Jane With the Deep Dark Eyes

Just got home from a visit with Jane, the new baby. Amazing! Her fingers are so long and perfect and her eyes, huge almonds with gigantic pupils surrounded by indigo. It feels so good to hold a squirming baby - especially at this age when they still like to be held horizontally and close to the breast.

My friend worries about me. She worries that I am sad because of Jane; because I can't have one of my own. And I am a little. But it is a sort of bittersweetness, this sadness. I love my life, alone, with my husband. I love the time I get to spend with my niece and nephew, the role I get to play in their lives because of my freedom from parenthood.

And I still have that ache. Can't get rid of it, even after all these years of knowing that I'll never be a mommy. I think the ache, though, has become a bit of a friend to me. It gives me character, it makes me compassionate. Really, I wouldn't want it to go away. Knowing loss is a good thing.

October

October may well be my favorite month. I like the October sky. And there's something about the light that makes that crisp blueness pop. The light is golden.

October is very romantic to me. There is something particularly electric about the golden-ness that makes me think back to all of these autumns that K and I have been together. One of the first and sweetest memories is actually from a "we're just friends" stage (there were several of those). We decided to go hiking in Shelby Forest, just the two of us (Danger Will Robinson!). All day up and down the hills of the Forest we walked single file - sometimes I in front, sometimes he. The Forest was filled with shocking yellow gingkos and orange maples, and the beams of light from the afternoon sun captured the dust and insects swirling in the air. I tried hard not to pant - embarrassed at how quickly I could become breathless.

What was so exciting about the day was the palpable tension that was between us. All we could think of (and we only know this about eachother in retrospect) is how badly we wanted to strip off our clothes, lie in the leaves and make love. But we didn't. And I think that's why it's really such a great memory. Because it's fun to imagine that restraint sometimes, that longing that might or might not get filled, that ache. Mmmm Mmmm. Sweet.

genius in the age of verbosity

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it's been a while. i had promised myself that i would write everyday and THEN i got this awful comment from a reader of my work (elsewhere) that i'm too self-conscious. well, that sent me for a tailspin, writing wise.

so, i've been holed up in my head thinking about whether or not that's true, whether or not that matters, and whether or not i should give a rat's patooty what this guy thinks. and then i read a david sedaris book - naked. at first i said (in my head to my friend), "yeah, then, you go to hell you hater" cause mr. sedaris seems pretty self-conscious to me and people LOVE him. and then i thought, well, can there be more than one david sedarisey kind of writer? now, i imagine you may be rolling your eyes, sniggering that "you may be decent, but you ain't no d.s. so the anology is moot," and fine, fine, i thought that too, but i'm just wondering what the "market" will bear in the case of compulsive confessional writing. has the internet, blogging, watered down writing so that everyone's a genius, rendering no one a genius?
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Gimme a "V" Gimme an "A"....

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I love valium!!!! Finally a full night's sleep - and no grogginess. YEEEHAAA!!!
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During my fitful evenings this week, I've been thinking about the word "fuck" and how much I use it. It's actually my favorite word, but I'm conflicted about it.

Papa always told me that the use of profanity signifies an inability to properly use the language - ignorance, he suggests. I disagree. You see, sometimes the word "fuck" is the proper word for a situation. It has power, shock value, cathartic value. It communicates the importance of the point, the humor of the point, the humor of the speaker....and it feels soooo gooood to say!

I used to love the section of Reader's Digest called "Toward More Picturesque Speech" which detailed interesting linguistic flourishes and turns of phrase. It is something I think about often as I write, and speak.

I say, what's more picturesque than the word "fuck?"

I will warrant that there are appropriate times to and not to use the word - and I'll admit that it's often difficult to know, in advance, whether a particular time is, in fact, appropriate. (Every time I'm in sunday school class at church there's a running tape in my mind: "don't say fuck, don't say fuck, don't say fuck." So, I end up saying "shit" D'oh!!) In my case, too, I'll admit that I could stand a bit of the "less is more" philosphy in the application of my license to use the word - but, fuck, what's a passionate, loquacious girl supposed to do?

and anyone who disagrees can just go fuck themselves...

eyes wide open

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i'm in serious trouble.

can't sleep, but have to be up in 3 hours to study heidegger (NOT EASY). i think that the removal of the heart meds is returning me to my full-on status as insomniac. i'm actually not sure what's worse - the heart problem or the total inability to sleep like a normal person.

i went to bed but just had to let the tv run because of the fucking interminable teasers about an anaconda loose in wapanacha wildlife refuge - where K and i love to go turtle watching. i thought it had to be a joke but i had to stay tuned. there really is an anaconda in the marsh of wapanacha - in arkansas!!!! aparently some dim-wit let one loose in there. i sure hope they find it soon, because i cannot imagine what kind of havoc in might wreak on the food chain and eco system there. STUPID IDIOTS!!!

so, i got that settled and turned off the tube, but still was wide awake (did i mention this is the second night in a row of this shit?). i decided to read for a minute - with my glasses off (tired eyes sometimes fool me into thinking i'm all the way tired). i'm reading a great book (though poorly edited) about this dude that grew up in a freaky hindu-ish commune in the eighties (i'm interested 'cause that's also my story).

still, no zzzzs.

i turned off the light and then the mental fireworks began. i started freaking out about my business - we recently doubled in size (and financial outlay), but have had several lean months. [if you're reading this and a part of my "business" please don't worry too much - it's just that it gets really stressful sometimes juggling personal financial concerns AND yours (by proxy)] and i'm freaking out about getting my student loans consolidated and K has a terrible toothache to add to his dizziness and my heart hurts and is racing at ninety to nothin (literally) and then there's the heidegger.......

