the e.l.y.s.i.a. .n. f.i.e.l.d.s project
Note about the project: You may find the spelling and grammar incorrect. This is because it is a bridget-jones type diary and the main character doesn't worry about her "private thoughts" being perfect in that area. Also, is rated R for drugs, sex, language, yadda-yadda.
btw- if you want more, a review would be nice =)
t.h.e m.o.n.t.h o.f m.a.r.c.h
Joints: 2 (shared though) Bowls: 3 Status: Still Single
Need to stop smoking. Very bad habit. Need new friends also, not those that my mother and the older generation would refer to as "potheads". Maybe if I just find people that are normal… not possible, cannot blame all my problems on my friends. Let's see today was lame, as compared to the other lame-assed things in my life.
My sister had a baby shower, and it was her chance to flaunt it in my face that she was going to have children at the young age of twenty-five, and I was still twenty-eight and without a man. Pretty pathetic, I know.
The only consolation is that all my best friends are unmarried too. There's Cherry, the feminist who still manages to shave her legs and find a date once in awhile, Rob, who constantly toils with his long-term girlfriend, and Chelle, who seemed to go for all the losers yet still ends up rejected.
Well, the baby shower would have been hell, but I drug Rob along, and we smoked before it. It was still hell, but by the morning I hopefully won't remember much of it. Yes I know I have a bad old habit that should have been left behind in the teenage years, but I can't help it. It's better than being an alcoholic; at least that's what Chelle claims. Maybe she's right.
My sister smiled at Rob politely, and grinned at me. The look said: I did it. I married a successful, loving, perfect man and now I'm going to have babies and not be constantly bothered by married people who ask "Still single?". In fact, I'll become one of those people.
"Hello, Jenna," I told her, forcing a smile.
She held a champagne glass filled with some non-alcoholic beverage in one perfectly manicured hand, and sipped it while explaining, "I cut back on the liquor, of course, couldn't have my little Michael [I assume that's what she named it] being a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome."
This was rather scary, seeing as my sister had always drank like a fish, while I smoked like a… smoldering log? Rather weak analogy, but anyways, she continued on, not pausing to let me get a word in.
"You see, Elysia, Mark and I are very excited. Especially Mark. The other day, it was just confirmed at the M.D.'s [she actually called a doctor that] that we're having a boy. I know Mark's had his heart set on it; he helped me choose the decorations fit only for a son. I told him to wait, but he insisted. You know what he said…?" She finally paused, allowing me a chance to try to slip away.
"I haven't the slightest idea." I was too buzzed from the two joints I had shared with Rob to formulate an escape plan.
She tittered, as married women often do. Much too distinguished to laugh. "He said… get this… 'I know it in my heart we're going to have a son.' See, he had his heart set on it. Well, thankfully we were blessed with little Michael, as we have decided to call him."
Her face suddenly clouded over as she remembered to wretch the ill-wrapped, boxed gift from my hands. "I hope you didn't buy anything for a girl."
"Uhh… rather generic, actually…" I said, grabbing a champagne glass from the buffet and sipping it nervously. The sad truth was, I could not remember what I had bought for Michael. I was probably too high then too.
I need to cut back, I need to cut back. I repeated to myself, over and over again. I looked at my sister in a daze, and she sniffed the air.
"Not doped up, are you?" She hissed, angrily. "Hmmph… at least you could pretend to be happy for me." So now, she was acting all high and mighty just because she had purged her drinking problem, and I still had my smoking problem.
"Of course I'm not, and I'm very happy for you," I lied, staring through her.
She looked nervously around for a reason to escape me. "Oh, look, there's Carrie, you must excuse me, dear sister, but I must greet some other guests."
With that, the "golden girl" hustled away. I couldn't help noticing that except for her inflated stomach, my sister looked very fit. No wonder a handsome man like Mark fell for her and not fat ole me.
I still have a thing for that man, dammit! He's just too good-looking and charming and perfect. Ugh, maybe too Mr. Cleaver, Leave-it-to-Beaver for my taste. Hell, if he approved of Jenna's drinking, couldn't he put up with my smoking?
Well, it didn't matter now. No reason to stand alone in a stupor and think about unattainable men. I rescued Rob, who is somewhat attractive, from some flirty impish college girl. I saw Mrs. Partine too late. The noisy nosey woman was heading straight in our direction.
"Ohh… Elysia…. dahling!" she gushed. "How are you?" She kissed me on the cheek with her repulsive fuchsia lipstick. Knowing there was an embarrassing imprint on my cheek, I risked my own ego to save Mrs. Partine's. I knew she would be offended if I wiped away the beauty mark.
