Feeling better today-at last. Last night was pretty bad and my husband left for Vancouver at 4:30 this morning and he wasn't too excited about leaving me alone:) Luckily, we live in the burbs and have incredibly nosey neighbors so I'm sure if I did decide to hang myself someone would know where we keep the extra key and bust right in, cut me down, and make me some homemade chicken soup.

I guess I should clarify that even when I get downdowndoooowwwwwnnnnnn, I have never felt suicidal. There.

The 'touch-down' dates, as it were, this month are the 25th, 26th, and 27th. And we'll have, let's see, 12 additional people in our house for Thanksgiving. This oughta be good. If I do end up pregnant this month you'll know there was some serious effort put forth between entertaining, baking, cooking, cleaning and shmoozing to be humping:)

My dogs are so cute today. Jack was sitting on my head along the back of the chair while I was studying and Hobbes had his 60# pitbull butt in my lap looking out the window. I don't get much done when they're draped on me, but I like it. Warm puppies. Mmmmmm.

I got to therapy today but it was the wrong day so now I don't know what day I'm supposed to go and I feel like a lunatic today. I wish I had a better tolerance for alcohol cuz I'd start drinking right now. But I have school tonight so that's out of the question.

My husband is coming home from work early to get ready for a trip tomorrow. Boy am I going to miss him. The middle of the week is so busy with school and all that jazz but it is nice to be next to him. He's warm:)

I started shopping for the family that we adopted for Christmas. We do it every year through an agency in town and it is my favorite part of the consumer frenzy that is Christmas. I put the 'Christ back in Christmas' all the time with "Jesus CHRIST look at that line!" and "For CHRIST'S sake could you move your cart out of the middle of the most narrow aisle in here?" and "If I don't know where tissue paper is, isn't it a fair assumption I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE CHRIST THE PAPER IS THAT IT IS RIGHT NEXT TO??" I know, but all the interesting people I know don't stand a shot at Heaven, either....

I told my husband if we have a child I want to raise the child Jewish. Being that he is the uber-wasp and I'm a non-practicing Episcopalian, I'd better get cracking. This should be great! I read a story recently (For the Relief of Unbearable Urges--a collection of brilliant short stories) about a man who has an epiphany in a cab that he has a Jewish soul. That explains how I feel, and have felt for some time. More on that later.

So, being that I got up at the crack of dawn, all the comforters are at the wash/dry&fold joint so a comfy nap is out of the question-I guess I'll do some laundry. Maybe clean my desk. I usually find money when I do that.....

Wowza. Yesterday I spent the day at a Dance Competition in the Hynes Auditorium in downtown Boston. The very first thing about that and how it relates to maybe-child is: I most sincerely hope that kid gets anyone else's sense of direction. It didn't help that YahooMaps, which should be named 'I can't believe you actually got there maps!', had me getting off on a mythical exit named 'Avenue of the Arts.' It didn't sound familiar to me, either. I drove right by Copley Square exit which I knew was in the vicinity and right on toward Cambridge. So, I had a nice tour of the BigDig and Logan is looking greeeaaaaaat.

I finally found the place and a great parking spot in the garage. Yeah for me.

I went up to the third floor to find my god-daughter and her little Vermont Academy dance troupe. What I happened upon looked like a pre-stripper convention. I could go on and on but let it suffice to say that it was just plain creepy.

I watched the competition for age group 7-10 and asked my friend about twenty times, "This is 7-10??!!" I can understand the makeup so they can be seen from the floor. I understand about a lot of things regarding theatre. What I don't understand is half shirts, little dresses with panties poking out, dances where LITTLE GIRLS rub their hands across their chests and shake their hips. I was so uncomfortable there. It made me really sad. Our maybe-child will learn to dance as a way to learn about his/her body and how it works and its power. Our maybe-child will never look like a mini-hooker. The only thing missing at this dance competition was a big pole at center stage. Ugh.

I am concerned with how to address all these things with a child. My god-daughter LOVES jazz and LOVES tap and LOVES acting. Her mom in the best. Balanced with great common sense about what is acceptable and not acceptable. I see her guide my little A through tough decisions and lets the little one find the right answer. Little A wants to be an actor and it's not bias saying that she is special and has a gift. Her mom and I want to take her to some open calls to see what happens. She is phenominal, adorable, brilliant and such a great looking little kid. I don't want to have to break a nose of an adult who is rude or disrespectful to her. And I pity the fool.......

