Letter to an Abducter

Okay, I should be doing some work for my Psych class, but instead I'm writing some useless info here. Such is the age of the internet.

Dan is away on business tonight, so I have to stay home all by myself. I lived alone for years while in college, but I have gotten used to having someone there with me. Last time I was home alone I kept my paranoid ass awake by wondering what each little noise was. Of course, we did just buy a house when that happened. I don't exactly know what I'm afraid of sometimes. I guess it's from watching too much Unsolved Mysteries as a kid.

THIS PROGRAM IS ABOUT UNSOLVED MYSTERIES! WHENEVER POSSIBLE, ACTUAL FAMILY MEMBERS AND POLICE OFFICALS HAVE PARTICIPATED IN RECREATING THE EVENTS. WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE IS NOT A NEWS BROADCAST!

Yeah, I liked it a bit too much.

So, here's a little letter to a prospective abducter. I think you ought to think twice.

Dear Mr. Abducter,
I appreciate you considering me for your abduction. However, you should know that I have spent countless hours watching Unsolved Mysteries and I consider myself very good at recognizing landmarks purely by sound. I carry red lipstick so I could go into the ladies' room and write a "Help" message and I am not afraid to make eye contact with someone should you take me foolishly out to eat. I cannot be brainwashed (believe me, Christians try it all the time) and I know enough to run in a crooked line should you try to fire at me. I am a highly-qualified TV watcher and have numerous hours worth of experience.

Thanks anyway,
Kelly

The Kelly Show

Someone told me the other day that I should have my own TV show. It was a compliment in a you're-weird-enough-to-be-interesting kind of way.

Anyway, I was trying to figure out what makes a blog entry approachable enough that you want to post a comment. I know people are reading this page based on my counter, but no one is commenting! (Well, except for my loyal commenter, JT.)

I find Nice Guys Finish Last a great blog (see right) because he talks about his quest to find love...and get laid. When you get married, I think you turn off any signals for that kind of stuff. Of course, I never really had signal receptors. I never knew if a guy found me attractive and in recent years I have been told about signals I missed.

I completely missed signals in high school, which is usually a mecca for hormone-driven interest. I guess I was too busy reenacting Goodfellas and What's Eating Gilbert Grape with my best friend Jay on her little brother's Little Tikes tape recorder. Me=a dork.

In college, there was one guy who called me and invited me down to "his place" and luckily I did not go. I found out later from my friend that he was attempting to cheat on his girlfriend (is calling and flirting cheating?!), but he should have known better than to pick me. Me=a dorky virgin.

Speaking of dorky virgins, I wanted to try out for The Real World when I was in college. I figured I'd have the virgin/cute but dorky category all filled in, but I decided not to. I don't think they have that category on that show anymore.

Sometimes I wonder how I found Dan. Me=still a dork, no longer a virgin! YAY!

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Today I yelled, "I DON'T CARE! PEOPLE LIE!" when Bethany started to instruct me on the differences between a memoir and an autobiography. It was fun and I thought since it was so rude that she would instantly hate my non-Christian attitude, but I doubt it. She's like a weed and you know how hard they are to kill. My point was that every author lies about something when writing about their lives. Do authors really remember conversations they had when they were six? I don't think so. Besides, Frey probably never thought anyone would read his book.

It's Official

I'm late.

On TV, that means so much. It's always nice and dramatic. Jack's wife even pulled it on Lost last week. Too bad it means squat for me.

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No Guns Left Behind Corner (aka Bitch-o-ny Corner)

Okay, so here's the deal. My best friend at work, Jason, sits right next to Bethany, the most annoying kid in the world. I really, reeeeally like talking to him, but everytime I do, she annoys me by making some lame-ass comment about something. So I really think maybe I shouldn't talk to him because I know in time I am bound to make a rude and insulting comment from the built-up annoyance I have and then no one will have my back. I've seen it a million times on America's Next Top Model.

