No Idea

I started this blog with the intentions of writing about my "productive" attempts to have a baby. But the weirdest thing has been happening: I don't know if that's what I want anymore.

I don't really know what I want right now. I am meeting with a college advisor tonight because I intend to go back to school in January for my teaching certificate and eventually (possibly) a master's.

But the problem is that I always figured I'd be a mom. That's what I've always wanted since I could remember, but it has been such a difficult road and doesn't seem to be getting any easier. I guess I'm trying to come up with plan B, just in case the whole stay-at-home-mom thing doesn't work. But I'll be 28 soon and I feel that ol' rumored biological clock ticking. I don't want to be an old mom, if I could help it.

But on the other hand, I could be very proactive and try to make the baby thing happen, but I am hestitant. Am I afraid? Have I truly changed my mind? Do I not want to try because then I have no pressure, no chance of failing? I don't know. D and I have decided to put it off for now. Besides, we're going to Disney World in a few weeks and I don't want to be worried about shots or temperatures or pills.

I sit with next year's daily calendar refill in front of me. The only thing different about this year is that I don't know what will happen. Maybe that's a good thing.

Rest in Peace, Gene

Rest in Peace, Gene.

***

There's nothing like the untimely death of a happy, healthy, funny 23-year-old to remind you of what to be thankful for on Thanksgiving.

Club Jellybean

While I was just listening to the radio, they were talking about a swinger's club in Philly that has been shut down. (I just heard a collective "awwwww" out there in cyberland.) But get this: it was called Club Kama Sutra. It was supposed to be an undercover club! I found that funny. Why would you try to conseal your hidden sex club by calling it Club Kama Sutra? It may as well have been called Club Sex. Or Club Come-And-Get-Some. Or Club Yes! I think a good name would have been Club Jellybean. That is, of course, unless "jellybean" means something in the sexual tense. Does it? Maybe I have just coined something.

Goodfellas and Ice Picks

I'm tired today. I stayed up late watching Goodfellas for the umpteenth time. Now that's productive.

---


Just on as a side note, you can check your ice picks and hatchets on airplanes. Whew! What a relief! I'm glad I don't have to leave them at home when I go to Florida next month. I was checking because it looks like I will have to take my fertility medication on the plane with me (needles and such) and I am worried. The FAA site says that you could take Diabetes-related supples (once inspected to ensure prohibited items are not being concealed).

I have bad luck with airport security. I got into an argument with a security guard because I didn't want them to scan my video camera. It seemed that every time I've had a video camera X-rayed, the film would get messed up. I was assured by the security guy that it wouldn't be erased. He didn't want to look at it by hand, but I still asked nicely if it could be inspected personally. Finally, he did, but as I walking away he guy made a comment about "pain in the ass teenagers" and so I called him an asshole. Thankfully, it was pre-9/11. If I did that now, I'd probably be in federal prison.

Dead Bird

Okay, while I was just surfing the net some guy I work with spent 10 minutes staring in my direction. He is the only one who can see my computer screen from his desk and he doesn’t have a computer himself. I wonder if he was just vicariously trying to see what I was reading—a blog for an almost 40-year-old virgin. Maybe he relates and was extremely interested in the subject? It’s not that I don’t like him, but I wish he wouldn't burn a hole in my back. I actually think he was waiting for me to turn around so he could make some basic comment like, “Hey, that dead bird is still outside your window!” Oh, god. That makes him sound like a serial killer, but the dead bird HAS been decomposing outside my window for a few months.


Staring Work Guy IS kind of fascinated with dead birds, now that I think of it.

Blast From My Dorky Past

Okay, so here I am at home on a beautiful November Saturday and what I am doing? Why, I'm reading my diary from 1989! I figured in the spitit of the time capsule idea, I would post some of my ACTUAL diary entries from when I was eleven. That's right, actual written proof of my dorkiness. (Not that anyone needs proof.)

June 2, 1989:
Today was our field day. Billy B wrote I Love Kelly on his arm. Then he had the DJ announce it. Uncle joe came in. Now I can't wait for Eddie's wedding.
Note: Billy came out in 2000. I guess he didn't really love me.

June 3, 1989:
Today was Eddie's wedding. At first I was sick of it and wanted to go home but then it turned out nice. Congradulations!
Note: My brother Eddie is still married and I now know how to spell congratulations.

