Of course I didn’t forget your birthday, goofball. Your card and millions and millions in cash have been mailed.

Why don’t you email me off the board. I’d like to hear more of your thoughts. Please email me privately. (My email address should appear in this response, which should appear in your email inbox.)

Love,
Aunt Gloria

Now go to bed.

Welcome, Dillon. Thanks for reading.

And if you ever meet him, let me know, okay? Also, go to bed – you have school tomorrow.

Like other commenters, I had gooseflesh by the end. Your closing words are exquisite, Gloria.

And this–suddenly all of the sales associates are in the room, each trying desperately to help the pregnant girl get the car bought before a head emerges from her vagina in the middle of the showroom floor–is hilarious.

You’ve never cried on a roller coaster ride? Man, I have. They scare the crap out of me. PTSD much?

So, daughters plural? Are they twins, then?

I have twin boys who will be 8 on Valentine’s Day. Aren’t twins FUN?? **chugs coffee to wake up**

Yes, Dillon is quite fortunate. So am I really. My sister is amazing.

Thank you for reading and for your kind words and commiseration.

Best,
gloria

A most perfect piece, Gloria. Perfect.

@Jami – You got off easy. She bit my head off on her last post after I called her “Glo”. (Did I just get away with calling you that, Gloria, after you threatened me not to, ever again…?)

One last thing: I had a car saleslady help me once, very competently…her name was Carma. Really.

One last last thing: I have to admit, I’ve never cried from a real roller coaster ride…

I loved reading this Gloria! You never cease to amaze me by the fire you have walked through and your ability and genuineness in sharing your experiences.
“… the freedom this car will bring to me will help me put 130,000 miles of distance between the me that I’ve been and the me that I will become.”

You are a true Shadow Stabber!

Keep posting!

Look forward to reading your next post.

Ultimately, though, I don’t give a shit.

Ah, James. How sad that this is true. Childhood isn’t supposed to be a war! Thank god we’ve both figured that out.

I love you.

Background: we r pushing 2 decades of friendship and I have known Gloria would one day write.

I guess, we were about 13 or 14. At my house on springer. U snuck away from freako gaylon and we were hanging out. He showed up at the door and big moo (an enormous man of about 450 pounds who would have killed to protect us. RIP, Moo) was gonna kick his butt (teehee). We were sitting on the dirty floor of the kitchen, hiding next to the oven. U told me that leaving w him would be “paramount to death”. I knew then…this girl talks like a book!
I also realized then, I was not alone in my absolute fear of another humans actions, the anicipation of what could happen. Thank you for being my fellow soldier in the war of childhood.

Okay, I’ll bite. When did you first realize?

I have a car and I hate the fucking thing. If not for the boys, I’d do without. As a matter of fact, my co-parent and I have recently switched to week on/week off and last week was my first week off. I drove exactly 40 miles in 7 days. Normally I drive about 200 in the same amount of time. Cars are useful for the long haul, but Portland boasts a fantastic public transportation system and I get an obscene discount for an annual pass through my work, so there’s not a lot of need to drive unless you need to get somewhere quickly – which is why I have to drive during the days I have the boys. You never know when there will be an emergency and you will have to leave in a hurry. Also, it’s so expensive to drive! I have to pay to park at work. Yes, it’s stupid. And, to be honest, it’s almost a deal-breaker. It costs me $6-10 a day to park at work. And parking enforcement officers will ticket you if you go one second over your limit – which is another $25-50. Then you factor in insurance, gas, car repairs, maintenance… It’s a nightmare. My Nissan was fantastic because it was brand new – and brand new cars have zero problems. I drove that thing for ten years and took it to the shop once. It got 34 miles to the gallon (as opposed to the 17-20 my current car gets) and could endure anything – including accidentally being driven down two flights of stairs. But used cars – where you’re not the only owner – nightmare.

The car I bought, Gloria, was a 1966 Mustang. I’d always wanted to own an old Mustang, though my new friends in L.A. warned me against it. Any old car is bound to bring trouble, but I might have at least gotten a better model if I’d known more about cars overall. Eventually, after it broke down for the thousandth time, I did for a fact replace it. Then that car got replaced, and then it was replaced by another, and so on. Cars are a pain in the ass, and I’m currently without one, which is murder, living in L.A. But the Mustang ended up as a “character” in Banned for Life, which very nearly amounts, in that case, to compensation.