One bridge at a time. Having my 20 year younger sister with us for a while helped me to feel like 'I can do it.' I think a lot just comes up from inside you somewhere. Hopefully by this point I've developed my moral compass to the point where it merits sharing. I will not,however, tell my child about partying til 4am, deciding I need a nap-at a party in a little black dress-waking up 2 hours later all curled up on the couch, and starting up on the Veuve again. Nope, some things are better left unsaid. That's what I say.

And as these things go-I'm feeling better today. I went to my therapist yesterday and we talked about the hotspot/triggers and all that jazz. EMDR on monday should get me back up and running. It's been an incredible experience that has helped greatly.

My husband is the best. Totally hooked me up yesterday. Brought home Popeye's for dinner. Gave me 2 rolls and didn't make fun when I ate them both. I'm headed to the spin-cycle as we speak. I'm not going to let myself get off for a full hour. And that is probably only one bisquit... but boy are they fabulous.

I had a looooong conversations with my best friend SJ this morning about TV and how scary it is to me. I think if you break down the messages and morals in the average 30 minute cartoon, you'd be afraid too. I don't see letting our maybe-child watch a lot of tele. I think he/she will be able to deal with not being familiar with all the Rugrats Adventures. I know I am...

Well, I have to do some moving around the house today. I have to rewrite a story for submission to a contest, do some homework, write an english paper, do some laundry, go grocery shopping and that should get me through to tonight. Not so interesting today, but at least I'm out of bed. The dogs are psyched.

And then there's the whole issue of depression. I don't think I'm a sufferer, it's more situational. Like as it relates to Thanksgiving. I lost one of my dearest friends on a gorgeous, sunny, perfect Vermont heading into winter day, the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. It's been 10 years now. I was able to completely avoid the holiday for about 5 years. Then my friends, my good ones, started trying to help me not be such a nut about it. Those were some horrible holidays. I usually left crying by halfway through dinner. One year my dog Jack attacked a yellow lab puppy. I felt guilty because I was sure he was just channelling my angst and I yelled at him and wouldn't let him ride on my lap. He just gave me these really sad eyes and I had nothing for him. The good thing about holiday weekends is if you decide to stay in bed for 4 days, not bathe or speak, get up only to pee, well, no one notices.

The heaviness in my chest got better with EMDR therapy. I feel stupid to still be affected at this time but I have that old heaviness back again. I'm a bitch. I'm in a bad mood. My dog barking at the cookie jar on the counter doesn't make me smile, it makes me want to clonk him on the head with something that will make a lot of noise. Everything makes me cry. I won't take drugs so I'm just hanging around in a puddle of tears. I'm going to make up with the dogs and lie in bed and at least do homework. Ugh.

So, I hope our maybe-child doesn't get the blues, too.

It is a gorgeous day-clear and crisp. Not a cloud in the sky. My husband gets up and decides he wants to go for a motorcycle ride. I tell him it's way too cold. I tell him it's not supposed to get above the low 40's today. I tell him a ride today would be unpleasant, at best! He asks if I want to go with him. Again, I wonder if he listens to me when I speak. I'm pretty sure he's just looking at my mouth.

So, he just got home after a twenty minute ride. He said that his legs are numb. He said that he had to pull over and put his hands on the tank to warm them up. He said that as he was riding he could 'feel his nuts pulling up into his body to get away from the cold assault.' His nose is bright red and his lips are blue. His nipples are so hard that I caught my ring on one when I hugged him. He says, "Boy! I'll have to see if it warms up before I go back out again!"

Half of the gene pool. Something to consider.

Of course, he does have his brilliance. He is making 'cheesy eggs', his specialty. I don't know how he does it or what he uses but they are the best damned eggs on the planet. Every time. And he loves to make them so I think that's why they taste extra delicious. My man. Love that guy.

I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art yesterday. I saw the El Greco, Domenikos Theotokopoulos for you fellow geeks, exhibit which is extensive and breath-taking. I will be emailing my art history professor to thank him once again. I understood where Mannerism was expressed. I saw where he was preoccupied with the rendering of robes in his neoclassical work. I recognized his Pieta as such and was able to compare it to Michelangelo's sculpture my mind's eye. In short--I was informed and stoked. I completely and thoroughly overwhelmed my friend L, who was at the museum for an assignment. I shared my thoughts with her and flew around that place like a drunk bird. Her eyes were like those spirally black optical illusiony loops you see in cartoons. One exhibit and she was shot. She ended up buying the book and I bet we have to go back again! Yippee!

