This is why I only have 5 girlfriends

July 13, 2005 - 1:21 a.m.

I’m not speaking to a friend of mine right now, and she keeps leaving me messages and asking why I’m not speaking to her and I don’t reply because frankly I have no idea what to say. If there were a plausible solution I would have nipped that thing in the bud right away, but this time I am stumped.

I always told myself I would never drag dirty laundry onto this website, because shit, I’m no fool. I only talk badly about people who don’t actually read this site. But I think that right now I am about to open a stinking barrel of worms, while at the same time spilling the beans all over hell and hurling a fifty pound bag of manure into an industrial fan.

I’m about to BITCH, albeit legitimately, about someone who I’m friends with and who reads this site.

*holds breath, waits for nuclear meltdown*

Let me also just say that I have a headache, I’m starving, I’m irritated by small noises, and I want to slip out of this chair onto the floor and stick my head into the wastebasket.

I’m also covered in tender bruises for reasons I cannot go into at this time.

*losing it*

This reminds me of last month when I had menstrual cramps, sore abs and back muscles from weightlifting, hunger, and lower intestinal pain all at the same time and it lasted half the day. From tits to twat, my entire torso experienced different types of pain and it was so disorienting that I couldn’t decide which pain was the most bothersome and my mind just flitted from belly to womb to back and all over again.

My mind is flitting right now.

So my friend Christina pissed me off a month ago when we had a BBQ at the pilot’s house and Strawberry was still in town. She got drunk and couldn’t drive herself and the Egg (her kid) home (she was SUPPOSED to be the designated driver but drank 12 beers), and suddenly it became everyone else’s problem that she couldn’t get home, but we were all drunk because we had made arrangements to pass out at the pilot’s and not work the following day. I had to put her (and her kid) in a cab, and give her my last $20 bill even though the ride costs $6.

Early the next morning, she realized that she lost her wallet and assumed it was at The Pilot’s and just took a bus straight there, even though we were drunk and sleeping and my cell phone was downstairs. The Pilot has a fortress around his yard and the gate cannot be opened from the outside or the inside without a key, so Christina is standing outside his gate calling me to let her in. I never heard the phone ring.

The Pilot and I heard the door bell ring over and over and he got up and looked out the window but saw no one there. He came back to bed, but it kept ringing and I was so drunk my head was spinning but somewhere in the back of my mind I thought, “Could that be Christina? She’s the only person I know who would ring a doorbell for 45 minutes. Nah…”

And it kept ringing, and instead of going DING-DONG, it was just DING-DING-DING-DING-DING-DING with no time for the DONG.

Because a lunatic was outside STABBING AT A DOORBELL.

The Pilot thought it was broken, going haywire, so he got up and removed the inside doorbell box from the wall, to silence the madness that was coaxing puke up from my belly.

About 40 minutes later Strawberry woke up, heard my phone ringing and answered it and Christina started screaming at her to let her in. Strawberry came and got me and I had to get up and unlock the gate for Christina, and there she was, standing on the sidewalk with her GHETTOOOO skank dirty fat useless whore of a friend, who she had called and said, “Will you come wait with me outside The Pilot’s house?” Which, in and of itself is pretty fucking crazy, that a grown-ass woman would need to call a friend who lives 2 bus rides and one hour away, to come stand there, on the sidewalk, and stare at a locked gate, in a safe neighborhood on a sunny, 75 degree day at 10 in the morning.

But there stood Jazemynn, vacant bulldog face and all.

For me to say that I hate Jazemynn (or whatever ridiculous, creative spelling she uses) would be an utter waste of a word that is reserved for things in my life that merit actual thought and feelings and instead I just pretend that Jazemynn does not exist, and I try not to think about the fact that her ugly, crab infested lungs are stealing oxygen from innocent babies the world over.

I could write a book about her abortions and her cockroaches, but to sum up, let’s just say that one of her boyfriends is a convicted child sex offender / drug dealer who is forbidden to come within 200 feet of children, and she brings Christina’s daughter to hang out at her apartment, and makes a half-ass attempt to lock the child rapist out of the front door, but then allows him to climb in through the bedroom window while the Egg is in the living room tripping over empty Pepsi cans, trying to outrun the roaches, who sit on the couch and watch TV with her.

I believe Christina and Jazemynn’s friendship is based upon a single night ten years ago when they got drunk together and someone pissed her pants so the other one pissed her pants to make it a bonding moment and then there was this one girl at the party who kept talking about blowjobs and all the guys wanted to fuck her and she didn’t even know it. And then. And then. And then this one dude passed out in the doorway and this other dude pulled his pants down and sat his naked ass on the first guys face and Ah HA HA HA that shit was fukkin crazy yo.

