Well, fuck me. I have been trying to find new clothes now for the past week and a half. The only place I have found clothes in the last few months are at this little boutique where the clothes are overpriced but the woman who owns it confuses me with her lovely Persian accent and her compliments. Damn her.
So I've been attempting to re-commit myself to finding clothes at chain stores. Namely the embodiment of all things evil, the mall.
In case you were wondering, there are currently 2 1/2 choices for looks in chain store fashion right now:
12 year old baby prostitute.
Mother of 12 who has just given up on life.
What is the 1/2, you say? Ahh, apparently they are bringing Kelly Kapowski back as a possible look. You know, tight fitting floral shirts, brightly colored pants (today I saw turquoise jeans with giant white polka dots), overall shorts (again, floral), way too many varieties of paw-printed.
Nobody is going to want to sex me up in clothes like that. And while we're at it if they're going to bring the worst things from 1993 back surely the world is ready for a Color Me Badd reunion.
Help me gawd, help me gays... Goodbye Forever 21, let me know when you start a sister store called Forever 27 or Forever Fat.
I brought Mr. T with me last Friday and he put in a solid effort of trying to wrestle me into trying on clothes. (I haaaaate shopping after about an hour. I know, I know, it's no wonder I can't get pregnant as I am clearly missing some crucial woman genes). We eventually gave up and re-dedicated ourselves to finding me an outfit that would make me look like the bumble bee girl from the Blind Melon video. Tragedy of all tragedies, this was not at all difficult to accomplish.
I did, however, have some random sneaky person stick this on my purse while I was shopping and I thought it was lovely. Cheesy? Yes. But much like Kelly Kapowski, the cheesiness did not prevent me from smiling:
I stuck it on a bathroom door in the mall to hopefully bring someone a little cheer when their only mall related success has been successfully fending off people jumping out of kiosks and trying to sell you super duper, life-changing, and it's only $100 hair products.
So in my pre-holiday craziness I am hopping on here to catch up on blogs, and just to let you know that I will evidently be spending the holidays visiting my in-laws naked or in leggings.
Because I'm pregnant? A Pervert? Both? No. Because I do not wish to wear clothes that make me look and feel like an Easter themed cheese stuffed sausage.
And while we're on the subject of religion and cheese, I will leave you with a very serious, very religious mouse.
Okay, this is my last ranting and raving entry for awhile... Tomorrow I will go back to tap dancing bear.
What I would really like to do is put this up on Facebook but that would be opening a totally unnecessary and exhausting can of worms. So just this little post to vent it out a bit, and I will feel better because it is exhausting all my big girl muscles not to say something in a more public and less anonymous forum. (Not to mention, thus far in my blogging experience I am delighted to say that most of us seem to be way more reasonable when we disagree than some of the people on my Facebook friends list).
Most of the postings on Facebook about the shooting in Connecticut are perfectly loving, individual responses to something awful. I'm in no way irritated or annoyed by people who are posting about it every hour on the hour, I'm in no way irritated or annoyed by people who are ignoring it altogether and continuing to post shenanigans. I'm not even irritated or annoyed by the discussions on guns or mental health (if anything I'm grateful, even when someone says something totally off-putting, that most people seem to at least in this moment be in a place where they're willing to discuss it in the first place... I would also like to point you in the direction of this, which is the one thing that's being posted that I found particularly poignant and will hopefully make some people want to discuss how we deal with the mentally ill). I'm not irritated or annoyed by the quote about the incident that claims to be from Morgan Freeman (it's not - the person just seems to have put his name to it so that it got circulated.)
What I am annoyed by - and tell me I'm not alone here - is this, that's been circulating the last couple of days:
I originally saw it in my newsfeed because a friend of mine commented on one of their friends' posting of it. Then I read an article on Mike Huckabee making basically the same statement. Then a cousin posted it who is not that bright but means well. Then an aunt, who is really sweet but I don't think really put any thought into exactly how offensive this could be right now.