AND I CAN'T FIND THE FUCKING TYLENOL PM!!!!

so, i've cruised google for heidegger commentary (like i can process that right now!) and have read every profile in myspace for people within 20 miles of memphis for just at 3 hours now.......panic is setting in.

i'm gonna go try to count sheep.....
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the tongue's always the first to go

last night some friends invited us to a baseball game. i had to twist K's arm a bit since he's been so tired from work and the phantom illness that no one can diagnose, but he soon realized what fun it would be and, after securing a promise that he wouldn't whine about being tired all day today, we trucked on downtown.

but not before i popped a little pain pill. i'd been hurting a bit all afternoon and was worried that it might ruin the evening to be clutching my chest all night fred sanford style.

we had great seats - just past first base - and the weather was phenomenal. perfectly warm with low humidity (a gift of an evening by memphis standards).

K and friend headed off for the big beers. yuuuummmy. though i'm not too much of a beer fan these days, it was just what the doctor ordered. except...

for those pain killers.

about a quarter of the way into my beer i noticed the strange thickness of my tongue - i had forgotton about my little pink boosters and was greedily chugging the $8 cup of brew. i couldn't mention my discomfort for fear of the blank stares of K and friends - gotta guard the beverage from wary worried husband, ya know.

so i just slurred the night away.

it sucks. it's always that way with me - the tongue's the first to go - WAY before the rest of me gets there.
la-la la-la-la-la-laaaaa
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Guess Who's Coming For Dinner

i used to be a chef. and K used to be a restaurant manager. so, we have lots of fun cooking for ourselves - and others.

problem is, one likes to cook for us. we get lots of "oh, we'd love to have y'all over for dinner, but we're too intimidated." what we end up doing is going out to restaurants with our friends, who sometimes insist on treating since they never have us over. wt's terribly, terrible uncomfortable. whey've almost always suggested a fine dining place since they assume that's all we like, so it's never cheap - which eans we can't do it very often.

i didn't tell very many people about my surgery before it happened because, well mostly because it seems stupid to call someone up and say "oh, by the way, i'm having heart surgery next week. just in case i die, i just wanted to let you know. goodbye." also, K and i are pretty autonomous - our professional lives have always been SO social that when we're not working, we just want to hang out - alone. we don't like anyone, including our families, to make a fuss. i didn't even want my mother at the hospital - what with cell phones, the need to sit in the waiting room is nullified these days. ('course, if you've read my stuff before, you know i probably didn't want my mother there for lots of other reasons.....)

boy, howdy, have i gotten in trouble for this! word got out because of the post-operative complications that made it seem even more serious than originally thought. k couldn't resist telling his buddy that just happened to call him about something else. and i had to let my gallery members know so they wouldn't think i'm just slacking off by not showing up for a week and a half.

wow. friends have crawled out of the woodwork with soup and casseroles, flowers and cards, scolding me for my over-privateness. it's been kinda cool. and finally, finally, someone brought me food!!!!!!! and i thought it was SO yummy.

maybe having friends isn't so bad after all......

Still Tickin'

well, after five hours of trying to get an IV started i headed to surgery yesterday to get this heart tickin' right. Surgery lasted about three hours (happily, i was OUT) and then it was done. I'll write more about it later, because there were some definitely funny parts, but right now i'm a bit tired. Just wanted to let whoever's checkin know that i'm ok and being coddled sufficiently by K (as usual).

thanks for the thoughts, prayers and voodoo dolls....

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speak no evil

K hates it when i turn on the light in the middle of the night. i don't know why it matters that much since he sleeps with his head sandwiched between two pillows.

that (sleeping with his head covered - blocking light and me out) used to bug me so much, it actually hurt my feelings. it's funny now. so many things used to bug me about him that i now either don't care about, find endearing, or just don't remember.

but he remembers everything that i've ever said that i don't like about him.

it can be a problem.

one year, way (too far) into the winter, a cold one, i noticed that K wasn't ever wearing a coat. he's pretty hot all the time so it took me a while to pick up on it. when i finally did and asked him about it, he said that i had said that his coat was dorky (the previous winter). it broke my heart. sweet, sweet K was going around cold because he didn't want me to think he was a dork. i didn't even remember saying that to him. of course, i went and bought him a cool coat post haste - he still wears that one.

another time, we were on a road trip. this was way before we were married and during a time that neither of us were certain that we could even stand to be together. we were staying overnight at my best friend's apartment in nashville and there was another guy there, a philosopher - egads, with whom i was feeling a serious connection. K could tell and was pouting a bit. it bugged me.

he had left his toothbrush in the car and asked if he could borrow mine. i made a big deal about it, saying how gross that was to share a toothbrush (nevermind the fact that i could put his cock in my mouth). i really embarrassed him - and i really didn't care.

now we share a toothbrush all the time, but it took a long time before he would.

it still hurts my heart to think about how that must have hurt, how cold he must have been, and how sweet he is to me now. it's a prickly little reminder that i should watch what i say, because, even though he so often seems to tune me out - he really is listening.

