Cranberry liqueur, mango liqueur, Rose's Cranberry Twist Mix. And, I shit you not: California-produced Mango puree, complete with a "bartender's spigot" on the top. (I might just attach a hose to that, so it can go directly into my mouth. I'm not proud.)

Okay, okay: There really isn't a "best shipment from Darrell." I mean, how would I choose?—the cashmere sweater? The silk kimono? The multicolored wallet I use every single freakin' day? The gin? The scarves? The gin? The accessories? The gin? The belt? The gin? The hairbands? The gin? The dress? The gin?

But this . . . aw. It was timely. It cheered me up. It combined several of my obsessions into one handy box. And on one end of that box was pasted a notice on white paper, created with a big black marker that said, "HIGH DECLARE." No, really. It did.

I'm just so happy I could go . . . I don't know. Do something productive, or Useful to Society. Sky's the limit right now.

Note: Actually, D, I did not make it to the maildrop on time. You got that part right. But you said the package was there, so I asked them to pull the box out and hide it between the two copiers so I could pick it up after hours.

Mango puree! I can't taste it right away; then there'd be nothing left to live for.

I think it's worth noting that I own two martini shakers. One is an individual-sized official Tanqueray shaker, courtesy of Big D. The other is part of a martini set sent me for my birthday by Laurence several years ago. That martini set is, by the way, the pride of this household. (Well, one of the prides of the household—particularly among the non-abstinent 50% of the demographic within this condominium.)

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A little help, please?

Thank you!

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has solved my fruit juice problem, among others.

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(Not drowning; just waving. I swear.)

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Maybe this was their way of telling me not to invite myself out to dinner with them any more at the end of Siggraph: one guy showed up with his wife; they were discussing possible names for a baby. I suggested that rather than risk breaking their hearts, they should wait for a fetus before they got too excited about reproduction.

"Oh," my friend remarked. "You are out of the loop, aren't you?" His wife showed me her expanded belly, and he told me they were expecting in October.

So, which is more unbelievable: (1) the fact that my friend never thought to let me in on the fact that his wife was pregnant; or (2) the fact that none of my other friends, who surely knew about this, never thought to inform me or the other person in the dinner party who has suffered through infertility. (Of course, this other person may be on the brink of Marriage Number Three, so there is hope for him. For me, not so much.)

I mean, I could have been happy for them if it hadn't been thrown in my face so suddenly. Why didn't anyone drop me a hint about this?

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1 Came upon your blog while surfing. I am new here and I don't mean to be rude or unsympathetic, but wouldn't it make more sense, as a friend, to be happy for your friend, regardless of how the information was relayed to you? Its likely to be far more rewarding, in the end, than holding your happiness hostage because you feel their good fortune somehow reflects negatively on you. Angela

Posted by: Angela Bateman at August 16, 2008 05:29 PM (1+w38)

2 Having been the "last to know" on several friends pregnancies, it comes off as you're just not that important. But they sure do double-time it to make sure I get the baby shower invites early and often. What I was taught is that friendship is a two-way street. Was I wrong, Angela? I don't really ask for much, just a little consideration.

Posted by: I R A Darth Aggie at August 17, 2008 08:03 AM (1hM1d)

3 No, no. Angela's right. If I have any negative emotions whatsoever, the healthy is to pretend that they do not exist. Because only bad people have negative emotions. To be a good person, one has to have only positive emotions. Look: I'm stoked that they are expecting. Really, really stoked. I just wish I'd been told, rather than having things unfold in a way that felt that humiliating. BTW, Angela, I'm going to take a flier, here: you've never suffered the pain of infertility.

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 17, 2008 12:27 PM (TpmQk)

4 Forgive me for being a totally f*-up hardass, but would you like a bit of ammunition for the next time round? If so, read on... ... my unmarried colleagues (yes, in the same chain of command, she reports indirectly to him) were expecting their child some 3-4 weeks ago. The baby was stillborn. Labour had to be induced 2 weeks ahead of schedule because the baby had died in the womb. Now, we're supposed to be a MNC (multinational company) and therefore sophisticated and cosmopolitan and allathat. I still found it shocking that they weren't married (but I don't say anything - not my business, really). And this sort of thing happens to people good or bad. But, anyways, if you really want to carve a pound of flesh out of the nest someone who's not all that sensitive to your plight, repeating the above story (in a smarmy, pseudo-friendly tone) might be the ticket. /like I said, f*ed-up hardass On a more serious note, may I point out the bystander effect? It may very well be they assumed you knew. Or did not see it of prime importance. I sometimes find out my 'friends' are married after I get an invite to their son's 'full-moon' (it's an Asian thing). My own sister did not want me to know she was seeing this boy until after the engagement and wedding dates had been set.