Again, these people who posted it are generally sweet people, who I think are just a little clueless and posting this only because their reading comprehension has led them to believe that it's saying "this is happening because we've turned our back on G-d".
That's not what it says though, does it? It says that there is violence in school because we don't allow G-d in school. And seeing as how this is being posted now, when at least in America you are either thinking about this Connecticut incident constantly, or trying your very best not to think about it, it's saying that this happened because there's no prayer in schools. Because in public schools, they don't enforce Christian prayer and they try their very best to be inclusive of all religions by not mentioning them at all.
I have zero problem with people talking about praying about this, or saying that we should turn to G-d. That is of course a very genuine, kind, and positive reaction when something like this happens. As I'm writing this there is an all-denominations memorial happening in Connecticut and I think that is lovely. What offends me about this doesn't have anything to do with being anti-religious or worrying about one religion stepping on another religions toes. I am not okay with this quote.
Had I seen this at some other point in time I would disagree, sure, but I wouldn't be terribly offended. This is being circulated now as a response to what has happened.
Fine, fine, I'm not religious. Tell me I don't get it. But I'm not an atheist either - so the very idea that anyone is implying that this happened because G-d is pissed about prayer not being in the US public school system is ludicrous and offensive. (I'm sorry, as many things as I may have wrong about this life I refuse to believe that G-d is that tiny seeing as how I still find it hard to believe that people can be that tiny).The idea that the shooter did what he did because he didn't pray in school is also ludicrous and offensive. (Also? I believe the shooter was homeschooled.) I have no idea if this is meant to say that the kids had this brought upon them because they didn't pray in school, or that the shooter did it because he didn't, but holy shit me. Really? Would either scenario be a better thing to say?
And the thing that offends me the most about it? Whether or not you realize it, it implies that these kids would not have died if there was prayer in school. That this is as a result of not following a Christian agenda in schools. There's a hint of "I told you so" to it that is just completely and totally inappropriate not to mention totally unrelated.
I'm not even going to begin to get into how many murders there have been in history on behalf of religion and G-d. Religious people murder. Non-religious people murder. Black people, white people, men, women, Christians, Jews, etc. etc. To try and blame it on simple personal statistics is disturbing and the idea that morals and religion always intersect is ignorant. People murder because they're mentally disturbed, they snap, or they are devoid of morals. They have access to a weapon and a victim. Whether that person is an atheist or a snake charming evangelist rarely has anything to do with it.
This happened because someone who was mentally ill got ahold of a gun and decided to off himself in a way that would attract attention. That is why it happened. His religion, lackthereof, sex, race, sexuality, or the fact that he was autistic (which is an entirely separate entry and very real concern I have that now people who have never heard of Aspergers are going to associate it with violence and/or a mental illness, which it is not) have absolutely nothing to do with it. I repeat, someone who was mentally ill got ahold of a gun and decided to off himself in a way that would attract attention. This is something that should make us wonder how we can better handle gun control, how we can better protect people and how we can better handle people who are mentally ill.
(Just think for a moment how much you would like it if someone told you you weren't pregnant because you weren't praying in the way that they do or in their preferred forum... and then multiply that times a million).
I am totally for talking about G-d and prayer when something like this happens, or any time you want, for that matter. We should all be doing some sort of prayer for these people and if that's not your thing, then thinking some positive thoughts and good vibes their way. But to imply that this happened in the first place because we don't require children to do that in public schools? Disgusting.
I'm sorry if I'm offending anyone by being offended by this. The people who posted this on Facebook are actually lovely and I'm guessing (hoping) that they didn't read it in the same way that I did.... I'm venting about it here again knowing I could offend some people because I just have to let it out rather than attack someone who I know means well. (And I get that most people who would post something like this mean well... We're all just kind of reaching for words or the thing to say, here.)