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feeling much better...not quite dead yet...think i'd like to go for a walk...

so, melodrama has subsided. today i just feel fried and headachey. and it hurts a bit too. i promise not to turn this into a daily report on my maladies - there's probably some grandparent that you'd rather talk about that with.

++++++++++++++++++

i got married 14 years ago today.

not to k, though, unfortunately. he wouldn't come to the wedding (though he was invited). i wish he had come and pulled a john cusack with a boom box from the balcony of holy communion. that would have been awesome and i totally would have hauled ass out the back door hoping to meet him in the parking lot.

i knew i was fucking up, but i really didn't think i could get out of it. it was a fairy tale extravaganza of a wedding - i had my dream dress with a twenty foot antique belgian lace train, beautiful flowers - gardenias and white roses, a huge cake with a fountain in it (though the cake table was placed in front of one of those HORRIBLE lattice panels with FAKE FERNS woven in - can you tell i'm still pissed about that?), and about 1,000 guests. and it was so wrong. wrong, wrong wrong. the worst thing is that i knew it.

but, all's well that ends well, right? not that the marriage ended well (i was a total bitch, calling him in nashville from memphis at 3 in the morning to tell him i wanted a divorce after having promised him that we were only temporarily separating), but it did end for the best.

but the end, end - the now - couldn't really have happend any other way. and i wouldn't trade it for anything.

so, happy anniversary J. i'm sorry i hurt you. i so hope you're happy and well. i wish we could be friends.
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weepy day

i feel like crying. it's so stupid, but i feel weepy and sad and happy and worried and in-love and frightened and my heart is craving my lover in a way that sends electricity up and down my arms into my legs. i keep getting cold, not like a chill but more like a welling up of cold inside me - it gurgles up and heaves through me, then fades.

i'm having heart surgery on friday. and the anticipation is doing strange things to my mind and my body. i didn't sleep last night and the night before i woke up gasping for breath. as i gasped for breath K stroked my head and told me how much he loves me. all i've wanted to do for days is make love to him.

i'm going to be ok - it's actually not that big of a deal. and i haven't been afraid until the other day when i realized that i needed to do a living will. something hit me that made me know that i wanted to be alive. it's not that i haven't wanted to be alive before, but it's a different sort of longing for life that i've never experienced. and it mostly manifests itself when i think about K. i want to hold him and press my face into his chest and never go anywhere.

Three Times A Charm and Other Weekend Updates

It was a wonderful weekend. As my brother would say, the BEST WEEKEND EVER. I like to say that, even though others come to mind. Whatever - it was great.

I had promised K that we would go camping this weekend, but in light of the impromptu trip to the beach and the previous weekend in Philadelphia, I just really wanted to stay home. We busted our asses for so long getting the backyard ready for the graduation party, but we haven't really gotten to enjoy it yet - haven't even used the firepit since the patio was laid.

So, I suggested an itenerary of creative loafing instead of lugging all our gear into the wilds. We built a fire Friday night and grilled out - listening to Shawn Mullins and Norah Jones by the candlelight. It was so peaceful and romantic. We watched a bit of The Return of the Jedi (trying to get refreshed before we go see the current release) and fell asleep before we got a chance to make love - but it was a peaceful sleep.

In the morning we rectified the sleeping mistake and then fixed our ritual Saturday brunch. We realized that our baby puppy had never been swimming, so we packed up both pooches, the backgammon game and a gallon of sangria and headed out to Herb Parson's lake where there's no leash law. They swam and we played. It was so beautiful, though it did make us nostalgic for our days in the restaurant biz when we had weekdays off and would have the whole park to ourselves. I even got to do a little "hand-magic" for K - he was nervous, but I get a thrill out of exhibitionism, so he let me do the "job."

We headed home about four and K fixed a pizza for us before it was time to get to the gallery for the Drew Holcomb show. [aside: DREW HOLCOMB ROCKS!!!! he is officially my new music crush - love him, love him, love him!!!!!! http://www.drewholcomb.com] The gallery was full of young blonde girls wearing lots of eyeliner and teddies (is it 1985 again?). Most of them, I heard later, go to 2nd Pres. Interesting.

After Drew's show, we scooted over to the Buccaneer to see the Secret Service [Justice Naczycz is another music crush - so much better when you actually know the musician I find!]. It was like a reunion - K's best friend was there (being the self-centered guy that we can't decided whether to resent or not since he has a brain tumor) and his best friend's ex-girlfriend whom we all wish he had married.

An old acquaintance of K's was unabashedly flirting with him. He's hot, so I understand why she couldn't help it - it was funny when he introduced me.

Three time's a charm! I love days like these!!!! And then it was goodnight.

Sunday was beautiful again. I made french toast and we ate on the deck, as a new addition to the ritual. Adding vanilla to the eggs makes it extra delicious.

We watered flowers and played gin for a couple of hours and then drove out to Atoka for our business partner's birthday. I haven't laughed so much in ages. Our partner's brother was one-of-a-kind. He is a true redneck, telling perfect pitched stories about rolling down the hill in a tractor tire while the "sha-yed" (not a garage 'cause it ain't attached to the house) burned because of the excess glue he had used while fixin' his bike tire (something about lighting the glue helps the tire seal up, I think). He ia so, so funny!

