Single in Sandpoint: Notes from the hot, irritated and pregnant

Ok. So I admit it. This is a slow summer for me. I can’t drink, I can’t tear up the town,
caffeine is a no-no and I am so sleepy by 10 p.m. that I fall asleep sitting up. In other
words, my social life is pretty much that of an 8 year old.
You know those times in life when you think back on your mother when she was in
her heyday and you’re like, “Golly, how did good ol’ mom do it?”
Yeah. This is not one of those times.
When my mother was in her childbearing years, drinking alcohol was only mildly
discouraged and you could have all the Coca Cola you desired. There weren’t pregnancy
Nazis around every corner letting you know that “shell fish are off limits” and asking
you about breastfeeding.
And when people did get annoying – which they do ALL THE TIME – mom could
prop her feet up and order a Bloody Mary or a cappuccino and no one would even bat an
eye.
If I even enter a place that serves alcohol someone is calling my cousins the next day
to report that I was seen “out” while pregnant.
Sorry guys, I thought it was still generally OK to sit in a restaurant whilst others
drank. My bad. When I took the pregnancy test there wasn't a wise old bearded man in
the corner to give me the behavioral specifics so I didn't turn myself or unborn child into
a Gremlin.
Speaking of drunks, I don’t mind driving ya’ll around and listening to you proposition
each other. I don’t even mind it when you continue to turn up the radio so that you can
hear the music – even though I’m fairly sure that you could hear it just fine if you weren’t
screaming.
I embrace my role as designated driver because I like to give back to the community.
It’s my way of saying thanks to all those who have gotten me home safe in the past.
Seriously, though, I've had a lot of time to reflect on the behavior and social practices
of those around me. I've realized that there is something pure about an intoxicated person.
They tend to love you regardless of your surly mood and they forget all the bitchy things
that you say to them.
They still love you the next day – even after you removed the battery from their cell
phone so that they can't call their ex-boyfriend.
In fact the more I think about it, a drunkard is probably the perfect companion for a
pregnant person. Sober people tend to notice your irritation more.
Here’s an example:
I was photographing a wedding the other day, it was about 900 degrees outside and
I was sweating like a pig. My hair was wet. My clothes looked like sausage casing.
All the drunken people at the wedding were sweet angels who offered me chairs and
occasionally groped my bump. One man even hit on me. (This simple fact alone made
my summer.)
The sobers, on the other hand, asked me things like: “Are you sure it’s not twins?”
and “You know what causes that right?”
What the hell?
What if pregnant people just rose up and fought back? What if I just looked that stone-
cold sober person in the eye and said, “Oh yes, having sex causes this condition. You
probably haven’t had that problem in years.”
The fatter I get the less patience I have.
For instance, I’ve started saying things, sometimes rude things, like the truth.
You know when someone asks you for your “honest” opinion but in reality they
don’t want it? Well, I’ve discovered that there is some sort of hormone that gets secreted
during the last months of pregnancy that eats up your ability to politely lie to people.
It’s terrible. You don’t even have to gossip anymore because every person that has
annoyed you knows it.
I’ll admit, there is that beautiful, serene part of pregnancy, but there is also its less
talked about second personality which rears its ugly head when the pregnant beast gets
taunted.
You don't want her around. She's the type that would take off her own shoe and beat
you with it if you cut her off in line at the grocery store.
Just try to remember this: the Beast is twice the size, twice as hot and twice as irritated
as a regular citizen. When you see a Beast at the beach, avert your eyes. And no matter
what she looks like, NEVER comment on her size.
With those cautionary comments said, and my duty as a pregnant citizen fulfilled, you
should all be spared the wrath of the Beast.
Now go out there, enjoy your summer and make some bad decisions. That's how
single people and those with liberal arrangements should be spending their free time.
Me, I’m going to go make out with a Blue Raspberry Slush Float from Dub’s (the
Lord's food). Catch up with you next time!
Scarlette Quille

     As the Grateful Dead once wrote: "every silver lining has a touch of grey." I 'm not sure if they made that up, or if they plagiarized it from some famous philosopher. I'm not sure if that matters. In fact I'm not sure of many, many things.