And, if pressed, I’ll give him the same lame answer that I give everyone else when i don’t want to answer a question: You’ll have to wait for the book. Wait… What do you mean that won’t suffice? *Sigh*

**runs to Google to figure out what the hell Richard is talking about**

Aw, your description of your daughter being sparkly – both in real life and in photos – is just great. Happy, happy.

I simply loathe the idea of having to answer so many questions with ‘I don’t know.’ One thing I do know for darn sure is that she has always been deeply loved and cherished. It was abundantly clear in the first pictures of her from the orphanage. Sadly, many kids in those first pics are really checked out. She was just as bright and sparkly as she is today. I don’t know any facts but I do know a loved child when I see one. That helps, mostly…

You know, Dillon and I are both really lucky to have each other in our lives – and to have my sister be who she is. Our situation is unique and special.

He doesn’t know everything about his birth. Ever since he’s found out for sure that I am his birth mother, I’ve had to navigate the questions about his sire like tiptoeing through landmines. One day though…

How old is your daughter?

this is an amazing piece. so much going on here. some funny bits, some sad stuff. like, tawni said: you are a strong person. i can’t sit here and say i know how you feel/felt. because i don’t. i can’t. but it seems to me that it takes a lot to do what you had to do. thanks, gloria. you got it right on this one. we carry on.

okay,
reno romero

I love you. Keep this up. This is good.

“I don’t know it yet, but the freedom this car will bring to me will help me put 130,000 miles of distance between the me that I’ve been and the me that I will become.” Gave me chills, sister.

Since my last post was about my boobs, I promised a few friends that I’d mention my vagina in this one. Bait and switch… Just like car salespeople.

my favorite line: “. . .before a head emerges from her vagina in the middle of the showroom floor.” what an image.

And, yes, I’d rather not ever have to deal with a car salesman again and if I do, I’m asking for a lady!

I love you too my favorite cousin. (Don’t tell Mike.)

The first car salesman not looking you in the eye struck a chord with me. I have rarely been acknowledged when looking at cars with a boyfriend/husband. It infuriates me. Shake my fucking hand too. Look me in the eyes. In addition to being blatantly sexist and rude, it is also really stupid of them. Haven’t you car salesmen ever been in a relationship? If momma doesn’t like the car, we’re not getting the car. You are kissing the wrong ass, dummy.

I wish you’d chosen the black one, however. Teal cars make me irrationally angry.

Great story, great writing. I think you’re brilliant, my friend. xoxo.

It was actually really easy to write. This is just one of those stories that’s been spinning around in the rock tumbler in my head for so long now that all of the rough edges have been smoothed down and polished. I did get a little choked up writing the end part, but in an odd sort of way it was nice to be able to experience that connection to Dillon again. I have the extreme pleasure of still having him in my life – as my nephew. And he and I have, over years, been able to establish a relationship (as aunt and nephew) – which I know is something a lot of birth mothers don’t get to enjoy, and I am endlessly thankful.

My sister and brother-in-law told him he was adopted on his tenth birthday. (My suspicion is that he had an inkling all along, just from discerning whispers and glances among family and the way everyone has always said, “God! He’s just like Gloria!”) It was pretty funny when they told them. He looked at Kim and said, “But how will aunt Gloria feel when she finds out she’s my geological mom?” Kim said, “Honey, I’m pretty sure she knows.”

The unrealistic expectations (and sometimes prejudice) put on men is a lot of pressure; I can only imagine. My friend Aaron has an eight year old daughter, whom he recently took clothes shopping at the Gap. He said he was surrounded by a bunch of suburban moms who kept giving him sideways glances – to that point that he really started feeling uncomfortable. Sexism in any from makes me a bit frothy at the mouth.

My Sentra was a great car. I beat the shit out of that car (ran over parking spot stoppers, drove it down stairs, drove it hard, etc.) and it never once left me stranded. I got in it and felt at home.

Did you finally get yourself a different car?

I love reading your writing, and it would be almost impossible to quote my favourite lines without typing out the whole damn piece…

Looking forward to number three!

One thing that particularly struck me as I read was the treatment you received from the first salesman. The sexism is odious, of course, but it can apply, in a strange way, to men also. For example, I remember when I bought my first car after years of living in NYC, where I never had to think about cars, except for the yellow kind, driven by other people, that could be hailed on the street. Then, when I went car shopping within days of moving to L.A., it was clear, in my exchanges with salesmen, that I was expected to perfectly speak the language of cars, when I obviously had a thick dialect. I tried to fake it, caving to convention, and naturally ended up with a lemon. I trust you had a better outcome with the Sentra.