Then back home to finish out the Jedi.

Idyllic weekend.

To Tell or Not To Tell

I had a strange experience yesterday evening. I told a friend that I like to blog and she said wow me too and asked for my blogger address. I dunno, but I sort of freaked out. I mean, what is this really? And to whom am I writing?

Is a blog a journal? It would seem that that would be private, or at least anonymous. But this really isn't either of those things. I suppose it's just a collection of thoughts, but that's what I'm worried about: the nature of my thoughts.

As I've mentioned before, I think I'm a bit schizophrenic. Not in the clinical way, just in my opinions/thoughts/feelings. I'm a walking juxtaposition. And it scares me. Does it just really mean that I'm a hypocrite or a mamby pamby or wishy washy? I don't think the latter two - but I'm actually worried about the former. It's not that I say things or do things that I don't mean or that are really true for me (ugh, I hate that phrase "true for me," maybe I mean true of me). It's that those things so often don't seem to be possible genuine simultaneous actions or feelings. I thought that as I grew older I'd become more consistent in my views, yet the opposite has happened.

So, anyhow, it kind of freaks me out to think about people I know reading my garbage, though I do know of a couple of people who occasionally check in on this highly trafficked blog (ha ha).

Oh boy am I hating this entry - but I read somewhere to just go with and let yourself be embarrassing and stupid. So here it is.

Welcome Amoreena, now you'll really know how cuckoo I am and now you can worry about trusting me with your money!

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So Not Cool

I am so not cool.

I don't know if I ever was cool. I used to think that I was, but that was probably just an illusion of youth. I have never been very stylish (though I do have a nice hairstyle), and I never know what the hip movies, bands, or clubs are. Is cool still cool or is there something cooler than cool now that I haven't heard of? Hip, maybe? Phat? Oh please don't tell me that's it!

Funny thing is, I have several friends who declare me to be their "cool friend." This absolutely cracks me up (and I'm sure you're rolling on the floor if you know me!). Maybe it's because I don't really care about being cool - not because I'm too cool to think about it, but because I forget to think about it. Maybe it's because I don't have kids at my advanced age like so many of my friends.

I'm mostly aware of my low cool quotient when I'm at some place like the Hi Tone or the Buccaneer (great clubs, both!); or sometimes at my book club when I proffer a book that's so passe that everyone gags (and I'm not talking about the Divine Secrets, DaVinci Code or anything like that - maybe just something I heard about on NPR).

I have one friend, a guy friend, who's a couple of years older than me. He's a philosophy professor and is too cool, even for his own good. Anyhow, though, he's always got the niftiest new shirt from Banana Republic (maybe I should shop there?) and seems to know about the most obscure bands and whatnot. Even though he's 37 or 38, he still talks about canoeing with vodka soaked pineapple chunks as his lunch. He seems to work at it. Is that cool?

It's probably not cool to think about being cool or what's cool or who's cool. So, to avoid further embarrassment, I'll just chill out.
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buzz kill

so, mark felt is deep throat. it's a bit of a buzz kill, isn't it. i was heartened by the woodstein denial yesterday morning, but it seems it's true after all. bummer.

i guess i don't like the end of the era of intrigue about the whole thing. maybe i was hoping it was diane sawyer (does she smoke though? oh yeah NEITHER DID FELT - at least not since '43). slate's chatterbox does offer some interesting questions about the "lies" woodward has told over the years to cover d.t.'s identity and his vehement declaration that it wasn't anyone from the intelligence community (although, in these days one does wonder if intelligence community is a misnomer, right?). perhaps he protesteth too much, but i'll just remain the skeptic and keep my hopes alive that d.t. was an amalgamation. i mean, that's much more fun, isn't it?

Rock On

As my dad was on his way out of town headed toward the beach this morning, he called to check in with my husband, who is his VP of Operations (sweet gig). My husband jokingly said that we'd see them down there. And lo and behold Daddy thought it was a great idea!!! Yahoo, an impromptu trip to the beach - FREEE!!!! Bubye.

Everybody's Got One

So, at about 8:30 last night I get a call from my mother. She was returning my call from earlier so I had to take it. Normally I would let voice mail get it - a habit cultivated from years of her alcoholism, though she's "sober" now. My husband was supposed to have taken her ice chests by her house earlier and had forgotten. She's headed to the lake for the holiday weekend so she really did need them.

Anyway, my normally saccharine mother was very curt. Sometimes this is a baiting technique she uses before unloading all of her incessant, interminable, and totally self-generated woes. She cannot stop herself from maintaining contact with her ex-husband the drunk felon (now serving time for his 1000th DUI). He's so awful, and I imagine that it was a conversation with him that prompted this evening's doldrums.

Deep sigh.... This time, however, in response to my two obligatory prods, she declares that she just can't talk to me because I always criticize her. That word "criticize," for my mother, is akin to murder. God forbid!

In a moment of clarity - who knows how - I just said "fine, goodbye."

And then I begin to feel like shit. I mean, I don't want her to be miserable, angry with me or anything, but I just can't fix her and I don't want to try either.

Have you heard that joke about the dude that goes to the doctor and says "doc it hurts when i do this" to which the doc replies, "so don't do that." That pretty much sums up both of us - except she's going to just keep doing what hurts. I think she actually likes it.

But I'm done with it.