This is the time to come together and have reasonable, open minded discussions about how we help prevent something like this and how we help the people who had to live through such a horror. It's not the time to go finger-pointing or suggesting if only other people had your lifestyle, things like this wouldn't happen.
But whether these children were all in school praying 8 hours a day to whatever G-d you would prefer or grew up in a house where they don't believe in G-d, they had a right to live. Whether this gunman was praying 8 hours a day to whatever G-d you would prefer or grew up in a house where they didn't believe in G-d, he did not have a right to do this.
Forgive me for being a little disjointed with this - normally when there's a topic I'd like to bring up on here I think about it for a little while to get my words in order. Please also forgive me if in the hours after I post this the facts change as the picture becomes clearer. I feel like I need to dump some of my thoughts out and you all are, after all, my wonderful, loving diary.
I'm sure everyone knows about this already but just in case there's one person reading this who doesn't, this morning in Connecticut, a gunman entered Sandy Hook Elementary School and murdered 26 people, at least 18 of which were elementary school children.
I am by no means a Connecticut expert, I've been there only a few times. The best lady friend, Kali, is from this particular town, and apparently Mr. T's sister-in-laws nieces and nephews go to this school. From the little I do know of this particular area, this having happened there is one of those events that reminds you it could happen anywhere. The wealth, education, political leanings, population, and usual safety of any given town is in no way a predictor of whether or not something like this can happen there. It could happen anywhere.
In a lot of ways this is a wonderful, amazing world with a lot of love and light in it. In other ways, it's a disturbing, terrible place where the creatures who run it are the most violent and unpredictable imaginable. It's both. It will always be both. It's hard on days like these to not think of the world as a body - as long as there are a few sick and twisted cells, the entire body will be sick.
You have to be dead inside to do something like this. Our tendency as a society is to of course think to ourselves "how could someone do something like this?" because most of us, however strong or weak they may be, still have feelings and a conscience. This person was clearly dead inside.
There are families who got up this morning just like I did. They woke up thinking about Christmas gifts they still need to purchase, wondering whether or not they remembered to pay the gardener this month or if they should go see a movie this weekend. They woke up just like we all did, expecting it to be a day easily passed through with all the usual mild peaks and valleys, and instead by mid-morning it turned into the worst day of their lives. A tragedy so terrible it will be held up as an example to all the world for just how awful it can be.
On some level all of us will be waiting for some sort of explanation as to why this happened. It's not going to come. There is not going to be any explanation at all, much less one that is any way satisfying. There is and will be a continued discussion of how this happened, and even that will probably not be in any way satisfying.
There's already a flurry of discussion on social media and news sites about whether today is the day to talk about gun control. The argument ranges from 'we should never talk about it' to 'we should, just not now' to 'if not now, when?'.
I tend to lean towards the side of let's talk about it in a day or two when it's still fresh, but today let's just think about those families. My only thoughts right now on the subject are what they always are... I grew up in a house with guns because my Father had to carry them for work. I also hate that they exist in the first place, as did he. Gun control is different than taking away everyones right to bare arms. I have no desire to take away everyone's guns, but how we're doing things now? Not working.
This will also inevitably end up causing a discussion on mental illness. Everyone including myself will want to blame this persons parents, friends, colleagues because they're still here and he isn't. They should've known, they should've stopped it, maybe they even caused it. It's hard to give a shit seeing as how whatever illness he had made him a monster, but there will/should be a discussion on what to do if you're aware of someone who seems to be going off the deep end. I would like to think, for now at least, that no one who knew him thought 'in a few days he's going to slaughter an elementary school'.
This may not be a popular opinion, but I think often times in situations like this it's akin (but obviously the pure evil version) of knowing someone who may or may not be suicidal... often times the people in their life feel powerless and don't fully grasp what the ultimate consequence may be or if they do that it would ever really happen.
Forgive my somewhat disjointed thoughts, again I lean towards worrying about these details tomorrow or the next day, but they're there and I'm sharing them.
