friend that every girl wants. The guy friend that you can talk to and will always be there giving you great advice and a healing, strong hug. They are a Will & Grace pairing, only Michael is straight.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets):  "After a while, though, the sparks that left Kayla's and David's romance came into our friendship." [Obviously that's not the only thing that "came."]  [Ba dum bum ching!]

Chapter 2

Cassie and David have an adult conversation at the kitchen table while drinking coffee. Didn't you do that with your siblings at 17? We learn that their mom is a slut and is also never home (these poor kids). We also learn that Cassie is very protective of David. She doesn't want him to marry Jenna because he feels he has to. David swears that he's marrying Jenna because he loves her, but Cassie knows better. Cassie doesn't like Jenna because of what she did to her best friend, Kayla. She's the bitter-best-friend bitch. David is a smart young man. His only problem is keeping it in his pants.  He works at McDonald's as a cashier and is looking forward to making a lot of money during the summer. Money he can put away for him and Jenna to start their life together and raise their baby (what a responsible baby daddy). The baby that they find out is a girl. The two sort through names like Candy (David, are you wanting her to make a living as a stripper?), Michelle, Mary, Mary Ellen, and Mary Anne before finally deciding on Mary Katherine.

Mama Slut goes out of town leaving David and Cassie some money. David is stressed about work, the baby, etc. etc. so he snatches $50 of the $200 (thanks Mama Slut) and calls Michael to go hang out and drink some beer. After having one too many, David opens up about all the problems him and Jenna are having.  Michael ever so slyly implies that maybe David is still in love with Kayla. All of a sudden, she is all he can think about. He wonders why he ever broke up with her. Which brings me to...

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): [Nothing says "I love you" like breaking up with your soul mate and boinking her BFF.]

Chapter 3

Still drunk, David ended up at Kayla's house. She wasn't able to sleep and was just fixing her some warm milk (how does anyone drink warm milk?), something David observed she only does when she's bothered or worried. Kayla's parents are home (finally, someone who has visible parents) but they could obviously sleep through a tornado, or their own doorbell ringing, or their own daughter doing the nasty. Yes, that's right, David and Kayla got it on for the first time. (Cause that's how Kayla rolls. She waits to have sex for the first time after David has become her ex and knocked up her best friend.) David even told Kayla that he loved her. They fell asleep in each other's arms only to have David be gone by sunrise. Cassie notices the next day that Kayla is a complete wreck about something and continues to be on Kayla's side. David ends things with Kayla (again) for good. (He just wanted to pop that cherry first.) Kayla vows to save David from Jenna. To SAVE HIM!

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You didn't hurt me on purpose. You're in love." [That's the way...it should be...] (In which we all carried on the cheesy Wilson Phillips song in the comments section. It was great.)

Chapter 4

David gets a promotion at McDonald's. Yippppeeee. David has super sperm...Kayla finds out she's pregnant. Good thing you got that promotion, you baby daddy times two you.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): There are sooo many good ones from this post (Dec. 22, 2006, go back and read if you can) but if I had to pick one it would be: "When are you two getting hitched?" "A week or two after the baby's born." [This seemed so logical to me at the time, but now I'm all, "What's the rush? The kid's already a bastard."]

Chapter 5

Kayla tells David she's pregnant. David tells Jenna. Jenna punches David. Jenna calls Michael for comfort and support. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Jenna, wait! Let me explain!" [I think you covered just about everything but positioning, buddy. She gets it.]

Chapter 6 & 7

Cassie turns into a complete psycho and suggests that Kayla "get rid of" Jenna. Cassie devised a plan to to hit Jenna with a car. It would simply be an "accident." David reconciles with Jenna. In the middle of the Dairy Queen parking lot, Kayla drives the car into Jenna while Cassie sits in the passenger seat. (What, she's not going to jail for murder. She only came up with the plan. Kayla has to do the dirty work.)

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You need to get rid of her....then David can give you everything you and your baby deserve." [Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too.]

Chapter 8

Whoops. Wrong person killed. David pushed Jenna out of the way. HE was the one killed, not Jenna. However, Jenna landed on her belly and Mary Katherine didn't survive. Kayla and Cassie were arrested two days after the "accident" (read MURDER). We learn that Cassie is in a state of shock over her brother being killed (duh, it was HER idea to do this in the first place) and that's about the last we hear of her. Kayla is a wreck as well (duh, way to kill your baby daddy). Jenna is full of hurt, sorrow, pain, and anger (duh, baby daddy dead? Check. Baby dead? Check check). I'll never understand how Jenna says that she can forgive Cassie because she was just trying to "save her brother...to protect him by trying to kill me." Tha hell?

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): Jenna after finding out she had lost the baby The bulge I had loved to touch so much was gone. [There is a double entendre here somewhere, itching to break the surface, but I'll refrain out of respect for the dead.]

Chapter 9

Cassie is sentenced to three years in prison with possible parole after a year and a half. Kayla gets six years. We fast forward seven months. Michael goes to visit Kayla and ends up going off on her for hurting Jenna so much. As he's leaving, Kayla asks Michael to tell Jenna that she's sorry and would like to see her face to face. Kayla delivers a baby girl and decides to name her Katherine Marie (after her dead half-sister. She honestly thought that would be a good idea. Yeah, she's a dumbass. Kayla that is, not either baby.) Jenna calls Kayla for the first time and Kayla gushes about her baby (again, she really has no clue).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I felt guilty as I talked about Katherine. "Yeah, A little girl. She's adorable." [Motherhood is so rewarding and fulfilling and I've never experienced such unselfish love in all of my life! Not that you would know anything about that. My bad.]

Chapter 10

Michael gushes and gushes over Jenna. He loves her, has for years, and always will. Jenna calls him for a ride to the prison to see Kayla. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): As I went home a few hours later, I thought about everything that had happened in the last 7 months. David had died, and so had Jenna's baby. Two of my friends were sent to prison for their murders. It was a lot to handle. What a summer this turned out to be.  [I could've had a V-8!]

Chapter 11

Jenna visits Kayla in prison. She sees the baby and learns that her name is Katherine. At this point she becomes outraged and feels that she could give Katherine a better life than Kayla ever could. Frema put it best by saying "Poor Jenna. Girl done lost her mind." Yes, but really, she's been through a lot and totally has every right to lose her mind. And lose it she does. Learning from Kayla's mistake of no disguise, she cuts and colors her hair and steals Katherine right from underneath the nose of prison security (or clearly, lack thereof). She hits the road, planning on making one last stop before she leaves the state (with NO carseat).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): The deskman looked surprised as I walked slowly, my arms wrapped around my belly [a baby's limb poking through the sleeve of her coat...]. "I have to go," I gasped. "My period is really heavy this month." He reddened. "Go on," he said, waving me away. [Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!]