Anyway, today she annoyed me for two reasons:

1. Jason and I were talking and he was talking about someone talking to a 3-month old on the PHONE and she said, "Well, it's a known fact that babies of that age can recognize voices." WHO THE FUCK CARES? The point isn't that she's full of useless comments. Sure, she may have a photographic memory for all I know, but I don't want useless facts thrown into my conversations. Sometimes I want to talk about Jack's hair on Lost without her mentioning the philosophical aspects of John Locke. Grrrrr.

2. When I commented about waiting in line for 1 cent stamps, she said condescendingly, "Doesn't your post office have a stamp machine? You wouldn't have had to wait in line." WOULD I STAND IN LINE IF THE POST OFFICE HAD A MACHINE? AM I AN IDIOT? Now I officially hate her. I was reserving that emotion for when my blood boiled and at 8:19 AM this morning my blood could have cooked a hot dog.

Any Ideas?

Last night's class rocked, and not just because we got out early. More to come.

My eyes are bugging out of my head from working on Chaucer. Jeff was quite the perv. Of only the guys in my Ap English class had known that. For example: "I wolde I hadde thy coillons in myn hond"="I wish I had your testicles in my hand."

And I have decided that I will post reasons why I work with the most annoying person in the world. I'll have a little corner to let you enjoy in my misery. I'm going to call it something witty like "Chips Annoy!" or something that will be witty when I decide to be witty. (Damn, why can't her name be Chip?!)

Any ideas for a name?!

I Need to Focus

Sitting in a classroom again on Monday brought back a lot of memories and stirred a lot of emotions. It was actually kind of bittersweet because I found myself remembering my undergrad years and I kept thinking a lot about my friends...

[fuzzy flashback warning]

I wished Kyle or Kelli was in class with me so I could have had someone to share my snide comments about the overexuberent girl who was there early so she could get the front and center seat, but who only has a 2.4 GPA (she also is a loud talker). But alas, I had to keep it to myself.

I wished in some weird way that I was counting down the minutes until I saw "him" and feeling the butterflies of new love instead of wondering about tomorrow's work schedule.

I wished I didn't think that a class was an actual chore when I didn't have a job or home to think about. What an idiot I was at 18!

I wished Dan, my second "him" and lovely husband, was there with me like our German History class. Of course, I was counting down the minutes until I saw him and I was feeling butterflies of true love...

I have to learn how to focus more.

I Need a New Seat

Okay, so my first class in more than six years was last night. It was as boring as I thought it would be and I am very tired today. I got there early so I would have prime seat picking and it went well until a girl sat right behind me. The whole class she was breathing like a walrus and I was concentrating on that more than anything. When she left for break, I pushed back on her desk and then scooted mine up, but I still heard her when she got back. We even did some breathing exercises as a class (it's a psych class) and the funny thing is that I couldn't hear her breating during those.

Funny Girl

A comment from my last entry got me thinking. It's odd, but I tend to write only when I am depressed or nervous. I guess I write as a form of therapy, but I really think that most people who know me would tell you I'm funny.

I was reminded of this when I heard from my all-time best friend Jamie. She wrote:

"we rock from the computer lab in journalism class (writing newspaper
articles for the school paper only about ourselves and the victories we
had won on the speech and debate team)
we be rockin all the way to audition in stroudsburg for "our town"
(wasn't it?) where I nearly died because you made me laugh so hard
when i was driving (and i yelled at you that that was a "very dangerous
thing to do" while i was behind the wheel.....do you remember that, or
am i just a geek?) by the way, we didn't get the parts."

Anyway, my point is that I don't know if my recent entries have been a fair representation of myself and even my thoughts. Did you ever write something and then go back to read it and wonder who the hell snuck into your computer program while you were away? That's my point. I don't even recognize some of the thoughts I've been having lately.