My thoughts, and love, and anger, and shock is with the families of these people.
I also think we should all hug our loved ones today and tell them how much they mean to us, because none of us know what tomorrow brings.
Happy Thursday, interwebs. I trust that you are enjoying your last 8 days on Earth before the Mayans come and eat your still-beating hearts.
And now, a note.
Dear Lurkers,
I have a giant, giant puppy named Luna. Bub the hub and I are one of those obnoxious couples who will do our very best to convince you to rescue an animal that needs rescuing as opposed to purchasing a designer dog. Our two dogs and our obese grumpy cat - all of whom are monochromatic and I'm not sure what that says about me - are rescues. (Although at some point in my life I would like to have a Great Pyranese as they look like a ginormous, white snuffalupagus).
Anyhoo. Luna is the newest, and we've had her for 9 months - we have put together that she wasn't abused in any way but probably just sort of stuck in someone's backyard and never really paid attention to. She was unfamiliar with the usual human-dog interactions, namely snuggling and affection.
At first when we tried to snuggle with her, she would give us that look usually reserved for women who have accidentally found themselves boinking some guy that believes that jackhammering is the end all, be all of sexual divinity. You know the one - "I hope you're getting something out of this because I sure as shit am not".
Then slowly but surely, she started to get into it a little bit but still didn't quite get it. She would lay somewhere within the proximity of one of us, put her giant paw in one of our faces and give us a hopeful look like "Is this a thing? Cause I feel like this should be a thing".
And now, finally, after months of practicing, she will calmly lay down next to one of us and let us snuggle her for quite a bit before going about her usual business of eating all of Bub's socks or re-arranging the living room furniture through the lost art of hopping.
My point is - much like Luna I am a little rough around the edges, I realize, but I am quite nice if given the chance, I promise. I shall be loyal and kind and only really show my teeth if someone messes with you. And will only eat a sock if left alone too long. I will like you. (I have multiple in-real-life friends who have told me they were nervous to befriend me because they didn't think I would like them. Is that a thing? Cause I don't think that should be a thing.)
And now that I've proclaimed myself to be nice, I promise, I'm going to unleash a torrent of nasty bitterness on you because where the mother eff else can I? I'm going to let it out because otherwise I will be emotionally constipated and I already have enough of that to worry about this holiday season.
Do you ever have something that you would really, really like to like but just can't? Like sushi. Or jazz. Or Anne Hathaway.
Such is my relationship with positive thinking as of late. I would really like to be a positive thinker, and aside from my snarky sense of humor (it's my style, people) I like to think I usually am. Recently, however, even when I try the previously fail-safe method of cheering myself up via the magic of Christmas, it ends up coming out more like this:
Now when it comes to baby-making I am actually doing better, emotionally, this holiday season than I was last.
This year it's more of a Clark Griswold, slightly-crazy-but-mostly-numb twinge of bitterness, whereas last year it was a sadness as if everyday from sun up to sun down I was forced to watch the slaughter of puppies dressed as reindeer. I'll take Clark bitterness over puppy-snuff sadness any day of the week.
It's all the lurking, creepy babies. Babies, babies, everywhere there are babies and they're out to get me. (This is not a conspiracy theory I tell you! One day it will be a Dateline story and you will believe, oh yes you will, about the Christmas when babies came out of the woodwork to assure Jenny's committal to the nuthouse).
Tis the season, evidently, of facebook pregnancy announcements. Here's a picture of my toddler holding up an ultrasound photo. Here's an ultrasound with a joke underneath it about the consequences of alcohol (womp womp). Here's an ultrasound with a little message about Santa bringing something a little extra in his sleigh this year! (barf).
Now, on the one hand should I get pregnant I don't want to totally deny myself all the things those fucking fertiles get, like making facebook announcements. On the other hand, being an infertile, I know that everytime someone announces a pregnancy on Facebook an angel in heaven loses it's wings, plummets to the earth and is crushed/disemboweled by pavement in front of school children.