If you have the opportunity, you should get to the Met to see it.

On another note... I told my husband no less than a dozen times that L and I were going to the museum in the afternoon. I told him that we were driving and my other friend T was driving down from Vt and catching a ride into Manhattan with us. His girlfriend lives there and it's easier to park in our neck of the woods and take the train the rest of the way than to try to find parking and all that jazz in the city. SO, we three went into New York around 3:30, as I had told him a dozen times we would. In the car the phone rings. I feel it necessary to say that I told him again on Friday afternoon before he left to do an errand of my plans in the city.

ring

me: Hi honey. (caller ID, mais oui)

him: Where are you?

me: Are you serious? L, T and I are heading into Manhattan.

him: T is with you? I thought he was coming down at Thanksgiving. How come he's with you? And who's car with VT plates is in our driveway? Is it his?

me: Uh, yeah, that's his car.

him: Funny thing? When I came home I thought something had happened with your mom's divorce and she was here and it was her car!! I snuck in the back door and then remembered her plate so I shined the flashlight out the kitchen window to check the plate and it isn't hers. You know that, right?

me: That it isn't her car?

him: Yeah! It's T's, right?

me: Uh, again, that is his car.

him: Ok. So, where are you going?


Cut to today. We're in the car and I tell him that I have absolute proof that he doesn't ever listen to what I say.

him: Huh?

me: That whole deal yesterday. I told you so many times all this week that I was going and T was driving down from Vermont and all that jazz.

him: Look. I have ADD so bad that it requires therapy. You should feel lucky I remember you, ok?

me: Yeah, that's true.

So, we have many good things to pass on to our maybe-child. Love, a sense of humor, nice hands and feet. The only challenge will be the kid finding his way home from school everyday.

*sigh*

I may be approaching the age where it is getting near the point where I might run the risk of having a difficult pregnancy but...... I still kick butt.

I got in a fight with a dick from Ebay. He sent me a broken fax machine. I wanted my money back. He offered me half. This all took a month I told him to get bent. Actually, I told him this exactly:

okay jerkoff

I am reporting you to Ebay. The facts will bear out as listed in your
auction (ie: no insurance offered) which I have saved even though I doubt
you lack the tech-savvy to take the page down. Today I made a $50 donation to a
couple of blind kittens to negate the gross feeling I have after dealing with a
scumbag like you.

Per my attorney's advice, I repeatedly stated that I wanted your address so
I could mail it back to you and this email proves you refused to provide
your address for said purpose. I will decide upon advice of counsel whether
to place a claim in small claims court here, in my state, file a federal
complaint for mail fraud, or just leave you to your stupid little life. I am
blocking your further emails as you have repeatedly refused to comply with
my request for your address. Best of luck to you and may you get all you so
richly deserve.

My make-believe lawyer probably scared the snot out of this idiot. He hasn't mailed back. I know this cuz my stupid server doesn't allow me to block email. Who ever heard of such a thing? As soon as I have some quality time, I'm shopping for a new host. Yah, that's it.


Hey. He called me 'Ebay Princess.' He's lucky I don't drive to his house on the West Coast and stuff the thing up his stupid ass. Hahahaha.

I've started working out in earnest, every day, until I actually sweat and am somewhat sore. I've always been a little 'thick', but not unattractively so. As I sliiiiiide toward 40 I am having irrational fears about waking up one morning, heading into the bathroom for a tinkle, coming back to bed to find my ass is still in bed. Stuff like that really motivates me to make use of the gym! Also, if I do have a child, I want it to have a nice place to grow. Then I'll be having a tummy tuck anyway. Shallow but true.

I spent some time with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law today. I may just be the luckiest damned broad on the planet but I really like both of them. So shoot me.

The day is shooting away from me a little bit today. I have spent some time working but for the most part, totally farting around. I've invited 20 people for Thanksgiving so mostly I'm looking for good recipes. If you have any, shoot them to me. I also coordinated a happy hour where people will bring toys for our local Children's Crisis office. Good stuff. Now I have to convince my friend C to design a postcard for free. She'll totally do it. I hope. Yah, she'll do it.

Ok then. I'm actually going to walk away and do something physical now. Call the papers.

