#8 - Drunk dialing, semen solicitation

Ugh---sorry, no music today. I am truly, spectacularly hung over.

I didn’t want to do it, but somehow last night, after typing my last entry, I walked back to the entrance of the hall and, rather than go inside to the dancefloor, I thumb-pressed and held the #1 button on my phone---still the speed-dial designation for Emily.

Emily is my ex-…ex-something. Ex-best-friends-that-had-sex-once. Well, twice. Almost.

This call demonstrates the foolhardy act of drunk dialing. Let it be a warning. All dialog accurate to the best of my memory.

Emily Bitte (not her real name, but close): Hello?
Loose Strife: Hey.
EB: Who’s…Robert?
LS: Yeah…sorry to bother you. I’m at Dan and Lori’s wedding.
EB: They got married? You sound really wasted.
LS: They did, yeah; I am. I was thinking about you.
EB: I can’t believe they got married. All they ever did was fight like psychotics…
LS: Well, that’s because they have a passionate relationship….We never fought.
EB: Well, no, I never threw a wineglass at your face. He needed like ten stiches, didn’t he?
LS: It was just, like, three or four I think.
EB: Could you see the scar when he was saying his vows?
LS: I guess a little. He used pimple cream or something.
EB: Nice.
LS: But I think he likes it, actually---it’s like a battle scar, his hard-earned love badge.
EB: [a brief silence; the sound of ice being dropped into a glass] Are you having fun?
LS: Not really. Are you?
EB: I’m waiting for Amy to get home; we’re seeing Sleater Kinney at the Bowery.
LS: Do you like that new record?
EB: I haven’t heard it.
LS: It’s actually pretty weird---weird in a good way. They recorded with the guy who produced the Flaming Lips, so it’s kinda tripped-out and noisy. Carrie is playing all this weird guitar, feedback stuff. Corin too----although I saw them recently and Corin looked sort of befuddled when they were playing some of the new stuff, like she was thinking “why am I making feedback? Lesbian punk rockers don’t make feedback.”
EB: [the sound of sipping] What makes you so sure she’s a lesbian?
LS: Oh please. Do you know something I don’t? Was there some lesbian punk rock message board posting?
EB: I’m just saying you can’t always label someone gay, even if they sleep with girls.
LS: Obviously.
EB: [Pause ] Even if she said she was a lesbian years ago, how do you know she still is? I don’t know that she’s announced it. She has a baby now.…
LS: But she must’ve turkey bastered that…
EB: I think she did. But I’m just saying, How can you know, really? How can you know what someone feels in their heart from day to day, or minute to minute?
LS: Yeah, I guess you’re right. I don’t even know what I’m feeling from minute to minute. Still, I was just making a joke.
EB: You know, Amy and I talked about having a kid.
LS: Jesus! Really?!
EB: Why “Jesus, really?!”?
LS: I’m surprised. You never really seemed to like the idea of kids.
EB: That’s so totally not true! Well, maybe I seemed that way because of your daycare job. That was like having twenty kids by proxy.
LS: So who would have it? Your kid, I mean.
EB: I would, I think, since I’m younger, and less gainfully employed. Not like I’m arguing for the job. But it makes the most sense.
LS: So how would you do it?
EB: Get some sperm, right? By any means necessary! [laughs]
LS: No, seriously. Would you, what, go to a sperm bank?
EB: I don’t think so. We’d rather have the father be someone we know. Actually, we were thinking of you.
LS: Me? [at precisely this moment, a drunken, wide-eyed Nelson taps my cel phone and gestures by holding his fingers to his nose that it’s time to go into the bathroom and do a key bump of coke.]
EB: Yeah, you. Who’s that?
LS: Me?! Oh, that was Nelson…
EB: Oh, what---is he breaking out the coke?
LS: …no. Yes, actually. But,….whoa. Wow. You’re joking.
EB: I’m not joking. We were going to call you next week, but you beat me to it. If you decide to do it, though, you’ll have to stop doing things like coke, at least for a little while before we take your ejaculate.
LS: You are freaking me out right now. I am going to go.
EB: Hey, look, you called me, remember?
LS: Yeah, but I didn’t call to ask if I could jerk off into a cup to father your child.
EB: Yeah, well, it wouldn’t necessarily have to be done that way.
LS: I’m going now.
EB: Go. Goodbye. Call me.

Two bumps later, I was convinced this was an incredibly cool idea. This morning, I am not so sure.