     Such as: Why does everyone act like they hate mayonnaise? It’s completely, blatantly, obvious that mayo is one of the most beloved condiments, yet people have that uneasy feeling that if they admit to eating (and liking) it, they’re somehow white trash and on the fast-track to Obesity Avenue.

     If I had a dime for every time I heard a person tell me they hate mayo – but will eat it in tuna, pasta salad, deviled eggs and salad dressings – I’d be able to buy stock in Best Foods. These people annoy me so much – I often think of them while thickly spreading mayo on my roast beef sandwich.

     However, I am off topic, and that’s probably no surprise to any of you. If I wrote a book about my life it would probably be titled, Off Topic: The Story of a Lady Who Eats Mayonnaise, Drinks Domestic Beer, and Admits It.

Today's column isn't about mayonnaise or the book I’m supposed to be writing. Today's column is about the epic words of the Grateful Dead. Where is the silver lining? Where is the touch of grey?

     Let’s do this.

     Sandpoint is arguably one of the most beautiful places on earth. Sandpoint in the summer is magical. There are so many things to enjoy about living here in the summer:  the schizophrenic weather, the mountains, The Festival, people who wear swimwear everywhere, the City Beach and above all else, THE LAKE.

     Tourists may come here to enjoy the lake, but locals live in Sandpoint because they worship the lake. Yes, this may come as a surprise to many, but most locals live here because they love Sandpoint, and I mean LOVE it.

     Example: I love my unborn child more that vodka. That’s why I don't drink while I'm knocked up. Locals LOVE Sandpoint more than the big city, that’s why they don't mind taking a ginormous pay cut and living without a mega-mall

     We all make sacrifices for the things we love.

There is a thin line, however, between loving, worshipping and obsession. When it comes to the lake, you’ll see people with all of these afflictions.

     As early as May, you’ll see people – clearly in a trance-like state – standing at the beach, dipping their bare toes into the icy waters of Lake Pend Oreille. The lake is probably about 3 degrees or something at this point, but as a devoted follower, hypothermia is just a minor discomfort – a price that must be paid in order to bathe in the holy waters.

     People take days off of work just to spend time with the lake. I mean, they may not take one single day off for nine months to hang out with their kids or visit their mother, but in the summer they use up all those vacation days for lake worship.

     Is it spiritual? Cultish? Take a good look at yourself: are you a peaceful follower, or a rabid zealot?

     Personally, I feel guilty if I don't spend at least an hour a day, every day, at the lake from June through August. Any time spent on the lake in the off-months is considered a blessing.

     There is a reason people worship the lake, and it’s not just cold weather related insanity. Bottom line: people are happier, more attractive and full of energy when they get to spend time soaking up the summer outdoors. Just the vision of drinking a frosty beverage while sitting on a dock with your feet in the water is so powerful that it can sustain a person for nine months of bullshit weather.

     All of that is the silver lining, now it’s time for that "touch of grey.”

     We have long, cold winters here. When it gets hot, we as a city collectively decide it’s vacation time. There is nothing wrong with this, except that like most deities, the lake needs to be respected as the powerful force that it is.

     We need to take care of it and use caution when enjoying it. Even if we were born here and crawled straight out of the womb and into the water, things can still happen.

     It’s so easy to forget your seatbelt when you drive home from the beach blasting “Jesse's Girl” with all the windows down, so easy. But it's not safe, and there are dogs, and deer and kids on bikes around every corner.

     Do you see what I'm saying? Be careful. We are all guilty of letting our guards down to have a good time; everyone has made a choice or two in the moment that they luckily LIVED to regret

 There have already been two fatal accidents this summer, and accidents can't always be prevented – we don’t necessarily have control over the when, where and who. What we can control is how they impact our lives; whether we knew those involved or they were complete strangers to us.

     Accidents are often the stunning reminders that life is too short. We all need to hug our pets, kids, parents and friends more – and we all need to be that much more careful.

     I'm sorry for the public service announcement, but I just had too.

     (And remember, even mayonnaise has potentially dangerous effects if not properly enjoyed.)

 xoox

Scarlette Quille