Get On With It

I'm going to go ahead and do my entry for the day so that I can get on with the interminable thesis writing that has often of late been sacrificed to the god of blog.

We "lost" another artist today at the gallery. His work was, admitedly, crap, but he sells so much during our holiday show that I thought he could be a cash cow for the gallery. I am glad, though, that our clients seem to have a discerning and sophisticated palate - enough, at least, to ignore the crap. I just wish they'd spend more on the good stuff.

It's really hard to keep my chin up sometimes. Artists are so fickle and undependable and often only want to "help" if it means they can tell someone their stuff sucks. It pretty much undermines the whole "cooperative gallery" concept that we've got going on. Don't get me wrong, I have my superstars for sure. I just hate it that they have to shoulder the entire responsibility of being the "good artists" while others, who may sell as well or better, never lift a finger beyond the absolute requirement. But, I suppose, that's life, right? I've only worked one or two places where that wasn't the modus operandi.

Ah, the glamourous, chic and oh-so-exhausting art world!!

The Quest for Eric Estrada Teeth

Note to self (though it's irrelevant now) and to anyone else looking for advice on the subject:

DO NOT FUCKING GET BRACES WHEN YOU'RE 34. The orthodontists are used to dealing with teenagers so they don't give good drugs for the hideously horendously excruciating ridiculous pain. I need a joint. Fuck that - I need some CRACK!!!!!!

Towards More Picturesque Speech

Stupid, Silly, Pithy or Whatever Things I've Overheard During the Last Two Weeks:

• "Overheard" at the airport (about 500 times): "Maintain control over your carry-on items to prevent introduction of dangerous articles by unknown persons."

Ok, so much is wrong with this! A) maintain control? is your carry-on likely to jump up and flail around? B) introduction of dangerous articles? just too silly! C) unknown persons? this seems to imply persons that cannot be known, like, uh, aliens (of the the ET sort, of course, not Mexicans or Arabs), and if they're unknown, would you know they had made an introduction? How about: "Don't let strangers put shit in your bags!" This gobbledy-gook is likely the product of some over-educated, under-employed creative writing MFAer getting her rocks off at her stupid and disappointing technical writing job.

• Overheard standing in line to get my cap and gown, spoken by a fellow soon-to-be-college-graduate: "Yeah, I kicked him out on his butt last week, but he said he had a right to see his children and anyways his parents own the house, so I can't really say nuthin'. And so I told him to get his ass up off the couch and fix the kids some dinner and maybe vaccuum the fucking floor or something. He better have not drank up all the beer before I get home. I'm gonna drink a six-pack on the way so I'll be drunk enough to deal with him when I get there."

Ah, nothing like a college education to separate us from the brutes!

• Spoken by my sister the house-sitter: "I think those two bottles of bloody mary mix were expired - it made me puke all afternoon."

Do you think, just maybe, it was the gallon of vodka in the bloody mary mix that made you sick?

• Spoken by same sister: "I didn't tell you that Mother's cocker spaniel would also be staying the weekend because I knew you wouldn't like it."

Um, if you knew I wouldn't like it WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BRING THAT NASTY BEAST INTO MY HOUSE TO RUIN MY COUCH?????!!!!!

• Spoken by the friend driving us around Philadelphia (to which none of us had been before) while I got progressively more and more carsick: "No, we didn't get a map, and I hate to ask directions. I just have a feeling this is the right way to go."

RALPH!!!

• Spoken by same friend who brought her nine year old daughter to a party to which we arrived at 10:30 pm (after, of course, having gotten completely lost): "She was quite well behaved, don't you think?

I'm not a big kid fan, and this was almost more than I could handle. They let her run amuk and just chit chat with everyone at the (very adult) party for several hours - easily convinced that she wasn't bothering anyone. I nearly had a nervous breakdown because our arrival at said party with said nine year old implied our complicity in and approval of this situation. Egads!

Tits So Funny

I think it rather hilarious that the posting ending in "should I show my tits?" has gotten the most commentary (though, clearly six is no big score!). I guess that's cool, though. If there's one thing I like about my body, it's "the girls."

I feel lucky to be busty and so I have a wonderful collection of what my husband calls "booby shirts" that I pull on for special occasions. Frankly, I don't mind if people don't look past my chest, cause the rest is not so perfect. They may as well dwell on the positive part of my appearance. I mean, I'm no dog, but I'm certainly not svelt. I think my eyes are nice and one day when I get these fucking braces off I intend to have Eric Estrada (glow in the dark and perfectly straight) teeth. But for now, you can check out the boobs....

Another reason, besides their size, that I like my boobs is something pretty much no one gets to see. I have a skin condition called Vitaligo where something "eats" the pigment in my skin. It 's almost completely symetrical on my both sides of my body - including my boobs. There the de-pigmentation is in the shape of a butterfly and under a black light it's really, really cool (glows since it's white).

Well, you may think it's silly, but I figure I may as well celebrate these "flaws" and get a kick out the cards I've been dealt! Right?!
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A Hole In My Belly

Well, I've admitted to y'all that I'm cruising the parenting blogs. And now I'm cruising the infertility blogs, since I was feeling a bit silly in my voyeurism. But, frankly, I'm more comfortable with the parents. It's odd.