June 28, 1989:
Today me and dad went to burger king then went to see Honey I Shrunk the Kids. It was really good. It was a good day.
Note: Going to Burger King still makes my day.

September 4, 1989:
Today I stayed home all day. Tonight was the last full day of my vacation. It's over. Gonezo. I'm nervous.
Note: For a month and a half I wrote about how much I hated school and now I'm going back for my teaching certificate? My eleven-year-old self would kick my ass!

Twenty Years

This message popped up after I just sent an email to a
fellow blogger:

Email delivery date: 2025 (yes, 2025).
Want to talk to yourself in the future? It's easy.
Just make your own Email Time Capsule and Yahoo! Mail
will work with our friends at Forbes.com to deliver it
in 20 years.

Twenty years? Do I really want to remind myself of how
lame I was twenty years from now?

I could only imagine what my email time capsule would
look like from 1985 (even though we didn't have
Prodigy until about 1990):

Dear future me,
I love pudding pops. Tommy B. kissed me after i drew a
good picture of a bike. When I am 27, I will be a cool
person. I have to go watch You Can't Do That on
Television. Bye!

Ahhh, memories.

I believe it was 1985 when I heard my mom call another
driver "jerk off" in a moment of anger. I found out it
wasn't something "nice girls" should say after I
yelled it out to the person who was driving slowly in
front of us (I had to get home to watch The Wizard of
Oz, for God's sake!) and my mom and my aunt freaked
out. I still don't say it. Well, not as an adjective,
anyway. :)

I Need TiVO

Dude . . . I just finished reading an article about
Lost on Entertainment Weekly. I missed so many things.
I don't know what I do for that hour, but for some
reason I never see any of the interesting things other
people catch.

Sometimes I try to really concentrate and I THINK I
see something of importance, but then it turns out
that I'm just making clues out of nothing. I believe I
did that with The X-Files many years back. And as a
highly imaginative eight-year-old fan of Nancy Drew. I
seriously thought my creepy neighbor was involved in a
teenager's death at a nearby skiing lodge while
wearing a figure-hiding parka. (Gasp!)

On an unrelated note, I also hurt my neck this morning
while I was drying my hair. I flung my long hair back
a la Raquel Welch; I do it all the time, just out of
habit. This is the second time in a month that I
pulled something in my neck. Damn, it's hard being a girl.

Learned Helplessness

I edited a really interesting book yesterday. It was
actually about families of alcholics, but I found some
of its messages to be relevant. Basically it was
saying that sometimes we get into a pattern of
helplessness and we can't (or won't) accept that there
are ways out of it. Sometimes I think I've done that
regarding my whole infertility issue. Hell, I know I
have. I'm so afraid of failing that I don't want to
try. If I don't try, I can't fail. It's been easy
these last few months when I wasn't trying. It took
the pressure off and made me feel like less of a
loser.

I spent hours in high school reading Thomas Edison's
journals and even copying his handwriting. (Did I ever
mention I didn't date much in high school?) He said a
great number of things and I recently came across this
quote: "Many of life's failures are people who did not
realize how close they were to success when they gave
up."

After years of trying to find a way to be a mother, I
was told what was wrong with me. I got the key to this
massive door I've been trying to open. Now I stand
before it, key in hand, and wonder if I want to open
it. I am more afraid now that I know how to fix it.
Yeah, I don't think it makes sense, but my brain never
did work the way I wanted it to. Maybe that's what
they mean when they say guys "like the chase." Have I
been chasing something for so long that now I've
caught up to it, I don't want it? Oh no. I'm turning
into a guy.

In other news, I believe I am college bound for the
second time in my life. Scary.

Yahoo! Strikes Again

Now if I could just figure out how to remove this extremely annoying signature that appears when I publish from my email:

__________________________________
Yahoo! Mail - PC Magazine Editors' Choice 2005
http://mail.yahoo.com

Holy Crap!

I found an easy way to edit this blog without having to trick my MAC at work into thinking I'm a PC. (It's a long story.) Sure, you probably all know about the email function that allows you to email your recent posts, but I didn't know that until now. And I could email like the Dickens, so it looks like this page will be frequently updated with my lovely thoughts. Now if only they would mail me automatic shipments of Doritos, I'd be all set.