"Hello, Mrs. Partine. I'm fine…" I trailed off, and she looked at Rob expectantly. A little too expectantly. I think she was hoping… in vain of course…
"This is Rob Chevi." I paused for a moment, hoping in my out-of-touch state that I had not screwed up his name.
"She means… Chive. Rob Chive." He politely extended his hand. Leave it to Rob to appear perfectly normal and respectful while under the influence.
I flushed. "Uh… yea… Chive, Chevi, what's the difference?" Before I could stop myself, I rambled on, dazed and answering my own question. "Well actually, the different was between two mere letters, the i and the e, seeing that I always get them mixed up."
Rob glared sideways at me, I think. Mrs. Partine, the witch, gave me a shrewd look also.
"In what relation is he to you?" she asked, with bated breath.
"Good friend from the college years." I said, simply.
Her face showed much disappointment. In fact, for a second, paranoia gripped me and I thought, What if a psychogeist called disappointment jumps out from behind those eyes, wrings my neck, yelling, "Why isn't he your boyfriend? Can't you get a boyfriend, pathetic little daughter of my friends? Why can't you be more like your sister?"
I unconsciously must have backed away. Mrs. Partine quickly excused herself. Rob began to down champagne, the only alcohol at the party. After about seven glasses (but who's counting?) he excused himself to use the restroom.
I, meanwhile, had forgotten about the smudge on my cheek, and wondered around the room, laughing unprovoked in conversations at the worst times. The world was spinning, and it seemed like hours since Rob had disappeared.
I glimpsed myself in the shine of a champagne glass. Raccoon and baggy eyes, pimple showing (only one, thankfully), smudge of lipstick… I quickly and ungracefully wiped it away.
Then I laid down on the expensive couch without bothering to take off my stiletto heels and the next thing I knew Rob was shaking me. My head ached slightly, and my hair was a mess.
"Uhh… wha?" I snapped.
"Let's go, Elyse. The rest of them are in the other room opening gifts."
I thought about this, as thoroughly as possible. On one hand, if I left my sister would be angry with me but I bet she already was, since I had passed out on her couch. On the other hand, if I went in the other room on shaky feet I'd be greeted with stares, whispers, and the embarrassment of my 'generic' as I had labeled it, gift being opened as compared to the others.
Just as I had made up my mind to flee with Rob, Marcella, a frumpy obnoxious redhead, my sister's best friend, came rushing into the room. "Oh, Elysia, hurry, she's about to open your gift!"
I nearly groaned aloud and had no choice but to face embarrassment. My hair was a mess. Rob sent me a sympathetic look and told me he'd be waiting in the car, and to hurry.
I got to my feet and followed Marcella, whom I had a newfound hate for, into the other room. They all stared at me, and whispered.
"Glad you could make it," Mr. Partine, a loud round and equally loathsome man, joked. Everyone laughed politely, much to my dismay.
"Ooh," Jenna said, shooting me a look of disgust. "Time for my dear sister's gift." I could hear the sarcastic undertone; it was so brutal I flinched.
I noticed that the table was devoid of wrapped gifts. Brilliant toys and other baby items lined it. And there was my poorly wrapped gift, sitting all by it's lonesome self.
"I guess that's your gift, seeing that it's the only one left to open, and unmarked." She shrugged and looked at me.
"Uhh… yea that's mine all right." I stuttered.
She gingerly pulled off the ugly wrapping paper. "I hope its not too generic," she rudely commented. Little Miss Perfect Jenna. I nearly scowled.
Jenna nearly burst out laughing. "Oh my, diapers!" I nearly hit myself. I knew I shouldn't have let Chelle, probably on an ecstasy high pick out Jenna's present. To make matters worse, they were pink.
"Well, I can't say they won't be useful. A whole big box of pink diapers! How exciting! Thank you, Elysia." she said, almost sounding genuine.
"And thank you every one else!" she said with much more enthusiasm, plastering a smile on her pretty face to share with the room.
I tried to slip out, but the bitch Marcella noticed and said loudly, "Aren't you going to stay for the cake, Elysia?"
With all eyes on me, I mumbled some lame-ass excuse about Rob waiting on me in the car, and got the hell out of there. I overheard Mrs. Clark saying, "No wonder that girl is still unmarried, the poor thing. She's such a basket case."
I remembered I hadn't even said hi to my parents.
Rob consoled me like a big brother and dropped me off like a child. "Take care, basket case!" he called after me. By then it was pouring, and I had to trudge half-heartedly and half-drenched to bed.
I couldn't sleep, so I smoked three bowls by myself and now I'm writing this hoping the side effects will make me pass out…. Soon oh very soon I hope.