So I'm really not sure I would do a facebook announcement, but if I caved and did it it would go something like this - "Bub and I are making humans. Absorb this information. For peeks into my womb buy me dinner first."
Another point - and forgive me for saying this if forgiveness is needed - I don't give a flying fuck about Kate Middleton.
I didn't give a shit about her when she was getting married. I didn't give a shit about her when they tried to turn her into a Hallmark channel movie. While the rest of the world was up watching a wedding I was asleep. I definitely don't give a shit about the 10 page articles dedicated exclusively to her hats and I sure as shit don't need to hear about her being knocked up.
I will though... Oh but we all will. We're in for 6 months of royal baby watch. It is inescapable. And unless it emerges from her vagina already wearing an over-the-top hat, I am not interested.
Mind you - I understand that when a celebrity gets pregnant there is crazy coverage and I have enough problems with that. (Gawd help Jennifer Aniston if/when she gets knocked up). But usually they at least give you a couple of issues of People magazine between updates.
I love you, UK. You have produced the loveliest people, music, books, and you are by far a much more sane and logical country than the US. I have many-a-time thought about running away from here and into your arms.
But fuck me... why, at the end of the revolutionary war, did our forefathers not make the UK sign something that said we do not have to deal with royalty in the tabloids on a daily basis? Why did they not foresee (they were forefathers after all) my wanting to open a people magazine without half of it being dedicated to the womb of royalty? You dropped the ball, forefathers, you dropped the ball. If I had a time machine I would deal with that first before I went on to anything silly like the constitution.
Also, seeing as I've been home nursing a kidney stone I have been watching some terrible daytime TV. Note to residents of the US of A: If you find yourself wanting to call the Maury Povich show to see if your husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/wife is cheating, they are. If you are unsure of who the father of your baby is and think to yourself "obviously the best way to handle this is to go on a daytime talk show" then at least ask yourself in this day and age if there is any possible way that this video isn't going to resurface when your child is older.
I'm thinking if I was 12, and my friends & I were fiddling around with this magical invention called youtube and up pops a video of my mother testing 5 different men, and then hurling her ginormous body onto the floor sobbing when none of them is my father... that would be a rough day.
Also, if you're in the grocery store maybe try to keep an eye on where your kids are. I completely get losing them - something I would totally do, believe me - I don't understand how long it has to take before you realize they're gone. As I was avoiding eye contact with all the Kate Middletons peering at me from their covers in line this morning, I had a child wrap themselves around my leg, hacking and sneezing the black death onto my jeans. It was a good 6-7 minutes before their Mom rescued me and proclaimed "omg I didn't even realize she was missing!". Awesome. I guarantee you I will notice in a few days when my ability to breathe without coughing is missing.
Bah. Humbug.
End of Rant.
I'm nice, I promise. I am just incapable of bullshit (and poop in general this time o year) and this is how I'm feeling.
I spent Sunday evening in the hospital. ::jazz hands:: Let's back up.
As you may recall, seeing as how I am a shit godmother and life is too short I went to my goddaughter's birthday party wearing my bravest big girl panties yesterday. I drove the 90 minutes to the OC, armed with a positive attitude and my best quip to the question "Do you have kids?" (this particular Sunday I was feeling the "no, just free time and money" response.)
Giant, open house style birthday party with 3 million kids, parents doing the "I've got my shit together" lisp (is that a CA thing or an international thing?) and a reptile show. I got her a badass cabbage patch kid and was ready to piss sunshine all over their front lawn and kick those giant lizards in their gizzards.
I did swimmingly. I was my usual mutey self around family with the exception of my grandparents.