Chapter 12

Thank God Jenna stops by Michael's house to say good-bye because she was as prepared as Anna Nicole's will (read: not prepared at all) for taking Katherine away for good. Michael stole some money from his parents and hit the road with her. We also learn that when Michael gets fed up, he hits. Other than that, he's Jenn's hero.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Michael? Michael, what's going on?" I heard my mother call from upstairs. "Nothing, Ma," I called back. "It's just the T.V." [Nothing, Ma. Just smacking around the woman of my dreams!]

Chapter 13

Kayla is informed that her baby is gone. She's interrogated by the cops. It doesn't take her long to realize that Jenna is the kidnapper.

Frema's best commentary: [Also, Lifetime? Feel free to approach me about a movie script at any time.]

Chapter 14

Michael and Jenna take turns driving through Wisconsin to get to Iowa. (Shut up. Frema was a damn good writer at the tender age of 14, you can't expect her to be good at geography, too.) Jenna has time to do a lot of thinking and realizes that she misses Kayla and their friendship and knows that by taking Katherine from her, she's hurting her. The two turn around and head back home. Jenna can't cross that state border yet though. She wants just one more day with Katherine before giving her back to Kayla.

Frema's best commentary: [This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky.]

Chapter 15

Kayla is informed that a witness has spotted Jenna and Michael in Wisconsin. Kayla persuades the cops to take her with them to retrieve her daughter.

Frema's best commentary: "Maybe. But I have to be there when you find my baby. Please! You can cuff me, gag me [hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me], whatever!"

Chapter 16

Michael FINALLY gets the balls to tell Jenna how he feels. She doesn't believe him and simply thinks he's lonely. Before she has a chance to realize that the feeling is mutual, the cops have their car surrounded.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!" [OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

Chapter 17

It's all over. Jenna and Michael are caught. Katherine is returned to Kayla and the security (yeah right) of the prison. She decides to not press charges against the two, claiming to understand why Jenna did what she did. Jenna finally realizes that she's in love with Michael.

Frema's best commentary: "If you don't have any plans for the rest of your life, I thought that maybe we could get together..." [Oh my gosh, I'm cringing, you guys. CRINGING. Forgive 'lil Frema for the cheesiness.]

Chapter 18

One year later, Michael and Jenna are married. Kayla's year with Katherine is up though and her parents won't take her (shitty ass grandparents). She asks Jenna and Michael to take her.

Frema's best commentary: There was a small reception, then we flew to Paris, where we stayed 2 weeks. Her parents paid for the expensive trip. Out of guilt, I guess. [Geez, wasn't the counseling enough?]

Chapter 19

Katherine is taken from Kayla. Yes, I totally cried. Shut up.

Frema's best commentary: "Ma-ma! Ma-ma! No-no-no-Ma-ma!" Her face was blotchy, and her arms reached out to me. Her little body shook with sobs. [Mothers in the house, are you still with me?  Hang on, it's almost over.]

Chapter 20

Five years later Jenna and Michael have spit out twins of their own, making them a family of 5. They are living in Jenna's dream place. Florida? New York? No, Iowa. Michael is training to be a teacher and Jenna stays home with the kids. I'm wondering how this is financially possible and want in on the action so I can stay home so easily with my kids. All seems perfect. However, Kayla will be released from prison this year. Hell-oooooo sequel!

Frema's best commentary: [Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?]

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER THREE
by Molly

(Mad props to Molly for slipping in her very own "your mom" joke!)

The Tragic Love Friday series began to unfold back in November, when Frema decided to share the soap-like multi-triangular fictional work of epic proportions, written by none other than her young, romance-craving teenage self. The story involves main characters David, the double-duty burger-flippin' baby daddy; Kayla, the first love then dumped then knocked up then turned vengeful murderer baby mama number two; Jenna, the once friend of Kayla and fiance of David, baby mama number one who ends up not only with dead baby but dead boyfriend all in the same day, eventual wig-wearing prison baby kidnapper of baby mama number two's baby and then in the end happily married to her good baby stealing buddy, Michael; Michael is the bitch-slappin' best bud to Jenna, who hangs around and baby naps while he bides his time waiting for the piece of ass that turns out to be his eventual wife; and last but not least, Cassie, who is much like seaweed to the story--she's David's sister and gets wayyyy too involved with his girlfriends, eventually plotting with baby mama two to kill baby mama one.

The plot of the story is thick and juicy, just like your mom, and full of unexpected awesomely dramatic twists and turns. And as a bonus, it's loaded with Adult Frema's hysterical commentary on the writings of 'Lil Frema. So without further adeiu, I present to you a different sort of summary, in the quips of Adult Frema:

"Obviously that's not the only thing that came!" "The condom, David. The condom is what went wrong." "Yes, Kayla. He love you long time. For about eight minutes."

"Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too." "But you're still pregnant, so you win!" "I suppose when you kill your ex-best friend's unborn baby and soon-to-be husband you can afford to be generous with forgiveness. Also, is anyone else flashing to mental images of Glenn Close and dead bunnies?"

"I see you've dropped a quarter down your panties. Let me get that for you!" "Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!" "Clever strategy, Jenna. The police would never think to search for a missing baby one state over!"

"Sweetie, if Katherine hasn't eaten since she left the prison, she's probably dead. No need to rush."

"OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!" "Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me"

"This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky." "Bitch is gonna make ME cry!" "Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWIINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?"

Can't wait for the dramatic sequel!

-------

Clearly these are excellent write-ups that make it impossible for you to keep dry underpants. Clearly it is a monumental task to select a winner.

Therefore, once again, you're doing the hard part for me. Tell me--either in the comments or via e-mail--which reviewer should receive the first season of 90210. All three rockin' authors have earned their very own Love, Betrayal and a Baby Original Mixed Compact Disc Soundtrack, featuring songs to be determined by Silly Hily and me. And yes, David, "Invisible Man" will totally be on there as Michael and Jenna's theme song.

We are going to have big fun with the sequel, friends. BIG FUN.

Sweet Home Chicago

At the time I sit down to publish this, there's still one minute left of Weight Loss Wednesday, but right now I don't care about Weight Loss Wednesday. If you think that's due to Frema gaining two pounds in one week, you're only partly right.