So Jazemynn hates me and talks madness about me for only one reason, and that is because I am the Egg’s Godmother and she wants to be the Egg’s Godmother. At the birth, Christina told Jazemynn that she could be Godmother, if only to shut up her complaining. On the sly, Christina told me that I am her Godmother, and everything was going smoothly until those broads came over to my house and I made a big-ass pot of coffee for everyone. I brought out the frog mug, the fat ladies mug, and then all hell broke loose when Jazemynn saw the Godmother Coffee Mug. She hates me because I got the thrift store coffee mug. Now she won’t even let Christina mention my name in her presence. But the real reason she hates me is because I am clearly better than her, on every level.

There are four hundred thousand reasons why Jazemynn should never be the caretaker of any child, but the top two reasons why she should not be the Egg’s Godmother are:

When the Egg was pouting one day, and wearing a frown, Jazemynn yelled at her, “You betta fix yo face, Girl!”

The Egg looked back at her with saucer eyes.

‘YA HEAR ME GIRL? You betta fix. Yo. FACE.”

The Egg started crying, because she had no idea how to “fix” her face.

The other reason is that, recently, Jazemynn was out shopping with Christina and the Egg and the Egg was whining about something.

“Quit ya whining, girl.”

“You betta shut up, Egg, forreal, I’m serious.”

A few minutes later, Jazemynn lost it, grabbed the Egg by the arm, leaned down and hissed into her ear, “If you don’t shut up RIGHT NOW, I’m going to MURDER you.”

Dear Five-Year-Old Girl,

I’m going to murder you.

Love,
Jazemynn

So Jazemynn’s polluted body and putrified mind is standing here at the gate of my boyfriend’s beautiful house, with her thug self? HELL NO. So Christina busts into the gate (mad at ME) and they go to look around the back yard for her wallet and I storm away, fuming, back to bed. Five minutes later I realize, duh, I don’t want that skank in my boyfriend’s house, surveying so she can come back and rob it with her criminal boyfriends!

So I go downstairs and watch them through the window and they come into the house and Christina is yelling “I need to search the whole house, it could be anywhere!” and she starts STOMPING up his wooden stairs in a huff and I yelled, “You better shut the fuck up and keep your goddamn voice down because MY BOYFRIEND is sleeping.” And then I turned and looked pointedly at Jazemynn, and with narrowed eyes I said, “I don’t need THIS shit in my boyfriend’s house at 10 in the morning.” And I stood in front of her, essentially blocking her so that she could walk in no further than the doorway.

Then I tell Christina to get out, that her wallet is not there or we would have seen it, which is true.

And then.

A WEEK LATER. I was calming down.

One day I was at lunch with Belle and I checked my voicemail and it said I have 13 unheard messages and I was like huh? Weird, so I listened to them and they were ALL from Christina, from a week before, 5 minutes apart, her standing outside of The Pilot’s house CURSING me.

Each one was screaming, LET ME IN, UNLOCK THIS FUCKING GATE, and she had this accusatory tone, like we were inside the house, snickering and hiding and locking her out for fun!

Each message was more hostile. I NEED TO GO TO WORK, IT’S YOUR FAULT I CAN’T GO TO WORK NOW, I HAVE A JOB YA KNOW, I NEED TO MAKE MONEY AND I CAN’T BECAUSE YOU WON’T LET ME IN TO GET MY WALLET.

But she seems to have forgotten that the first message she left me, early in the morning at 8am was, “I called in sick to work and I’m gonna stop by to look for my wallet.” So it sounds like a flat out lie to me, because she wasn’t going to work anyway. And whodahell needs to take a whole day off over a lost wallet that contains nothing but a license and ATM card with a ZERO account balance?

You call your bank, and then you head to work.

Unless you are just looking for a day off.

And the thing that cinched it for me was the last message, number 13. “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES IF YOU DON’T COME OUT HERE AND LET ME IN, I’M GOING TO GET INTO MY FUCKING CAR AND SMASH THIS FUCKING GATE DOWN AND LET MYSELF IN.”

I’m sorry?

What?

Did you just threaten my boyfriend, and his home?

Did you just threaten to vandalize the home of the man who baby-sits, takes care of and feeds your daughter, and buys your beer, and drives you around?

That was it, right there. It was like the small part of her that resided in my heart, just died. First she was just saying “Shawna” and then she brought my boyfriend into it by saying, “You assholes”.

You disrespect me, shame on you.

You disrespect my boyfriend, to hell with you.

I’ve known Christina since I was 16 years old and she was the light of my life. When she was away, she was my Phantom Limb. My platonic lesbian lover.

She, like many of my friends, is 20% jaw-dropping, forehead slapping, comic genius. And 80% crazy. More and more the scales tip towards the crazy, and when that happens to your friend who is a rare and fantastic gem, nothing is sadder.

Christina and Jazzmyn left after the failed wallet search, and I looked at my phone and it said that Christina had called me forty-two times while she was standing on the sidewalk. 42! I wonder what it feels like to dial the same number 42 times? Maybe a little CRAZY? Unless maybe you are calling 911 because your child is not breathing?

Listening to: “Hi, this is Shawna, I can’t come to the phone right now…” 42 times. There’s your definition of crazy right there.

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*beep*

My blood pressure just shot through the roof.

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