A little background - my family is giant, awesome, and a little nutty. If you have met a Mexican person in Orange County, CA, congratulations you have met one of Stork's relatives. I, however, am a bit of a wildcard in the clan - I'm the only one who has never lived there whereas 99% of them have lived within a few miles of each other their whole lives. So, just because of distance, with a few awesome exceptions - some old some recent - most of them don't really know me too well. Example - because of the magical Book of Face, the last couple of years people have come up to me at our Christmas party with genuine surprise saying "I didn't know you were funny!" This is my one defining characteristic apart from an increasing resemblance to Rodney Dangerfield... but thank you for enjoying my quirky web presence.
ANYHOO. Not one tear shed, not one horrible moment of explanation required, and even when I found myself holding one of the bajillion babies present, my only thought was 'hello small human, you are delightful'.
So the shit show was not in the children or in the giant reptiles, but in the back pain I had all day that slowly went from 'this is odd' to 'if letting that burmese python swallow me would make me feel any better, excuse me while I slather myself in BBQ sauce'.
So I spent Sunday evening in an ER getting pumped full of drugs and trying not to screech (if for no other reason than it getting in the way of the acoustics of listening to other patients - which is some awesome morbid entertainment). Twas a kidney stone, I got sent home with some medication and apart from ruining my saintly mother's trip to San Diego for the evening, I feel much better.
I am home-home. I arrived an hour after Bub left for work this morning. In celebration of my return and in protest of my absence, in the hour that they were alone Luna peed in her crate and Phoebe barfed all over the couch. I'm all for these dogs displaying emotion towards me seeing as how they both normally feel the sun rises and sets in Bub's ass, but I don't need their love to be quite so... moist.
So a wee bit of pain, but the medication should help me slowly regain my Christmas spirit.
(I am so doing this next year).
I'm a little sad that we will be away from my Mom for Christmas and with my in-laws (we alternate), however I am delighted because I adore my in-laws (Bubella in particular), their Christmas is delightfully child-free and far, far away. There is one reason apart from my Mom that I dread the in-law Christmas, and that reason is the Bathroom of Poocoustics.
I am poop shy. Only in the most dire of circumstances do I poop outside of my own house, and even though I've been with him nearly 10 years, I can't stand Bub even being aware that I poo much less being within a few feet of me doing so.
I'm a business pooper. Whereas for men it seems to be more of a religious experience, I'm in, I'm out, I'm aware of my surroundings - I get the damn job done.
At my in-laws house, there are two bathrooms available to me. One is right next to the living room where people tend to congregate, and the other I have come to believe was specifically designed for everyone to hear you doing your business.
The Bathroom of Poocoustics is without a fan. The B of P sits directly at the top of wooden, echoey stairs. Those stairs are directly next to the living room where people congregate, and if you were to stand in that bathroom and whisper to yourself, it would echo down those lovely stairs into the whole house so that it sounded like a shout. In addition, there is a vent in the B of P that travels directly to the basement - and though I do not have direct proof, I'm fairly certain it's an even louder portal of sound. (I have heard people whispering in the basement from the B of P, and it sounds like they're doing it in my ear).
My initial method of dealing with the Poopacolypse was to try to stay as constipated as humanly possible whilst we were there. This worked brilliantly - although a little uncomfortably - the first year. Year two, I made it a few days, had to go, clogged the toilet and then Bub had to unclog it for me. I spent two hours facedown in our bed instructing him to never, ever, look at me again.
My current method of choice is to let my poo dictate when I will take a shower. Turn shower on, do my business, take shower. I'm a little worried, however, that since this method occasionally leads to two showers a day that my in-laws may think I have OCD.
On the other hand, this isn't too different from spending Christmas with my extended family... Different kind of shit, same concept. Everyone will hear your personal shit because of proximity and echo-capacity. So the question of the holidays for me is really who do you want to be listening to what kind of shit?
Sidenote: And I'm sure my discussion of poop today isn't going to help matters, but the spam comments o porn have reached a fevered pitch. (I can't even repeat the description of a website someone tried to advertise on here... not because of imaginary lady-like ways but because it will surely attract the perviest of beasts). So I think I'm going to take the 'anonymous' option out. This means if you have something snarly to say you'll have to fight me like a man, and I can fairly retaliate by hunting you down and pooing on you in front of your extended family.