Posted by: Gregory at August 17, 2008 11:59 PM (cjwF0)

5 I found it heartbreaking and upsetting when, going in for a pre-op visit for an extremely necessary sterilization procedure I'd avoided for years, I was put in an examination room chock-full of photos of babies the doctor had delivered. Hundreds of them, washing over me in my time of sorrow. I wish they'd had a room more sensitive to how I was feeling and what I was going through. And I wish your friends had thought to tell you in a way you could process privately. Unfortunately, people (especially certain kinds of people, which includes logical types, socially awkward types, people who are happier than they'd expected to be, and sometimes guys) don't always remember that other people might feel differently about something, and might want some time to digest it. The adjective Considerate comes from the verb To Consider. An action not everyone engages in. Hang in there, sweetie! you're entitled to your feelings, and you're a good and lovely person. xo

Posted by: Rin at August 18, 2008 06:54 AM (4Mpxg)

6 I found it heartbreaking and upsetting when, going in for a pre-op visit for an extremely necessary sterilization procedure I'd avoided for years, I was put in an examination room chock-full of photos of babies the doctor had delivered. Hundreds of them, washing over me in my time of sorrow. I wish they'd had a room more sensitive to how I was feeling and what I was going through. And I wish your friends had thought to tell you in a way you could process privately. Unfortunately, people (especially certain kinds of people, which includes logical types, socially awkward types, people who are happier than they'd expected to be, and --sometimes-- guys) don't always remember that other people might feel differently about something, and might want some time to digest it. The adjective Considerate comes from the verb To Consider. An action not everyone engages in. Hang in there, sweetie! you're entitled to your feelings, and you're a good and lovely person. xo

Posted by: Rin at August 18, 2008 07:03 AM (4Mpxg)

7 Hi there! Sorry it took so long to respond to this but my access to the Internet is intermittent. Like you and others on this board, I too have had problems with fertility--which is what made your comment stick out to me. I under what is like to feel reminded of a lost possibilty. I remember what it was like in the first few years after my hystorectomy. It took me a good while to get used to the idea and no longer view the good fortunes of my friends as, first and foremost, a reminder of what I had lost. I remember feeling terribly bitter. Like I had failed in some way as a wife and as woman. Coupled with other frustrations in my life (my career was going nowhere at the time) and dissatisfactions in my marriage, I eventually realized I was being terribly unfair to both myself, my husband (now ex) and what few friends I'd had left at the time. But I was lucky. With support, I was better able to separate the fortunes of others from my own bad luck and find a different path towards the emotional and personal fulfillment I sought. In life, we sometimes have painful trials. I hope that, eventually, the bliss you deserve presents itself. I never suggested you were a bad person. Only that the good fortune of our friends should exist independent of our own misfortunes. At least on a good day. :-) Lord knows we all have bad ones sometimes. I guess I've just found it's usually helped me to try and put my best foot forward. Although, occasionally, it still ends up in my mouth. Angela B.

Posted by: angela bateman at August 19, 2008 07:28 AM (twnFD)

8 Alrighty, then.

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 19, 2008 11:47 AM (TpmQk)

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"I think you're off the deep end."

"The deep end of what?" I ask my dad.

"I don't know what. But there's something really wrong with you."

Ah. I'll try to get that fixed right away, then—that thing he can't quite diagnose or even articulate. That nonspecific thing. I'll claw my way right out of the deep end of [static, mumble mumble, vague paternal disapproval].

I wonder if he got that from his first wife, to whom he hasn't been married in four decades. Because it certainly sounded . . . familiar.

In point of fact, the discussion shouldn't have upset me in the least, because it has nothing to do with me: rather, it was a moment of payback to wives #1-3. Which is another way of saying that the whole encounter was about my grandmother, but since she's gone deaf—I guess I have to hear it.

It also served as notice that, for the first time in my life, my father doesn't just require tolerance and patience from me, but Actual Handling. Like any 70-somethng parent.

I've always wanted to be part of a real family! See?—we're normal after all, in our own way! Pinocchio finally gets his wish . . .

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But I think I'd prefer to hear "no, I'd rather not do you a favor," as opposed to "I'll do you a favor, and reserve the right to publicly humiliate you over it."

Perhaps that is peculiar on my part.

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