b/w [abbreviation] 1. (music) “backed with.” Commonly used with 45 and 78 RPM records, referring to the flip side (also called the “B-side”) of a record.
Here’s a brief journal entry plus a B-side. As always, I make no apologies for my boorish behavior.
November 5, 1992
I love when I come home and the little red light on the answering machine is going *blink* *blink* *blink.* It validates me.
The first message was from Joann, the blind date from two weeks ago. I never expected to hear from her. While on our date, she never made eye contact with me. She’d look over my head, past my left shoulder, past my right, but never directly at me. It was disconcerting. She has a pair of tickets to Mamet’s new play, Oleanna and wants to know if I’ll go. The tix are for over Thanksgiving and I’ll be in Cleveland. I’ve already seen it but the guy who plays the accused professor is so good that I’d gladly go again. [Note: That was William H. Macy.] I left a message on her machine that I’d be out of town. I was kind of glad I didn’t actually have to talk to her.
What does this mean? Does she want to be friends or what? I asked Oswaldo and he started laughing at me. Then he said he has someone he wants to introduce me to. So does Uncle Frank. Everyone is looking out for me but I’m perfectly content being by myself. I’m not the least bit lonely.
The next message was from Margaret. She left a message at work, too, but I didn’t return it because she aggravates me. Last night, she said there must be something wrong with me because I’m [redacted] years old and not married yet. We ended up yelling at each other. I can’t understand why she keeps calling. I don’t do anything to encourage her. All she does insult me. But she sure is pretty. [Note: In an uncharacteristic fit of towering self-respect, I finally saw past her beauty and told her to fuck off.]
She spends almost every night visiting her mom in the hospital. Also, she’s seeing someone who doesn’t make her happy. He lives too close and demands all of her free time. He’s jealous and insecure. She called him a black hole. She said he’s attractive and energetic and doesn’t understand why he just doesn’t go find someone else. That’s almost verbatim what Karen says about her boyfriend! Except the part about the black hole. Karen isn’t smart enough to know what a black hole is.
The next message was from Bonnie. She’s moving offices and asked if I could help with the heavy lifting. I called her back immediately and said I’d be there whenever she needed me. She said she’d pay me but I told her it wasn’t necessary. I asked if it’d be okay if I ravaged her on top of her new desk. She laughed and said, “I suppose so.”
The last message was from Howard. His sister was in a horrific auto accident. She broke several bones including her pelvis and pubic bone. He said it was her fault. She drove into oncoming traffic or something like that. They had to use the jaws of life to peel her out. Apparently, it’s been really hard on their mom. Her husband was coming home from work and drove past the accident. When he got close enough, he recognized the car. Or, what was left of it. I’ll bet she was glad to see him.
What’s your policy on posting photos of yourself? Some bloggers, in an effort to build brand recognition, use a portrait on their landing page and populate their posts with pics of themselves making wacky, exaggerated facial grimaces. Other bloggers have never—not once—posted a photo, allowing their words speak for themselves.
I occupy a middle ground. If I post a photo of The Daughters, it’s usually from the back. This is an open forum and I feel some discretion is in order. The exception is on my birthday, which is today. I allow one full-frontal shot every July 8th. Any dime store psychologist will tell you that this is yet another sad cry for attention. But isn’t that the very definition of blogging? An ongoing cry for attention?
Me + Daughter #2.
“Dad, I like doing this…” (Traces her finger inside her ear.) “It’s like a maze.”
I can’t believe I’m as old as I am (don’t ask) and have kids this young. Well, not THIS young. This is from a few years ago. Still. The guys I grew up with have kids out of college. I traveled a different path to the waterfall. And it’s a damn good thing I did. If I’d had children in my 20’s it would’ve crashed and burned. I just wasn’t ready. I was perfectly content being by myself. I wasn’t the least bit lonely.