I’m buying you a drink.

My aunt got a tattoo one time in florida and when they asked where she wanted it she said, “Umm, I don’t really want people to see it so I was thinking in my CBD.” The guy was like, “In your WHAT?!”

It was fun listening to her explaiin.

Yeah, floor mat guy. I kept thinking, “I’m in fucking labor here! I do not care about floor mats!”

And like the other readers I cried at the end. This is the third time I have read this and I cried every time. Your story gives new meaning to the word strength.

I look forward to your next piece.

CBD means Central Business District here in New Orleans. My family and I always say that when referring to our nether regions. It’s yours for the taking now, if you so wish.

You were there for me in so many ways during that pregnancy. You bought me supplies from the student store for Christmas and you made me the only gift I got at the little baby shower you threw me – a knitted blanket, which I still own and keep with my other treasures. You were a friend to a lonely, scared girl – and a tremendous one at that. I truly love you.

I love you.

In my experience, nothing makes care dealership people move with urgency — not even two cute little kids running around slapping their sweaty palms on the shiny floor models. So it’s no surprise that some dipshit would try and talk to you about floormats.

But there’s more to the piece, of course, than the car story. The backstory really packs a wallop.

Well done.

G

If you want to laugh, you could go and read my boob blog! Or, you could read Nick Belardes’ story about the time the toilet seat smashed his weiner. Or Matt Baldwin’s bawdy tale about the first time he bought condoms.

There’s lots of happiness on this site too!

By the way, I remember that car. I loved it, too. But I’m not sorry I refused to drive it in San Fransisco.

Thank you for your comment, my friend.

Amen, sister.

My friend David has this bit of wisdom in the little box under his picture on his Facebook page: Joy is the bastard child of anxiety and hope. Peace is the goal.

I get closer and closer to peace the less I try to hold glory with a deathgrip and fight off misery.

I will never, ever forget your birthday.

This floored me, really and truly floored me… really flat out emotional high test naked as hell raw freaking life. The glories of life are often aligned with the miseries, aren’t they?

btw – 6/4 happens to be my birthday…

Seriously though, this is a very good, very moving post, even though I was aware of the details. The ending especially is just a heartbreaker.

Keep it up.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for cracking me up.

I also love the title – gave me chills.

Can I share something that made me laugh a little?
I got all swept into you being in labor as I was reading (actually had sympathy pains as well as
what I thought was tingly sympathy lactation at the end) but when you wrote how you went to the second dealership…

“Next thing I know, Cathy is showing me my options. I know that I want a Sentra and I don’t want any bells and whistles, just the basic package, and this makes the decision easy.”
- it took me a minute to remember you were shopping for a car. I thought for a moment you were in the hospital and they were giving you the option for the Sentra basic package for giving birth.
I kept thinking – wow – things have changed since then – i don’t remember being offered a basic package. Duh.

Yes, let’s meet some day. You’re already a stop on my Dead-Listi-Blog Fantasy Tour.

And you should have gone back and kicked the slime guy in the jimmy.

If by “James” you mean “Richard” then I’m right there with you!

Thanks for reading my dear, lovely friend.

You just are.

And the title is genius.

But I can’t comment on those things. I can only comment that the last two paragraphs hit my heart hard and made me cry. Not sad for you, not happy for the turn your life took after that day, but just the whole bundle of emotions that you must have been feeling.

You’re the strongest woman I know and we’ve never met. I hope that last part changes some day.

I LOVE: “…like always, I’m preemptively explaining myself to the overlords in my head.”

And i also love that this piece brought tears to my eyes the second time i read it, as well as the first. Nicely done.

(OK, ok, third thing… i am so with James about the “haggling” tag! Brilliant, TNB.)

My heart is beating out of my chest after reading this.
I feel as though I have been punched in the gut.
Please keep writing.

You know, I never did go back and renegotiate the floor mat thing. Oddly, I never really sat there and thought, “You know, I really like this car, but man! the floor mats need to go.”

Also, I hate buying cars. I love looking at them and wishing about them but I hate buying them because I’ve only ever had a good experience once. Even then I think I might have gotten ripped off. The thing I hate the worst is how much research I do these days and they still look me straight in the eye and lie.

P.S. “haggling over floor mats” has to be a top 10 all time tag.