And although the whole "productive" theme is going strong, I mostly feel like having a kid isn't what I want to do. There is a huge part of me that wonders why I don't drop everything to move to LA to be with Jay so we could finally write that comedy screenplay (or at least some skits). If only I wasn't such a chicken.

Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th. Does the superstitious idea that it's a bad day come from those lame movies of the eighties? Okay, so I've never seen them and they would obviously scare the poop out of me since commercials (and Moulin Rouge) could get a bit scary. But that's beside the point.

The last Friday the 13th was one of the best days of my life, in hindsight. It was the day that my husband was admitted to the hospital and at the time I thought it was horrible. But going to the hospital when we did saved his life. I could be a widow right now. And don't think I'll ever forget that.

Adventures of Toothy

I have to go buy school supplies, which seems so silly. I have to admit that I have had a stationary fetish since I was a child. When I was younger, I would spend what seemed like hours looking at note paper, pencils, and erasers when I went shopping with my mom and dad. I'm still attracted to glitter pens like something fierce.

My favorite eraser in fifth grade was shaped like a tooth, which I named Toothy.

As a side note, I was never creative in the toy-naming department; I had a monkey named Monkey, a clown named Clown, etc. I must get it from my grandmother, who had a dog named Puppy and now has a 17-year-old freak of nature fish named Fish.

Anyway, Toothy used to have conversations with Orangy, an eraser who was proudly owned by my best friend in fifth grade, Jason. Oh yes, Toothy and Orangy were the best of friends. Since they couldn't talk all the time we made little paper mailboxes for them and they would write notes back and forth to each other. It was a fun time until some of the other rotten kids ratted us out and our little game had to stop. Our teacher (obviously not appreciating our imaginations) separated us so Jason and I couldn't play our eraser game anymore. Awwwwww.

I think the first day of my new class I will hand out tooth erasers. Maybe a new generation will grow up with multiple personalities, too.

Universal Laughter

Well, I decided to ditch the online class and get my lazy ass to campus for an old-fashioned, don't-stare-out-the-window-too-long class, complete with a will-he-ever-shut-up lecture. Go me.

In other news, a man who attempted to kill Dubya got life in prison. Andrea Yates, who drown her three defenseless children in a bathtub, has gotten a second chance for being "insane." I hate the world.

And yet more proof the universe is laughing at me: I happened to stop at the Nancy Grace show on CNN (which I normally can't stand) the other night, where the top news story was a newborn that was left for dead in the trash by a 15-year-old mother. [Insert universal laughter here.]

Red Shoe Diaries

My quest to be a mother is much like the red sneaker fiasco of 1990.

Everyone had red sneakers that were made by (I think) Reebok. Oh, they were badass for 6th grade. Well, the kids who had fashion unconscious mothers had them. My mother, on the other hand, refused to let me get them because they looked stupid. (White shoes after Labor Day was also a no-no.)

Getting red shoes was the most important issue in my life then. (Ahhh, kid issues.) It didn't take me very long to realize how idiotic they actually looked, but I continued to want them because I couldn't have them. (Hmmm, baby, anyone?) I now thank my mother for her fashion sense, although I wish she would have warned me how stupid Hypercolor and "Button Your Fly" shirts would turn out to be.

Scattered Thoughts

I feel compelled to write something, although my thoughts are very scattered today. Here is a sampling:

Andrea Yates=productive. I hate the world.

Do not complain about the cost of stamps going up unless you're willing to deliver my letter to anywhere in the world and once you get there, if no one is there to receieve it, bring it back to me for 39 cents.

My classes start next week. I'm not sure if I should change my online class to a classroom class where I actually have to go to campus. Online sounds good since I could "attend" in my new frog pajamas, but I must remind myself that I am lazy and unmotivated and I don't need an advisor to tell me that's not a good combination.

I'm now 28 and I'm one of those weirdo almost-thirty people I used to laugh at. Ugh.