Luke's and my weekend extravaganza kicked off with the long-awaited Jerry Seinfeld show in downtown Indianapolis. Prior to our living together, I had no interest in Jerry Seinfeld, in his stand-up or his trivial, nothing little show, but the minute Luke's bags dropped at the front of my door step, all preconceived notions flew out the window and soon I was pissing my pants with the best of them over Jerry's housecleaning prostitute and "not that there's anything wrong with that" bit. On Friday night we hurried home from work, scarfed down a couple of bacon sandwiches (bacon sandwiches for me, at least, as in, no lettuce, and tomato on the side), and scurried out the door a good forty minutes before the seven o'clock start time. And if all we had to do was pull into the Murat Theatre parking lot, claim a space, and make our way to the ticket booth, I would've had plenty of time to relieve myself before finding our seats. However, coming from a city as ginormous as Chicago, I never in my wildest dreams imagined we'd actually have to deal with something as "big city" as parking issues and therefore allotted zero extra time to address the crowds.

The Murat lot was, of course, full, so our only option was to seek comfort in the arms of another, less sophisticated one, one with lower standards and no ability to accept credit card payments. This meant wasting ten minutes of pee time circling the block, rejoicing over the spotting of a bank and simultaneously cursing the fact that IT DID NOT HAVE AN ATM, WHAT THE HELL CENTURY ARE WE LIVING IN, PEOPLE, before victory was ours.

Once the car was secured in a no-tow zone, we flew up eight flights of stairs, during which I realized I paid seventy-seven dollars a ticket to squeeze my legs together, attempting to hold back the yellow flood, in the middle of the damn balcony. But we made it on time, seconds before the opening act, and twenty minutes later Jerry skidaddled onto the stage, and I actually shed a tear, so happy was I to see him. Urinate, schmurinate. What's another eighty minutes of holding it in for Jerry freaking Seinfeld?

The next morning, we saddled up for three glorious days in Chi-town. Luke was on assignment at a national housewares exhibit, and his room just happened to be at the W Lakeshore, one of BlogHer's own hotels of choice, and also the place where Molly and I and Isabel and Hollow Squirrel will be partying like it's 1999 this July. I felt it was my duty as a blogger to take two days off from work and test the waters.

I've just laid the framework for the perfect segue into hotel pictures, but first I have to tell you about this.

For the first time since my dad purchased his rad Harley motorcycle last summer, he took me for a ride around town. We zipped along on Archer Avenue, past our local Jewel, past the McDonald's that issued my first paycheck, past the abandoned lot behind the train station where my first boyfriend and I would make out like rabbits. There are condos there now. It's all very sad.

(I didn't tell my dad that, though. It was traumatizing enough for him to catch the two of us sucking face in the very alley you see above. I'm glad we're able to share such treasured memories surrounding my coming of age.)

OK, the hotel. This was without a doubt the most la-dee-da overnighter I've ever stayed in. The toiletries were provided by the spa housed below the main level, the convenience basket featured a ten-dollar pair of flip-flops, and there was a window (with shutters!) built into the wall of our bathroom. I scratched my head on that one for a good twenty-four hours, until I realized you could number two and still catch the results of that last DNA test on Judge Hatchett. Genius!

If the architects were smart enough to marry bowel movements and the boob tube, why could they not understand the importance of being able to cop a squat on the royal throne while your spouse is lathering up?

After Luke's Monday shift at McCormick Place, we moseyed on over to Navy Pier and took turns using our new digital camera. These shots were my feeble attempt at capturing the atmosphere.

I wonder how many first dates are staged here, how many first kisses? Over the summer they hold a fireworks display over Lake Michigan twice a week. It doesn't get more romantic than that.

The Pier is home to the nationally renowned Shakespeare Theatre, so one might think Luke is auditioning for an upcoming play here, but he's actually miming my intense dismay over the fact that Pretzelmaker is gone, my friends. GONE. The salted Parmesan cheese pretzel with garlic and I never even got to say good-bye. Sniff.

It also took my husband some time to absorb the shock. "Why, God, why?"

To be sure, it was a fantastic weekend, filled with family, friends, hair cuts (praise Jesus), my father's homemade barbequed ribs, and two issues of Marie Claire (which I absolutely love. Glamour's cookie-cutter opines pale in comparison. Thanks, Matt and Patty!). The memories I carried with me to work today just about made up for neglecting to factor in the time change when programming the VCR for 24. Dammit.

Tragic Love Friday: The Conclusion of Part One

Today is a sad day, folks; it's the day we say good-bye to the teenage shenanigans of our favorite Prairie State delinquents. We bid a fond farewell to passionate one-night stands that use warm milk for foreplay; poorly timed hit-and-runs in Dairy Queen parking lots; prison break-ins with premature babies concealed in lightweight spring jackets; and disturbing displays of domestic violence from a boy not even old enough to vote. If we were all together in real life, surely I'd be clasping your hands, drawing from your quiet strength to get me through.

Instead, I will have to console myself with bacon sandwiches and tickets to a Jerry Seinfeld show downtown. It's a hard-knock life, but I will carry on.

Anyway, remember, the summary contest officially starts today, so after you've dried your eyes and pulled out chunks of your hair--you know, because of the sadness--get to working on your synopsis. I'll accept submissions until next Wednesday, sift through them on Thursday, and announce the winner on Friday, as well as post all the submissions I received. We'll delve into part two of this deliciously tragic drama on March 23, at which time I hope a few more "What're you lookin' at?" readers will have jumped on the part two bandwagon, which will highlight the gang fumbling through adulthood. Plus, teenage children! More death! And yes, even more babies!

But in order to move forward, you must know where you've been. Come, grasshoppers. The final chapters.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - JENNA

I was handcuffed and my rights were read to me. The same was done for Michael. We were forced to lean against a squad car and be searched. My car's contents were emptied. "We've got her," an officer said. I craned my head and saw a woman tear away from an officer and run to Katherine. It was Kayla! "Oh, she's alive! She's OK! My baby!" she sobbed. "Please, let me hold her for a minute!" Someone took off the cuffs and grabbed her arm. The baby cried in her arms [you're not my daddy!] as Kayla covered her face with kisses. I saw her check the baby for cuts and bruises. "She's perfect," she said, sounding relieved. My heart was breaking.

The baby was taken from her and the cuffs were put back on. I was being led into the car when she shouted "No! Wait!" I stood in front of the door, trembling as she walked up to me. She looked me straight in the eye, but said nothing [and then she punched me in the face! Just kidding]. My eyes filled with tears. "I'm - so - sorry," I whispered. "So sorry."

[Bitch is gonna make ME cry!]

Kayla looked sad. "So am I. About everything." For that one moment, time stood still, and we understood each other.

[Did Kelly and Brenda ever have A Moment like this after the whole Dylan debacle? I mean, I know they became friends again, but did they ever hug it out? I sure hope so.]

Then I was put in the car. As I was driven away, for the first time I accepted everything that Fate had given me, and I felt peace.

[So apparently being arrested for a felony out of state on live TV brings out the best in people. Who knew?]

*

Kayla didn't press charges. Michael and I were taken home that night. [Of course they were. I love it.]