Well, its happened. I got rid of that little robot that makes you type a word before you can comment on my blog a month or two ago, and now I'm getting the porn comments. (The spam folder seems to be catching... most of them.)
I have arrived, internet!
Such is my hate for that robot (again, I'm blinder than any of you) that the robot stays gone until someone figures out a way to post an animated gif of jiggling breasts as a comment... and probably not even then because let's face it, who doesn't like boobies.
(Sidenote: you would be shocked how many people arrive at my blog by searching 'stork porn'. What is stork porn?! No wait, don't tell me.. can't be as good as my imagination).
The House of Stork has been a little insane the last week. I'm fine, but there have been a few people in my life who have been less than fine so I've been doing a wee bit o running around. So we don't grow apart as people, I'm going to dump some nonsense on you that I otherwise would've neatly constructed in a few blog entries.
1.) If I win the jackpot, vacations and/or mental hospitals for everyone. (And by mental hospital I mean celebrity mental hospital - where it's really just an expensive vacation on a beach somewhere for 'exhaustion').
2.) I am resolving myself to liking Bruno Mars. I'm excited about this development because the music I like in the last decade is few and far between, but he really needs to be a little more scarce on the radio before I overdose.
3.) My family is huge and every year they have a Christmas party, and there is always, inevitably, several people who are in fights with one another and it makes things awkward. This year it's apparently going to be awkward between one of my cousin-in-laws (is that a thing?) who is a certifiable idiot, and my cousin who I love dearly, but who is genuinely shocked that people are suggesting that maybe she doesn't have to immediately fall in love with the first hillbilly to tapdance down meth-mountain and into her heart. As happy as I am to be spending Christmas with my in-laws and therefor in a childless environment, I'm a wee bit saddened I don't get to see how this plays out.
4.) Yesterday I spent the morning with men trying to yank my crowns out while I was on laughing gas. I am terrified of dentists, and this experience was made doubly ludicrous by the fact that I had my 5 year old cousin came with me and to calm my nerves kept shouting "I want to see them yank out all of your teeth!"
5.) Also if I win the lottery, I will be immediately putting my Mom on some sort of cruise ship. She does too much for people. Nothing would delight me more than her texting me and saying "I' am currently drinking wine in Italy with a scandalously young greasy-haired boy. Everyone can go fuck themselves for the next week".
6.) I'm doing research on cults This will probably turn into an entry later, but I'd just like to throw out there that in the Fundamentalist section of the Mormon church (not to be confused with the usual mormonism - these are the prairie looking folks with multiple wives) women are excommunicated for having miscarriages as they are 'baby killers'.
7.) I am a shit Godmother. In my family we have 'ninas' and 'ninos'. I'm on the outer fringes of the family, but when my cousins - all of whom procreate like rabbits - ran out of alternatives, I was named Nina to a resulting bunny. I adore her and she just turned 3 yesterday. The last year I have avoided all activities that involve her and other children.
Last year at her birthday party, I did pretty well with the 22 year olds talking about their 17 children and how it gives life meaning. Then they put in a video her grandma made her with newborn photos set to sad music.
I also went to see her in a Christmas recital. Hopped up on Clomid, no less, I sat in the dead center of a theatre surrounded by people younger than me holding babies on their laps, looking at the stage where their other babies were dressed as candycanes and snowmen. Not the brightest idea I've ever had.
The problem with being a non-crier is I have absolutely no idea how to tell if it's coming. Sitting in my living room now thinking about it? I'm gonna give her birthday party a whirl. She's 3 and I feel guilty as fuck.
This is a shit idea - right? This is a shit idea. Good gawd. But I feel guilty, she's getting older. Fuck.
Okay, that's it. We're caught up. Prepare yourselves for a totally unrelated entry on cults.
