this post almost happened in a macdonald's.

kind of like when natalie portman had that baby in wal-mart. and named it "america." so, mac calls last week to ask me some random question about news reporters, only i've stopped listening because he's just said, "i'm at macdonald's on my laptop. they have wireless here." i'm mortified. i'm practically screaming for him to leave, go to a coffee shop, anywhere. i don't even know if our friendship can be saved at this point.
until today, when i realize i've told my english 373 students that i will e-mail them by noon. it's 1:47. i'm coming up on a macdonald's at exit 91 in chapin, south carolina. i carry my little green laptop case inside. i don't buy anything, just walk quietly to the back booth. i hate everything. but i'm also curious. and grateful. like the first time you go to a strip club. you know, but not exactly. the internet, i realize, costs money. 3 dollars! i refuse to give macdonald's money. i storm out, fuming. mac: you ruin everything.

so, thursday, before i left for wilmington, one of my high schoolers lingers after class, which annoys me because i have to be slinging drinks in, like, 4 minutes.
him: have you heard of the band, mewithoutYou?
me (eyeing him suspiciously): no. are they, like, christian?
he's holding two cd's out for me. i haven't decided whether or not i'm going to take them.
don't get me wrong. i love jesus. a lot. but i can't get down with christian music. something to do with the propagandic. also, i always feel had when i'm flipping the dial on the radio, get to a good song, only to come to lyrics that inevitably go something like this: we lift up our hands in praise. think about it. the christians are always saying that in songs. it's like this: you hear a really good rap song, you turn it up, you realize halfway through that it's a sprite jingle.
but i trust this guy; this kid is the one who loves 1970's genesis, the early peter gabriel. we talk concept albums. anyway, i can't take it out of the cd player. it's good. really good. like if bright eyes actually manned up and played hard guitar.

two things about the weekend. i go to wilmington under the guise of seeing hannah and the small people, to make sure all of han's marbles are in place. but also, also i need to steal back my paintings from the ex. i go there, to his house, yesterday. i think: maybe he won't be home. i know the code (that's right; the ex has keyless entry. to HIS HOUSE.). but i can't do that. so i call, tell him i'm coming. keep in mind: before we dated his house consisted of flat screen televisions, entertainment systems, king size beds in itty bitty rooms, man-liquor in fancy crystal decanters. the only art was an oil painting of a martini. i'm serious. so i had to do something. also--and this is so incriminating--no books. no place for books. nowhere.

so, he answers the door in his boxers and with two black eyes. turns out he ran into the glass door, thinking it was open. he's a wreck. i'm a wreck. i go to take the paintings, only i notice that the new girlfriend has, in her own way, made her mark. there are workout videos everywhere, entire dvd's devoted to only one body part (abs, lower leg, etc.), pink bottles lined up on the jacuzzi: bath beads and salts called "it girlz." so i step toward the nude painting of myself (okay, why hasn't new girlfriend said, "hey, hon? i was wondering if we could take down the oil painting of your ex naked?") and he flips out. and this is when i turn into a guy. i turn emotionally blank. i have all three paintings. i'm almost out the door. but i need him to be okay before i leave. i start giving the paintings back, one at a time. until i'm in the car with only the one wyeth print of "christina's world." so, maybe i'll get back one a season.

finally: the children. they're wonderful. they make windchimes out of bottle caps. i walk into the living room this morning and the girlchild is looking at camper boots online, gasping a little each time she comes across something else that's "beautiful." hannah hates me. i'm the dad who doesn't actually help do anything. they climb on me. we laugh. i bail when they go to target for new socks. so, we take them to a fancy dinner, friday. it was perfect. only i realize now why couples stop knowing each other after babies. hannah and i--i'm dead serious--didn't speak to each other the entire meal. not once, aside from, "do you know what you want yet?" instead, this is us:
when will the food be ready? after they cook it, sweetheart.
can you sit still like a grown-up?
no, dear, that's not your meal. the reason it doesn't taste like chicken is because it isn't. it's bread and butter.
how about saving some of that juice for your meal.
stop throwing the straw.
sweetie, i will cut that piece of chicken after you finish your first one.
tell hank (the server) thank you for the fruit plate. it IS lovely.

meanwhile, hannah orders the pork chop special which doesn't exist. we've fabricated it. something--everything--had been lost in translation. it's actually veal. she gets it anyway. she's so tired. she's too tired to read the menu. meanwhile, surrounding patrons are smiling at us. hannah must get this all the time, only i don't know what it means? do they think we're partners, that we've adopted? do they feel sorry for us? do they think we're beautiful? i don't get it. okay, longest post ever. will get to "moral fiber" next time.