My parents and I talked for a long time. They were mad at me [for losing their butcher knife], but they felt bad for not knowing how desperate things had gotten for me. [Spending hours crying at her dead boyfriend's tombstone wasn't a big enough clue?] We decided to go into family counseling. It felt good to know my parents were finally making an effort.

[The Walshes so would have done family counseling. I totally approve.]

*

A week had passed. I had only one more problem to deal with: Michael. I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine [his hand print flat on my cheek, then cutting off the circulation in my bicep. Swoon!]. It had felt so full of love, so right.

I'm in love with him, I realized for the first time. [I like to imagine Jenna jumping out of her seat, turning her head frantically from side to side, like, who the hell's there? And then, oh, it's me! And my HOT BURNING PASSIONATE LOVE.] Imagine that, being in love with someone and not even knowing it. Love was funny that way. [Sneaky love!]

I was scared, though. David had said he'd loved me, but not enough to keep out of Kayla's bed. [Actually loveseat, but whatever.]

But Michael wasn't David. He'd proven that so many times. It's like he was faithful to me, even though we were only friends. There was never anyone else, only me. Me, who was involved with someone else.

I stood up. I hoped Michael still loved me, because now I needed him, too, in so many ways.

Running out of the house, I hopped into my car and drove to his house, butterflies in my stomache. What if he rejected me?

I stood in front of the door and rang the bell. He opened the door, and stared at me. He showed no emotion.

"Hi stranger." I was nervous, but tried not to show it. I kept talking, all the while hoping for a sign of acceptance. "If you don't have any plans for the rest of your life, I thought that maybe we could get together..."

[Oh my gosh, I'm cringing, you guys. CRINGING. Forgive 'lil Frema for the cheesiness.]

I couldn't say anything else, because Michael crushed me in a hug. He kissed me, and that's when I knew I would never need anyone else for the rest of my life.

- ONE YEAR LATER -

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - MICHAEL

"You may kiss the bride."

I lifted the veil from Jenna's face. She smiled. "We did it," she whispered. I nodded and fingered her brownish-blond hair. (She dyed it back to her real color.) [Leighton, you're out! Hughes, game on!] "I'll love you forever," I said softly, and kissed her lips gently.

I couldn't believe it. Jenna was now my wife.

There was a small reception, then we flew to Paris, where we stayed 2 weeks. Her parents paid for the expensive trip. Out of guilt, I guess. [Geez, wasn't the counseling enough?]

When we came back, we went straight to the little apartment we'd rented before we married. I carried her in my arms and we collapsed on the couch. She giggled. "Carrying me over the threshold?" she teased.

"You bet." We started to kiss, but the phone rang. Jenna wiggled out of my embrace, looking surprised. She picked up the phone. Who would call us so soon? I wondered. "Hello?" Her face turned white. "How did you - oh....No, I understand." Silence for a few minutes, then, "I'll talk to Michael and call you back." She hung up and sat down next to me. "That was Kayla," she said. "She got our # from my mom yesterday." [I take it they didn't send her video from the wedding?]

"What did she want?"

"Her year with Katherine is up. Her family won't take the baby." Jenna took a deep breath. "She wants us to adopt her."

[Don't you think this kind of news merits more than a phone call? I mean, Kayla could've made a huge to-do out of it, inviting them down to the prison, asking about the honeymoon, and then offering them a "special wedding present." So perfect!]

We hadn't seen the baby since we'd taken her. I'd missed her, though. So had Jenna.

"Darling, you decide," I said. "Whatever you want." Tears filled her eyes. "I want to. I still miss her," she cried. I hugged her. "Then we'll get her as soon as we can."

CHAPTER NINETEEN - KAYLA

I brushed Katherine's now golden curls and made sure her sundress was on right. Oh, I would miss her so much. Life had no meaning without my daughter.

Her blue eyes stared at me, sensing something was wrong. "Ma-ma!" she cried, hugging my legs tightly. I picked her up and kissed her cheek. "You have to go live with 2 very nice people, Kathy," I said. I was crying. "I'll miss you so much. I love you, I do!" Then 2 guards came to take her from me. Take her from me forever. I hugged her tight and kissed her again. "Be good, baby!" I cried, sobbing.

"Ma-ma! Ma-ma! No - no -no - Ma-ma!" Her face was blotchy, and her arms reached out to me. Her little body shook with sobs. [Mothers in the house, are you still with me? Hang on, it's almost over.] "Ma - ma!" Katherine's cries stayed with me, even when I could no longer see her. She was gone.

I knew I had done the right thing. My life wasn't right for a child. Jenna and Michael could give her everything I couldn't.

"Good-bye, my angel baby," I whispered. "Mama loves you."

[OK, that did it. Now I'm crying, too. Damn you, bad writing, for toying with my emotions!]

- 5 YEARS LATER -

CHAPTER TWENTY - JENNA

"Mommy! Push me high!" Katherine shouted. I laughed and gave her swing a small push. Lucas and Leigh, my 3-year-old twins, came running up to me. "Mommy! Lucas hit me on the monkey bars!" Leigh shouted, her face in a pouting expression. Her blond hair was slightly messed up. Lucas said, "Did not, poo-poo head!"

"Stop it, both of you," I said firmly. "I didn't take you to the park to fight." They ran off.

[Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWIINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?]

My small family and I lived in Iowa, my dream place. Michael's training to be a teacher. I stayed home with the children. [This is an edit I did after I was half-way through writing the second part. I had originally pegged Michael as a doctor, so it made more sense that Jenna was a stay-at-home mom, but it didn't fit with my plot for the sequel, so I changed it.]

Life is wonderful. Katherine doesn't know that Michael and I adopted her, and she won't know for a long time.

Kayla gets out of prison this year, and sometimes I get scared that she'll come look for Katherine. But I have peace, and confidence that whatever life does to me, I can face it, because I'm not alone, and not as helpless as before.

THE END

[I'm sure I would've liked to have written more, but that was the second side of the last page of my notebook, so there you go. In the margins I've got "Write about Cassie's release here," because at that point I truly believed I would work this story into the ultimate love story for my generation.]

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That's a wrap, folks! I'm sure it was everything you hoped it would be and much, much less.

In honor of this somber occasion, I ask all TLF readers to offer a comment. I have no idea how many are out there, but I appreciate every single one of you. Let me know who you are so I can say thanks. If you have commented before, today is NOT the day to keep silent. But no pressure.

Luke and I are leaving for Chicago tomorrow morning and won't return home until Tuesday, as he has to attend a trade show for work and I'm going to go with him because hello, free hotel room. If the lobby has Internet access, I promise to update, but only if I have something really meaningful to say. Like whether or not I scored a pretzel at Navy Pier.

Life-Is-Good Wednesday

Seven days in and already I love March. The sun is out longer, there's less ice to scrape off the windshield of my car, and current temperatures are leveling out in respectable double digits.