Yeah, so, our mother always told us we were Venezuelan. She told some whoppers in her time but that one really represents some of her best work. I remember asking her about our ‘real’ father. She made the face, slammed herself down on my bed and asked what I would want to know about a terrible person who wasn’t interested in whether or not we lived or died. I took that to mean she didn’t really wish to discuss the issue. So I asked the cursory questions:

me: Where is he from?
mom: Falmouth. (In Massachusetts, where she’s from.)
reality: Racine Wisconsin

me: What nationality is he? I mean, we know you're Scottish and English but we have dark hair and eyes. What gives?
mom: He was Venezuelan. His parents were political refugees but I think they were guilty of terrible things.
reality:My father is almost completely Mexican. His father was a crop picker (is that the term?!) and my crazy grandmother's family had a ranch and she got pregnant by a migrant worker, my grandfather. One of my great great grandmothers was some sort of Native American Indian, I've seen pictures of her in full dress.

me: Does he know our names?
mom: He knows yours, not your brother’s and I don’t think he’d remember yours.
reality: Had his sister contact my mother quite often until mom changed our phone number.

me: Do you have any pictures of him?
mom: Why would I want pictures of someone who beat me and hates you kids?
reality: In a box in her closet. They looked pretty happy.

me: What if I needed to contact him someday, about some medical issue or something?
mom: Why would you want to break my heart like that? Do you really hate me that much? Have I been such a bad mother?
reality: Ah, no?

I think I’ll be honest with my maybe-kid. I’m even thinking of ditching the whole Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth fairy/Painless Dentist charade. My maybe-kid will be savvy but I wouldn’t let him/her spoil it for other kids. So savvy, and considerate. Yeah.

There are many reasons I look to genetic research to disprove my worst fears. My gene pool is shallow, could use some chlorine, has 2 headed goldfish... you know the jokes. But I'm relatively well adjusted. I guess. Well, I am discussing all my issues surrounding child-bearing in public, with strangers. But hey! In my family that IS well adjusted. So.... while we wait to get pregnant I'll occasionally share stories of family so we can all pray together if/when I do get knocked up.

Last night my mother left a message, "Ah, please call me regarding your immunizations. I have something to talk to you about."

Of course I freak out. I was thinking of when I found out I was half Mexican, not Venezuelan as I'd grown up thinking. Yeah, I'll probably have to explain that one, but later. Maybe tomorrow if you're good.

me: Jesus H Christ. What now?

my husband: What? What could it be? You have that dimple on your arm, right? You must have had all the important shots.

me: You don't know my mother. She thought flouride was a government conspiracy. We couldn't take it in school. I was the only kid with a note absolutely forbidding the dispension of those cool red tablets THAT EVERYONE ELSE TOOK AND SWISHED! I have a cavity EVERY TIME I GO TO THE DENTIST!!! She thinks the moon landing was faked. She is very inventive. If she thought the vaccinations of childhood were linked to some sort of plot, she would have burned me with a cigarette to falsify my innoculation mark. Then she would have badgered some poor nurse into thinking she already gave me the shot. "Look! The mark! Could that be faked?! No!!!She's marked! Sign the release form!" I'm probably at risk of dying from some stupid disease that only people in Third World nations are getting. Ahhhhhh!

my husband: You're right. I hate to say it, but you should call her.

me: Ok

dialing....

me: Hi mom. So, what's up with the immunizations?

mom: Well, I was reading that kids on college campuses are getting
meningitus. You should get a shot. A girl I went to catholic school with died
when we were in third grade. I just worry about you.

me: Thank God. I thought you faked my childhood innoculations.

mom: Don't be ridiculous. What on earth would make you think that?

*sigh* Now watch me die of meningitus and she'll tell everyone she told me so. Great, now with all the work I have to do in Comparitive Political Systems and the Sociology of Education, I have to f-ing study up on meningitus.

It never ends.

Just did another pee test. I should keep track of menstrual crapola here because I really am horrible at doing it in my calendar. I'm going to eat sushi because if I am pregnant, no more sushi. I know that doesn't make sense but it makes more sense than this true story....

My grandmother is a tad bit loopy. She is a bunch younger than my grandfather, she's blond and was a wicked babe back in the day. It is the time of the big Tylenol scare....

me: Gram, you have Tylenol in your medicine cabinet. Haven't you seen the bizillion warnings about Tylenol?

gram: I know, I know. I'm not going to take any of those until the scare is over.

She is not biologically related to me, although I've often thought it's a shame.