"The Purpose-Driven Life": According to Amazon, it is about purposeful devotion to a Christian God. The book is set up to be a 40-day immersion plan and how to live a Christian life. I have three words about it: gift from in-laws. (Or is that four words?) The whole premise is so insulting, it's actually funny. I think it started to burn my hands before I had a chance to throw it to the floor. Maybe I could wing it at the Jehovah's Witnesses when they come to my door. Or my in-laws, if they were ever invited to my house again. At least I figured out what reading material to get my mother-in-law for Christmas next year: "How to be a Better Mother."

Must Love Dogs (and God)

Okay, I just did a search for infertility on Blogger and there aren't that many blogs. (Not a lot that are updated, anyway.) I did notice that a lot of people who listed infertility as one of their interests also listed Christian music, god, and/or dogs.

I can't imagine infertility causing more faith, but I believe it does. Personally, infertility has turned me off from faith. I do not want to accept the possibility of God's will and a master plan for all of us. If I, a happily married, 28-year-old healthy woman who desperately wants a child cannot have one, but a woman who is on crack or who will drop that baby off at the local garbage dump could, I will be pissed. In fact, I try never to look at it that way so I don't hate the world more than I already do. Could that inequality possibly be a plan?

Productive musing from the past: I truly believed as a young adult that staying clear of drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex would enable me to reap the goodness of adulthood, such as having a child.

Quit laughing. And don't worry, nature has knocked me off my high horse. I could chalk such thoughts up to being twelve, but the problem is that in a weird conservative way, I still think that's how it should work. Back then, I lumped the people who did those things in with the ones who wouldn't get to have what they wanted when they wanted. I honestly still think that to some degree and I will admit that I'm embittered by the fact that I know now that's not the way the world works. The world is not fair and I wish I never believed it was.

Now, after years of gradually having my beliefs shredded, I am agnostic. I guess some people feel such desperation that they look to a higher power to help them. Perhaps it's my Irish spite, but I say I don't need that. I would rather think it is simply nature. Nature loves variation and mistakes are nature.

I guess I should get a dog.

"...I Will Be Right Here Waiting for You"

For further proof that I have the weirdest thoughts...

Yesterday it popped into my head that I haven't heard anything about Richard Marx in a while. There I was, editing a book, when suddenly I thought, What ever happened to Richard Marx? He had that string of hits in the 80's and then just disappeared! I wonder where he is now.

I don't think I have honestly ever had that thought before and hopefully it won't happen again.

A New Year, But Nothing's New

I know I shouldn’t feel jealous, but I do. And I know I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself, but I do. My brain knows how I am supposed to feel, but it can’t convince my heart. My heart keeps feeling the same terrible feelings, over and over again: jealousy, anger, sorrow, bitterness, and pity.

Such is the life of an infertile woman. So many of you would never understand. You would wonder why it’s such a big deal. But for the one inflicted, it eats at your brain and eats at your heart until there’s nothing much left of either. My brain has stopped working at any rational level and my feelings have run just far enough away for me to have lost control, yet feel them clearly.

Sometimes I wish I were 16 again just so I could blissfully and naively imagine my life. Then I could picture who and what I will become and truly believe it. I could dream about the day I’ll become a mother. I wish I could go back, so I could picture myself at home with my kids. I could believe that simple dream will be totally obtainable. I wish I could wade in an undeterred lake of bliss instead of wallowing in pity and heartache. But such is the life of an infertile woman.

What makes infertility so difficult is the assumptive nature of childbearing. Procreation is given by religious- and nature-oriented alike as the reason we are on the earth. They might not agree on how we got here, but that seems to be the general basis of why we fall in love, why we get married, why we’re born ourselves. Procreation is what keeps our species going. It’s the most natural of all jobs in the world. It is our purpose.

So you could imagine how difficult it must be to fail repeatedly at your own purpose.

I feel like less than a woman. I know I shouldn’t. But like my feelings of jealousy, bitterness, anger, I cannot feel what makes sense.

I wish I could have productive musings again.