When it comes to Weight Loss Wednesday, though, I much prefer negative numbers.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10.8

OK, so I didn't lose the pound and a half I vowed to in last week's update, but I'm still impressed because, point-two pounds? Please. That's the (eight) handful(s) of M&Ms I scarfed down over the weekend. It's the fudge pop I had while watching The Departed last night. If I'd kept away from both, I'd be at 135 even. At least.

When it comes to eating, weekends at home are the epitome of temptation. Flipping through the pages of Marie Claire is more interesting with a package of Fig Newtons, and it's incredibly difficult to watch television without feasting on some sort of delectable treat, but I'm getting better. The biggest change in my habits this past week has been my recent befriending of the water bottle, which gives me something to grab on to when I don't know what to do with my hands and keeps the urinary tract sufficiently flushed as I strive to reduce the frequency of my UTIs. We go everywhere together, though his countless attempts to score during our trips to the bathroom have been unsuccessful. He's a fresh one, that bottle.

 

My new, sexually-aggressive BFF. I think I'll call him Wilson.

I'm ready for spring. I'm ready to hit the trails of our state parks and get moving after four months of sitting like a blob on the couch. Our annual pass has been purchased, the gym shoes moved to a more prominent position in the closet. It's time.

Since Weight Loss Wednesday and Ash Wednesday fell on the same day, this time of the week always seems most appropriate for filling you in on my Lenten commitments. Still AMC-free, though I did read yesterday's update in the paper and was surprised to learn Zach and Kendall have come face-to-face with Alexander Cambias, Senior, aka Zach's presumed-dead father, aka Pine Valley serial killer, and my first reaction was to rush to my desktop and pull up the soap's message board to get the full scoop. I didn't, but boy, did I want to. I'm still not sure what I'll do come Easter. I love my show, but I enjoy my newfound free time. Luke certainly doesn't miss it. We'll see.

The Bible reading continues to be one of the best parts of my day. It's a peaceful way to wind down before lights-out, and I'm constantly (re)inspired by Jesus's words and teachings. Challenging myself to put them into practice is another story, but at least I'm thinking about people and things in a way that I wasn't before, even going so far as to seriously contemplate repairing one of the family bridges that was burned a couple of years ago (even though the other person totally started it) (apparently the eight-year-old in me is not competely on board yet). Which raises a question: when you decide to forgive someone, do you have to let them know? I mean, I'm sure she isn't spending her waking hours gazing out the kitchen window, secretly wishing to be part of my life again. I don't even know if she's aware of how much she hurt me. Maybe it's enough to internally put those feelings in the past and plaster on a happy face the next time I see her, which might very well be years away.

On the other hand, I could've behaved more gracefully, and Jesus does talk about "making peace with your brother before offering your sacrifice."

What are your experiences with forgiveness? Have you ever had to forgive someone for your own peace of mind? Has anyone ever forgiven you when you didn't expect it? Or, when you didn't think there was anything to forgive?

This isn't how I imagined ending this post, but now I'm curious. Bring it on.

Read 'em and weep. Or laugh. Or think. Whatever.*

* See updated thoughts below.

This weekend, I continued with my new Saturday-morning research ritual and registered for accounts with Bloglines and Google Reader, enabling me to easily track sites outside the confines of my blogroll and experiment with RSS feeds so I can pretend to know what I'm talking about in class this fall. The goal was to mostly focus on blogs that boasted reputable followings on the Internet but conjured up in me a sense of detached fascination, either because I felt distanced from the content or the layout of the blog itself. Sometimes both. Or neither, sometimes I'd come across an entry that truly touched me, that caused me to lift my fingers off the keyboard and lace them together while sifting through parts of my brain that had been jolted awake, and yet a good two weeks could pass before I felt compelled to visit again. I don't know why.

What I do know is that the relationship between a blogger and a reader is just like any other; both sides have to overcome various preconceived ideas in order to understand each other, ideas about appropriate subject matter, language, religion, hell, even color scheme. Chemistry plays a role as well, because there are times when a blog falls short of even your most basic literary criteria and still, it sucks you in. Maybe it's the cheerful manner in which the writer responds to your comments. Maybe her brother looks like your husband. Maybe you're just that nosy. No matter what your hang-up, one of the marks of a successful blog is its ability to take you through all that background noise and call attention to its core.

But don't think the burden of proof is all on the blogger's shoulders; I think there's such a thing as a successful reader, too, one who's not so hung up on fonts and column sizes and picture quality, one who's willing to look beyond the first couple of posts just to make sure he/she doesn't miss out on something really spectacular.

Apparently I have several layers of superficial judgments to work through, because in the last few days I've been struck by how many of my newish finds, once so intimidating to me, seem more accessible through the standardized layout of a bare-bones feed, allowing me to forget about their sophisticated navigation and larger-than-life branding persona and concentrate, really concentrate, on the core.

Meanwhile, I'm falling in love with my favorite reads all over again, revisiting entries that caused me to look at a slice of the world from a different, often funnier piece of pie, or simply appreciate another human being's ability to tell a good story, whether or not that person has ever identified himself/herself as a writer.

All of that to say: Wanna see a couple of posts I like?

I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK.

Holly's reminiscing about her grandmother at Nothing But Bonfires

Linda's inside look at the workings of a funeral home at All & Sundry

Mrs. Kennedy's open letter to her downstairs neighbor at Fussy

Danny's unfortunate use of a crotch trimmer at Dad Gone Mad

Amy's non-packing packing diary at Amalah

Matthew's refining of the cliche at Defective Yeti

Liz's journey from social worker to librarian at Quiet in the Stacks (you should also check out the cell phone exchange with her husband because really, so hilarious)

Stereolabrat's hardcore coffee preferences at Stereolabrat

The evolution of Scrabble at The Show with Ze Frank (bonus video blog; also Luke's new favorite time-waster)

Lena's musings on age and marriage at Cheeky Lotus

Molly's thoughts on her husband's big 3-0 at Lost A Sock (at her former Blogger stomping grounds)

Isabel's experience with division of labor post-baby at Hola, Isabel

Jessica's under-bite tale at Kerflop

Heather's labor story at Dooce

You're quite welcome.

Now it's your turn to give Momma some sugar. Which blog posts do you find yourself coming back to time and time again? Any recently strike your fancy for the first time? If somebody were to ask you for the best example of online writing, where would you point them to?

Amalah's doing this over at Club Mom, but I swear, the idea was festering in my head all weekend. Seriously.

Edited to add: Don't be surprised if you check back and find new links sprinkled into this entry, because by the time I published this post it was two-fifteen in the morning and dude, that's pretty damn late to remember every single gut-buster.