I may be the only infertile woman around who, though not seeking any alternative form of fertilization or baby acquisition, knows all the words to Barney, Blue and Veggie Tales (I really like Veggie Tales). Everyone suggests (ad nauseum, actually, and sometimes to the point of rudeness) that we should keep our minds open to adoption. I don't think that's in the cards - for lots of reasons that I'm too weary to outline today. (Gimme time, though, it's one of my favorite soap boxes to stand on.)

Maybe I'm more comfortable with the parents' blogs because they seem to be dealing with concrete, here and now, stuff. It seems to me, as someone who really has been in their shoes, that the infertile community often is displaced, by themselves or by society - who knows, from the real world - living every moment in anticipation of a maybe. It's not that their situation isn't real - God knows I know how REAL that agony and pain and disappointment is - but it seems that all too often infertile women allow their lives to be entirely shaped by this thing: infertility. We are, once again, allowing ourselves to be defined by our biology. It's a dangerously slippery slope backward.

It seems to me that before IVF, IUI, etc. women were forced to come to terms with the maybe, which often turned into a no. It's not that these medical advances are bad, but I think they often string us along and string us out. Reading these infertility blogs reminded me of how consuming the quest for a child can become. And this is not always a good thing. It's not that hoping for a child, even working toward conception, is a bad thing. It's that it seems so often to drain joy out of the creation of life in a way that can be scarring and can make you look back on that part of your life with only memories of the negatives of the experience.

Sure, those negatives can eventually be replaced by the ecstasy of motherhood, but what if they're not? What are you left with? Bitterness, anger and a wasted year or two years? That would be a pity. I say, let's embrace our bodies and work on accepting them. This doesn't mean we can't use the wonders of medicine to try to change our course, but do it with joy, do it with peace - then the whole experience will be creative and reflective of the extraordinariness of the whole of life.

For me the bittersweetness of the failure to conceive shaped my life - in ways I would never have expected - in wonderful, painful, tender and searing ways. I am a better person because of it. I might have been a good mother, I like to think I would have been. I am, though, definitely more of a woman because of the hole in my belly.
*

It's an ALMOST done deal

I am officially a college graduate. OK, not officially, but I walked (with all the "pomposity of the occasion" per instructions of the University president) on Friday night.

It was both more, and less, exciting than I had anticipated - as with most big things in my life. I actually really enjoyed wearing all the honor cords that I had accumulated - though the comments from fellow students began to wear on me (and the people standing in line with me for two hours waiting to walk in to the coliseum). I have come to terms with the fact that I'm a dork - a big ole dork - and that I dig academic recognition and achievement. I also know that those cords don't mean a hill of beans in the "real world" and that most of my bosses in the past (even the couple of good ones) probably only had a "C" average in college, if they went.

The best part of the evening (besides the great salad at Cafe Society afterward) was the unexpected award that I got. I was given the "Margaret Saither Award for Outstanding School of Arts Graduate." Coolio! I'm pretty proud of it.

The night after graduation was the party. We had been planning and working toward this party for a couple of months and were really relying on the weather to cooperate since the band was supposed to play outside on the deck and we wanted to show off our newly constructed patio with the firepit. We bit our nails all week hoping that the forecasters were wrong about the 95% chance of thunderstorms Saturday day and night. And they were! Yeeeehaaaa.

It was a great party if I do say so myself. It made me very grateful and humbled to see how many different kinds of friends that I have. Life is good.

Now back to that thesis.......(yep, took an Incomplete, hence the walking but not actually graduating). Let the wailing and gnashing of teeth resume.

Brain Cloud

I only had two vodka sodas last night, but my head is KILLING me. Am I getting too old for a mild little party of two vodkas? Shit, I hope not!!!

This is my graduation week. I'm a "non-traditional" student who started college at 30 (great story, maybe I'll tell it sometime), and I have mixed feelings about doing all this geeky "senior stuff." I skipped the "senior party" last night, partly because I wasn't sure if my husband was invited (and that would suck way too bad to have to brave the throng of 21 year olds without someone to whisper sarcastic mean comments to) and partly because it was the season finale of the Amazing Race (oh MAN do I want to be on that show BAD!!!!!).

But, Monday night I did got to the Honors Program dinner at Cafe Society (sadly, sans hubby), mostly because my friend is the director and she pretty much demanded that I go. It was nice. I was really worried that I wasn't going to be able to have wine, but we did - what a relief.

Still, it was weird when it came to the toast/roast part of the evening. Most of the other students, in fact, with the exception of one who is known to be one of those people who can (and does) go to class drunk and still make good grades (but, she's from New Orleans, so everyone seems to think this is perfectly normal - one of the nice things about going to a Catholic school), all were toasted by their professors.

"Anna is the most amazing, perfect, sweet, beautiful, saint, er, education major CBU has ever seen."

"Jeffrey has the amazing ability to always be right in all of his rocket science classes."

"Lauren just has the sweetest disposition - and she's so smart!"

Aside from rocket science dude (about whom I'll just have to take the professor's word, since, of course, I've never crossed paths with him), I have to agree - these are some pretty neat kids.

I, on the other hand, was roasted. Two of my professors, one of whom is a very good friend outside of school, let me have it. The friend especially. This would have been all well and good if ANYBODY else had taken the "roasting" option so seriously, but NO, I get to be the old student AND the one who, according to Dr. Friend, makes "snotty comments about her fellow students." Squirm. My "accolades", juxtaposed against the GLOWING testimony to all the other students' brilliance and high moral character, were a bit jarring. This was clear enough for my friend, the director, to apologize the next day for having read them all aloud.