Edited to add again: Culotte's comment really struck a chord with me, because she's right; my choices primarily come from blogs that most of the Internet is already pretty familiar with. That's not to say they're not wonderful reads, but according to Technorati, there are 70.1 MILLION blogs out there, and yet the same thirty to fifty mainstream sites receive the bulk of the praise.

Part of the problem is accessibility; you can't search for a new blog the way you can a book. In that situation, I can search the online catalogs available at Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble or simply walk through the doors of any bookstore and scour the shelves myself.

The Internet doesn't have a reliable method for cataloging personal sites. If I'm interested in "picking up" a new blog, there's no database to tell me what's currently available, no comprehensive way to provide information on up-and-coming bloggers. My choices are to either google the word "blogs," which results in 356 million searches, or search by topic--again, another crap shoot, even with Technorati, since there's no way to successfully weed out unrelated results.

This collective mess is the main reason I hope the convenience of RSS feeds don't eventually trump the traditional blogroll, because blogs need other blogs to survive.

Priorities

Last night Luke and I were plowing through the aisles of Super Target, accumulating items scribbled onto our first shopping list of the month, and it was within the first ten minutes of our entering the store that my loyalty to The Spreadsheet was tested.

We were strolling through the electronics section searching for possible gift ideas for my brother-in-law when, through a series of red-and-white sales tags strategically positioned at eye level, the TV kiosk announced that every season of Sex and the City was available for an impressive twenty bucks a pop. I gasped and clutched at my heart over the wool of my pea coat, so excited that I thought Luke was going to have to fetch the eyeballs that had just somersaulted out of my head. My fingers reached up to caress the case for season three, as I already have the first two and the second half of season six (purchased in a frenzy almost two years ago when Luke's VCR missed the last ten minutes of the series finale on TBS); the unedited unfolding of Big and Carrie's extramarital affair could be mine, all mine, for the price of Women and Money, Suze Orman's latest book, purchased the night before at Barnes and Noble. Ms. Orman is constantly inspiring me with her frank approach to personal finance, and the gems I gleaned from her Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke helped me to choose funds for my 401(k) account at work, and their average annual rate of return seems to hover around eight percent, thank you very much, thus cinching my undying devotion. Plus, I am a woman and I have money. It's like Suze wrote it just for me!

However, making a decision about the DVD was more difficult, because you see, Luke and I only allotted fifty dollars for miscellaneous spending this month, and my upcoming hair cut in Chicago will cost exactly that much with tip, so I was already kicking myself a little for buying the book but figured the difference could be offset through thriftiness in other areas of our budget. The cost of the DVD coupled with the hair cut would definitely leave March in the red.

There was one possible solution to this dilemma that would allow me to walk away with the book, the DVD, AND the hair cut: postponing the purchase of my salon-brand shampoo and conditioner and opting for a cheap knock-off brand to tide me over until April, at which point all budget lines would be replenished and I could blow the thirty dollars with a clear conscience.

(Yes, I realize how selfish I am for hoarding our miscellaneous dollars for frivolous indulgences, but Luke made out like a bandit for his birthday last month, and I have already directed the appropriate prayers to God asking for guidance in being a better wife. Together, the three of us have it covered.)

So, there they were, my two choices, each one threatening equally horrific consequences. Do I restock my ISO products and forfeit the chance to add to my sorely lacking Sex collection when I know damn well the next big sale might not be 'til I'm thirty-eight years old, or do I subject my hair to the pooptasticness of Garnier Fructis so I can spend my free time picking apart Charlotte's first husband?

It's unfair for any woman to find herself in the throes of such polarizing circumstances, and I hope it never happens to you, Internet ladies, because either way, such a woman is going to suffer.

But I know I made the right choice.

Sarah Jessica Parker would be so proud.

Of course it was all for naught, because when I came home and examined March's budget I found that seventy-one dollars and ninety-one cents had been unaccounted for. So I hopped over to Beauty First and bought the ISO refills after all.

(J/K, peeps. Totally waiting for April.)

While I had the camera out and about, for some reason I felt it necessary to document proof that I really am trying to be more budget conscious.

See that compact? I bought a new one last October, at a point when I thought this puppy was days away from crapping out on me, so imagine my surprise that the powder is still holding its own as I rub my cotton ball in circles over the metal face for ten minutes, determined to squeeze every last drop from a foundation that costs twenty-one fifty. If I wore make-up more often, it would've been retired to the garbage can around Christmas, but as I fight with various dermatological products to finally get my acne under control and weep over the massive afro poof that has become my hair, I haven't really been in the mood to subject myself to further prettification. I'm counting on you, Brenda, is all I'm saying.

Tragic Love Friday: Coming at you like a spider monkey

Well, our free two-week trial with Blockbuster Online is officially over. Our first monthly payment of ten dollars and fifty-nine cents was charged to our Visa on February 25th, but do you know how many movies we saw in February? Six. SIX MOVIES FOR ELEVEN DOLLARS. This is record-breaking for us, and reason enough to establish a permanent love affair with ordering films online.

It all started on the thirteenth when we received the eagerly anticipated Click (which was very good and even made me cry a little). After we'd had our fill of Adam Sandler shenanigans, we brought it to our local Blockbuster chain because online mailers double as coupons for free rentals in the store, which is how we came across The Illusionist (highly recommend), which in turn held us over until the first two episodes of Big Love arrived while Luke was away on business. That weekend we returned The Illusionist and used the Big Love mailer to score The Grudge 2, which I feel obligated to inform you was not a good decision. Meanwhile, our account had been credited with an e-coupon for a free rental just for signing up with BB online, so we redeemed it for A Sound of Thunder, another questionable choice but Edward Burns was kind of cute so it wasn't all for nothing.

On Tuesday we received Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and that movie is so damn hysterical we had to watch it twice. Shake and bake!

"We could watch this every day for the rest of our lives without paying any late fees!" I informed Luke in a sort of awed wonder.

"Or we could just buy it," he said.

There is that.

So yes, this newfangled idea of renting online is working out splendidly, mainly because we're not limited to renting online and we keep getting coupons for additional rentals. Some of the thirty-five titles currently stored in our queue include The Departed, Lady in the Water, Adaptation (which I first watched for a screenwriting class in grad school and can't wait to see again), Proof, Fantastic Four, the first season of 90210, and The Notebook.

Speaking of notebooks (OMG, what a fantastic segue), we are down to the last fifteen pages for the first serial of Tragic Love Friday. Next week will showcase the final installment, and then it's on you guys to come up with a really hysterical summary for this tale of questionable morals and unbridled passion. Remember? Not only will you be performing a huge service for potential part-two readers, but you'll also score yourself an opportunity to relive the days when Brenda Walsh ripped holes in the knees of her jeans and Brian Silver's cousin accidentally killed himself wearing a cowboy hat (or something). What about that sentence isn't appealing?

Some of you expressed concern over the guidelines I laid out, but really, don't pay them any mind. Just summarize the story as you remember it. If I receive multiple submissions, which I REALLY hope I do, I'd like to feature them all, so if you miss something, chances are another reader will pick up the slack. You're also allowed to team up with other bloggers to present The Mother Of All Summaries, but then it's up to you to figure out what to do about the DVDs, because dudes, I love you, but not enough to contribute seventy dollars of 90210 goodness to the World Wide Web when I'm stuck renting it all online.

Here we go, my pretties. The second-to-last installment. Cherish it while you can. 

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

"You're sure you want to do this?" Michael asked, once again in the driver's seat.

"Positive."

A few hours had passed since I made my decision. We were just about 3 miles from the Illinois border. The area was deserted.

"Stop here," I cried suddenly.

"Why?"

"I - I don't want to go back yet. Give me till tomorrow. Then I'll give her back."

Michael pulled over and parked near a cornfield. He squeezed my hand. "It'll be harder if you wait," he said softly. [That's what my first boyfriend said when he wanted to have sex!] "Just give me till tomorrow," I pleaded. He nodded.

I fed Katherine some formula, then Mike and I ate a little lunch. "I'm proud of you," he said out of the blue.

"Why?"

"I know how hard giving Kayla back Katherine [Awkward Phrasing, how I've missed thee!] will be for you. It won't be a great experience for me, either. I've grown to like the little tyke." He smiled at the baby and tickled her under the chin. She squealed with delight.

"I'll be alone again, Michael." I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm around." My friend gazed at me with such intensity, I had to look away. "So much has changed in such a short amount of time. It's scary when you think about it." I yawned. "I'm so tired."

"So am I. Why don't you sleep in the backseat with Katherine, and I'll sleep at the wheel."

"No," I argued. "You've been driving for hours. You sleep back here, too." His face flushed. [I thought you'd never ask!] I felt myself turn red, also. "I mean...if you could just hold me, protect me. That's what angels do," I teased. [But do angels help emotionally unbalanced women kidnap children from maximum-security correctional facilities? Now's not the time to quibble over job descriptions, Jenna.] He smiled shyly and made himself comfortable in the backseat, while I snuggled against him. Katherine was asleep in my arms. It would have made a pretty picture.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take over me.

[This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky.]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - KAYLA

I was pacing back and forth in my cell when the officer who was handling my case, Officer Kujak came barging in. [This name sounded so authoritative to me at the time, kind of like Columbo or McGyver. A Kujak could carry his own show, don't you think?] "We have news about your baby, Evans," he informed me.

I felt my body come to life. "How is she? WHERE is she?"

"A woman spotted a car that matches the description of suspect Jenna Meddows."

"In Illinois?"

"No. Wisconsin."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Is she alive? What's being done?"

"The witness didn't think about the car until she heard about the kidnapping on the news. She was already back in Chicago by then." Kujak checked his watch. "Me and 3 other squad cars are on our way any minute. I've got to notify the Wisconsin police."

"No!" I cried. "If she sees police, she might panic and hurt Katherine." My shoulders sagged, and I felt like crying again. "She's got a butcher knife."

"OK; you might be right. Now I've got to go." [Members of the law are so easily influenced by the flawed yet seemingly reasonable logic of civilians! This kind of exchange happens in Lifetime movies all the time.] He turned to go. I grabbed his arm desparately. "Wait! Take me, too."

"Are you crazy?"

"Maybe. But I have to be there when you find my baby. Please! You can cuff me, gag me [hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me], whatever!" Kujak grabbed my arm and cuffed my hands behind my back. "I'll see," he said.

We were gone in 5 minutes. Please don't hurt her, Jenna, I thought as we drove to Wisconsin. If my baby's OK, I can forgive you. "How long until we're there?" I asked. He checked his watch. "It's 4:00 PM now. We should be there by 6:30."

I couldn't get there fast enough.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - MICHAEL

I woke up from a fitful sleep at around six. I had gotten up twice to change and feed Katherine, letting Jenna sleep. She needed it more than I.

[Jeez Louise, she's had the kid fewer than twenty-four hours and already she's a lazy mother. Michael's like a single dad, only with no actual children!]

I got out of the car and stretched. The sky was shades of pink and blue. Such a beautiful setting, such a sad situation. In the car, my love stirred. I saw her sit up and blink her eyes sleepily [probably rolling Katherine onto the floor in the process]. I went to take the baby from her [See? He knows she can't be trusted] and motioned her to join me. She sat on the hood of the car, hugging her legs to her chest. She was so beautiful. I sighed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied, a lump rising in my throat. Tell her, tell her! my mind was shouting. "A lot of things are going to happen after Katherine's returned," I commented. "We'll be put in prison."

Jenna shook her head. "Only if Kayla presses charges against us." [You know, because the state of Illinois has no qualms with you stealing babies from their facility. One less mouth to feed!]

"You don't think she will?"

"No. She knows why I did it. She'll forgive me."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. She looked thoughtful; thoughtful and sad, too. "I can't go home. Things are too different."

"Where will you go?"

"Far away from here." She laughed bitterly. "My parents will hug me, write me a huge check, and then I'm gone."

"You can't go," I whispered. "I'll miss you." [Please don't go, girl. Never ever go away....]

She smiled. "I'll miss you, too."

"Jenna." I mustered up all my courage. "I - I love you." [Go, Mikey, go! You can do it!] She looked surprised, then said, "I love you, too, Mike. You're my best friend."

"You don't understand. I love you, Jenna. I'm in love with you, and I need you here with me." I was so scared, I could have cried. How would she react?

[Oh my gosh, I'm so nervous for him! My heart is pounding like crazy as I type this.]

Jenna shook her head. "You're just confused. You can't love me."

I secured Katherine in jackets and blankets in the backseat, and I left the car door open [so someone else could kidnap her?]. Then I grabbed Jenna's hands and gazed into her eyes intensely. "I do. I think I fell in love with you the first day I met you. You're the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thing at night. It hurt so much when you were pregnant with David's child, because I wanted you for myself."

[Um, thanks for being happy my baby is dead?]

I leaned closer until her face was inches from mine. "I love you so much it hurts," I whispered. "I can't live without you now." Ever so softly, I kissed her lips. My hand reached to caress her cheek, and I kissed her again, only with more passion. She responded slowly. Soon, she was in my arms. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck. I kissed her forehead, and her eyelids. [That last part was creepy. I don't want anyone kissing my eyelids.] "I would die without you," I whispered in her ear.

I shouldn't have mentioned death. She stiffened and pushed me away. "No," she cried. "This can't happen. You're my best friend."