Oh, well, I can take my lumps - I certainly dish 'em out (apparently).

I've got a baccalaureate, president's reception and finally the graduation ceremony to get through before I can THROW DOWN at my party on Saturday (please, oh please God, don't let it rain...). Let's hope I can handle more than two vodkas without getting a "brain cloud."

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Nightmare=Reality

So, I had a terrible dream in the wee hours of this morning. I dreamt that I woke up at 9:09am to realize that my sociology exam was HALF OVER. I was frantic. Getting dressed like lightning, figuring I could get there and knock it out before the 10am end time. Whew, I thought, when I woke up at six thirty.

I stumbled up to school, still a little bleary eyed, but ready to take what promised to be a gimme exam.

Funny, no one was in the classroom. And this class is made up of a bunch of silly freshmen who are ALWAYS in there fretting about conflict theory, biting their nails about tests that any 12th grader could pass.

I headed over to the in-room computer to check the time of the exam. Wonder of wonders - it was last Thursday!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In Hot Water

So, that didn't go over so well. Who knew hubby was gonna be all sentimental or particular? He didn't think the happy birthday card was "acceptable" (actually, he said HELL NO!) - that is, at first. I had to throw a fit and point out what a brilliant idea it was, and how, of course, his mom is so cool and funny and hip (nice touch, huh?) that she would get a big ole kick out of it.

I wore him down. But I think it's mostly because he didn't have a better idea (I suppose I could have suggested MAKING her a card - since he is an artist and all, but that would be giving in. And you bet your bootie I wasn't going to do that - not after his initial reaction!).

So, anyhow, the card's still sitting on the dining room table and he just called her instead...But she did ask about her card. Maybe I'm wrong about her being cool enough (since getting a card obviously mattered - YUCK). Do you think there are any of those sappy, crappy ones on markdown?

I'm a great daughter-in-law!

***

Happy Birthday Mom, I Suck

So, I bought my mother - and my husband's mother, and my step-mother - birthday cards instead of Mothers' Day cards. I figure, having to read the crap that they put in the MD cards is much worse than getting a BD card for the holiday. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate all these women and want to make sure to mark the (contrived) holiday at least so they'll know I remembered them. Actually, I appreciate them enough not to bore them with the ridiculously florid and sappy language that would NEVER come out of my mouth.

The step-mother is gonna think it's funny. She's no fan of Hallmark (though the best thankyou note writer in the world). Hopefully the other mothers will get the joke and not be insulted by the reality that I just got to the freakin' store too late to snatch up the funny or sincere cards.

In my typical birthordered sangfroid, I'd wager that my goofy brother doesn't even remember - he never does. And then my stupid card'll look great!!!!

Can I Get An Amen?

I honestly don't know how to solicit, elicit or attract commentary, or commenters - I really, really hate the 'word' commentator because commentate is not a word so the doer of said non-existent verb, also does not exist: non existence by non association - ok I looked it up and commentate is in fact a word, but I'm willing to bet, though my inadequate etymology reference leaves me wanting, that it is a malapropism, if not a pandering instance like the addition of 'ain't' to the dictionary - to this blog (you forgot that I was in the middle of a sentence, didn't you?). I don't know if I really care (not about your forgetfulness, but about the comments).

I'm not about to e-mail my friends (the two or three that are computer literate enough to find a blog, or know what one is) and say, "please, please come read my rambling musings (a newly overused and somewhat contrived word, I think), and give me your thoughts...." It's hard enough to get people to read my shit when I print it out on clean white (bright white, I like bright white) paper.

So what do I have to do? Show my tits?
******************************************************

Schizophrenic Writer

So, I'm on day three, or four, is it? of this blogging thing, and just as I had feared: I'm terribly boring. And this ain't so great considering the fact that I consider myself a writer.

I have the worst time trying to decide WHAT TO WRITE ABOUT. I imagine that's a common problem, to some extent. For me, the problem is generated in large part by the fact that I am two people (at least) and I find myself exposing my severest contradictions in my writing. I want to write authentically, but is seems that what is authentic for me on the one hand is a bunch of bull, a total lie, a misrepresentation, or a half-truth on the other hand. Does this make sense?

Half of me is a lusty liberal who likes to smoke pot and cuss like a sailor. Most of this "me's" friends are gay, atheist, pro-choice and voted for John Kerry. The other me goes to the silkiest of silk-stocking churches, and has close friends who send their kids to evangelical schools, vote Republican, are staunchly pro-life, and believe that homosexuality is a sin.

I'm a mixture of both sets of friends. And this inhibits my writing. Half of the stuff I write is protestant theology (I know, snore), the other half is reflective essays - which are a bit whitewashed (though quite good, I've been told by people who actually count - I've one four writing prizes in the past year). I've either got to find a way to tell my stories without cleaning them up (maybe I'll use a pseudonym) or I've got to get brave and just be who I am. Yikes!

Oops

While I was working away on my thesis this morning, I got an e-mail from my history professor inquiring about my end of term paper for her course. Oh shit! I thought it was due on THIS Thursday not LAST Thursday. This wouldn't be so bad, but I already have shown myself to be a lackadaisical student with her by turning in my midterm late. I'm really not, actually, lackadaisical - just a bit overwhelmed this semester. What I hate is that she knows nothing else of me.