"I can be more," I said, hurt by her resistance. "I want to be more. Can't you see that?"

"You're just lonely for someone," she insisted.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't you love me, even a little?" Jenna started to cry, too. "I - I don't know." I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!"

[OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

[Also, I don't know why I put so much emphasis on "you" and "I" in the above paragraph, when really "have" and "need" were the ones who warranted extra attention.]

"I don't know," she sobbed. "Even if I do, I can't get involved with you. Love hurts too much! David said he loved me, and then he went to Kayla!"

"I'm not David! I'm Michael; I'll never hurt you!"

"Raise your hands where I can see you! This is the police! I repeat, put you're hands where I can see them!" I turned around and lifted my arms above my head. During our conversation [read: hottie make-out session], policemen had slowly surrounded the car. Jenna, looking terrified, did what I did.

It was all over.

-------

And now it's all over for me. Except for two more quotes from Talladega Nights, because really, so hilarious.

"Dear little baby Jesus, who's sittin' in his crib watchin' the Baby Einstein videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors, I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my momma together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers."

"I wet my bed until I was nineteen. There's no shame in that."

Hakuna Matata, bitches!

(OK, three quotes. Go see this movie!)

Living within Your Means is the New Black

Two weeks ago, after opening a credit card statement that was just pennies away from inducing Frema's first heart attack, Luke and I decided enough was enough. After several months of obliging every DINKy whim, it was time to buckle down and actively manage how we spent our money. Our little starter house isn't going to buy itself this summer, and if we're so lucky as to get knocked up within the first few months of trying, securing ample living space for our future family of three has to take precedence over feasting on the barbeque lunch platter at Squealer's. Thus, our budget was born.

In my previous life as a non-married Ms., I followed a budget...sort of. Every two months, I would write down my anticipated expenses for the next four pay periods, with each check designated to a particular quadrant; I'd note any variables particular to that moment in time, like a sibling's birthday or upcoming New York and Company sale, and plan accordingly. I was very proud of this system and went out of my way to share it with my family, therefore demonstrating my ability to sustain my own livelihood sans gravy train. "Look at Frema bein' all responsible-like," I wanted to say. "So what if I don't bother to track how much of my paycheck I actually spend? I write numbers in pretty columns on company stationery. I am cool."

This time around, with more at stake than a new pair of jeans, I knew the only way to hold ourselves accountable to our financial goals was to create a spreadsheet and record each and every purchase we made, from the five hundred and eighty-five dollars we pay in rent to the four bucks we occasionally turn over to Dairy Queen for a Reese's blizzard fix. Tracking our expenses over the course of the month and entering receipt data on a weekly basis would enable us to know where we stood with our budget at any given time. It would also take the guessing out of whether or not we could afford another trip to Steak 'N Shake or a Nintendo Wii for my very patient husband. (Not yet, sweetie.) Numbers don't lie, and they certainly won't help you justify the burger and fries you're itching for despite having spent all fifty of the dollars designated for eating out.

Before delving into this new project, I consulted Molly, Queen of Excel Spreadsheets, for some ideas on what to include in my template; however, once left to my own devices (Luke could do nothing but observe me with morbid fascination, I think, seeing as I created our template the same morning we opened the credit card statement, and I was so sick over our lack of common sense that red anger spots actually danced in front of my eyes), what started out as a simple column for our monthly bills turned into an elaborate marriage of pay stub information and sorting options for expenditures by week and category.

(Click to embiggen.)

Some notes about the spreadsheet:

• Even though I record payments made on our credit cards, since the individual expenses have already been accounted for, they're not included in our monthly totals.
• I debated including ATM transactions, knowing Amanda follows this practice on The Naked Ledger, but Luke and I don't really carry cash that often, and I'm more concerned with what happens to the money once it's in our pocket.
• I don't know why I included a line for additional savings. We already dump half of Luke's paycheck into that account every two weeks, and it's a given that any month-end surplus will go into savings as well, but what can I say. It's pretty. I am cool.

Don't trouble yourselves with commenting on my freakness. Believe me, Luke and I are both well aware.

Before you judge, though, this template has really been quite helpful, providing us (read: ME) with greater insight into our financial habits. Spending $389.84 on groceries and/or household goodies within a twenty-eight-day timespan might not seem too terrible (although for two people it really is, who are we kidding?), breaking it down by week draws attention to just how often you're running for milk and bread at Super Target. Thanks to this spreadsheet, I know we spent more than a hundred dollars on such necessities in week two AND week three. Granted, some trips happened at the beginning of week two and others at the end of week three, but still. Not great planning on our part. What can we do to eliminate so many trips to the store? How often are we picking up things that don't quite need restocking?

(Also, in case you were wondering, our grocery/household budget is NOT $389.84. It is $225. Though it might as well be $389.84, since that's what we ultimately spent, budget be damned. And damn you, too, Super Target!)

Luke and I had already made the decision to save all of our receipts last month, so accounting for dollars spent before The Spreadsheet was easy, but the actual implementation didn't come until February 10th--almost halfway through the month--so I was a little nervous about our ability to stay in the black. We allotted fifty dollars for dining out even though we were already four in the hole, and that was before we went out to dinner to celebrate Luke's birthday, another thirty bucks even though we had a coupon for a free entree at Abuelo's. Plus, the Lumina crapped out on us again, as fourteen-year-old cars are wont to do, this time demanding a new battery and seventy-five dollar tow from Luke's place of employment, an ordeal that altogether brought us over our three-hundred-and-thirty-dollar category cap (gas plus oil changes for both cars) by ... three hundred and thirty dollars. I was positive we'd be on our hands and knees crawling to Fifth Third, knocking our savings account flat on her ass once again.

However, by the end of the month, I found that we actually SAVED money. Three hundred and twenty-six dollars' worth of money that I want to kiss and hold in a tight embrace and never let go. Our saving grace? My recent tendency to pay off bills as soon as they arrive on our doorstep, even when there was a good three weeks before the drop-dead due date. There were no February expenses tallied for rent, either of my Sallie Mae loans, or the phone bill, which is the only reason we were able to come out ahead. With our new system, I'd like to get in the habit of paying bills in the same month they're due (after all, the whole point is to funnel money in our savings account, not get ahead on bills that have another twenty-five years before they're paid in full), so this shouldn't happen again, but I'm grateful for it now. Meanwhile, March is already looking pretty damn good because of our handsome tax refund, allowing us to pay for my BlogHer reservations and our car insurance premium without dipping into savings.

Are you totally bored now? I bet you're totally bored. Don't worry. Tragic Love Friday is on its way, even though this entry won't publish until 5:00 p.m. EST and I'm so afraid it'll get lost in the shuffle. Prove me wrong, Internet!