So, all that to say that I must now interrupt the meager momentum that I had going on my thesis to write a paper about WWI - UGH!!!!

Next...

So, I'm back in the lab. Trying desperately to begin this thing. This is getting worse by the day.

I really want to be at home. Hubby is laying a brick patio in the backyard for the graduation party that will be a farce if I don't get this thing done. It's really beautiful and I love watching how industrious he is with everything that he does. I don't know why it amazes me so much how he can figure stuff out. He's very patient with his projects. Unlike me. He never rushes anything (sometimes this is very annoying, but in the end, he always comes out smelling like a rose - which is also annoying at times).

-----

I have to come to the lab to work instead of using my home computer. Partly it's because the dinosaur at my house is just so slow. It has some kind of gremlin that is necessitated by the layers and layers of firewalls and spam guards. Partly, though, it's because I'm so distractable. I have to leave my e-mail software on at home so that I can't check my mail from here - I have to force myself not to look (for the hundredth time) at the e-vite for my party - I have to grit my teeth and refuse to log onto the purtymommy blog (strange, strange addiction).

But... I really don't like sitting next to people in the lab. Invariably people want to chit chat with each other or loudly work on a group project, breaking my already fragile concentration - or they take phone calls and don't leave the room, affording me the unpleasant situation of listening to half a conversation - or they listen to headphones thinking they're "in private" forcing me to partake in the tinny sound of rap music at a decibel just below comprehension and just above "tuneoutability." Finally, it's always cold in here. I think I'll start bringing a blanket soon.

Still Waiting

So, I'm back. Three hours later and nothing written (at least nothing on the thesis). I thought maybe I should just write something here. Maybe my desire for attention will fuel my whatever - juju - or something.

Here's the topic:

I'm interested in how the doctrine of predestination informs the social conscience of americans. I think that the idea of election (meaning, God has chosen from the beginning, some to be saved - elected into God's kingdom - and others to be damned) feeds into several characteristics of American society, specifically capitalism (a la Max Weber), individualism (Barth - I think), the spiritualization of christianity, and nationalism.

[I always forget one of these four things - perhaps that's a sign]

Basically, the whole thing is about dualism. In capitalism there is necessarily a loser - see Adam Smith - and this seems to parallel the notion of election quite nicely. The rub is that our thinking about the necessity (whether explicit [not usually] or not) of a losing "class..." easily morphs into an idea that there is something about the losing class that makes them inevitably losers. We, then, aren't required to do anything about helping them, because if God wanted them to be rich, or even not poor, God would have made them that way.

Individualism too is fed by this idea. We (the elect) are "set apart" from the rest of humanity. The ascetic character of Calvinists has been outlined at length by Weber and others. (But I think I'll explicate their arguments for the sake of making the paper longer - terrible huh?)

Ok - next

Spiritualization of religion/Christianity. I like this one the best I think.

What this is is the separation of the this life from the next in such a way that we don't pay attention to what we do here/now. Since our salvation is a done deal that has nothing to do with anything that we do or don't do, we don't do. This plays out in two (rather diverse) ways: one, in the "lower class" churches, it's the pie in the sky in the sweet by -n-bye notion. Escapism. Two: in the "upper class" churches it's a focus on the cultivation of spiritual mindedness - without the real-life groundedness of "how, then, shall we live?"

Finally, nationalism. This is the one I always forget, perhaps because it is a bit overworked at the moment due to the war and our dueling national guilt vs national patriotism mindsets as seen on Fox and MSNBC. My interest, though, is in this "American ideal" the "city set on a hill" thing that pervades the culture - even those who don't agree with "W" or the war or even Christianity. For better or worse, we see ourselves as a beacon of [fill in the blank] in the world. We're different - us vs. them.

And there ya go. This helps. Any thoughts you nameless, faceless people who probably won't come to this site anyhow?

Here We Go, But Not Really

So, I guess it begins here. It may as well.

I have been intrigued by this blogging thing and have lately found myself whittling away way too much time having the bizarre voyeuristic experience of reading people's blogs whom I know. It's a sort of anonymous cyber-peeping tom, though they know I, or at least someone, am/is watching. For some reason I have become totally wrapped up in one particular blog called purty mommy by an aquaintance of mine who is a mom (obviously). I'm not a mom, nor ever will be, but I just hang on her every word. It's not that I'm envious at all, I just am finding it fascinating reading about breast feeding (the one thing about motherhood that I kinda crave), attachment parenting (sounds AWFUL!!!), cleaning up spit-up..... Go figure. Perhaps it's because I'm that desperate to NOT be doing what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing......

I'm supposed to be writing my thesis and can't seem to get going, so I thought I would do this instead. Maybe it will get my juices going. At this point it's becoming both ridiculous and dire. I started out great guns at the beginning of the semester and had the absurd interruption of oral surgery in the middle of the semester - knocking me on my wide ass for almost two weeks! So all I've got is pages and pages of notes pasted from journals and a meandering thought process which just won't coalesce. However, I have rambled on about the subject to unsuspecting inquirers to such an extent in the last couple of days that I might just be on the precipice of beginning.

But, still, I'm typing away in this blog - that no one will likely read (seems kind of silly and mastubatory, but, what the hell). Ugh - don't know what my problem is!!!!