Thursday, August 31, 2006

Stop, Thief!

I have had a couple of nice and quiet weeks lately where the stress level is low and things seem a thousand times more manageable than before. School is out for a month. Got a raise at work and am getting full time hours till school starts. Boyfriend and I have made up-- kissy, kissy, smoochie, smoochie. The weight hasn't gone sky high (although admittedly I haven't weighed myself in a month- I'm trying to go by how my clothes feel and right now only one pair of tight pants feel shitty on me). The house is in a general state of tidiness and I’m making an effort to keep up on it. I feel pretty good. The moods have stabilized and I feel in control for once.

But that doesn’t explain my weird dream this week. I found myself at my parents’ house late in the evening and I was completely freaking out because I had not noticed until nine o’clock at night that all my credit cards, checks and my driver’s license had been stolen from my purse. I was frantically scrambling around, trying to find the lost/stolen hotlines to get everything canceled but I couldn’t complete any of the calls. My fat fingers kept misdialing and punching extra numbers. Several times I looked at my phone and could see a thousand numbers and symbols punched in over and over again. I was totally losing it.

I woke up in a panic and it took almost a half an hour to calm myself down. I was sweating and panting. I was so sure that something was wrong that I walked around the apartment mentally cataloging things. Everything was in its place, the cats were watching me intently for any sign of their tuna breakfast, and the sun was coming up over the horizon like every morning. Nothing was wrong. Sigh…

But I couldn’t quite shake that panicky feeling. I mentioned it in therapy the other day, much to the sheer delight of my counselor (she likes talking about my dreams, especially the reoccurring ones). She asked me what I thought it meant. I wasn’t entirely sure. “If everything is going well, and I’m not as depressed as I have been this year, why am I alarming myself in my dreams so badly?” I wondered. “It probably has something to do with your identity”, she said. “You’re in a state of flux-- lots of changes are happening to you.” Ah, and the light bulb clicks on. Between the weight loss and having to face the fact that I might actually be a pretty person underneath all this fat, the end of college looming in the next year, a possible engagement sometime soon, a new place to live… there are many, many changes to deal with. And my identity is shifting with each new item.

Something has been stolen though. All those defensive tactics I use to distance myself from people, to keep myself lonely and fat and depressed, those are being stripped away from me every time I turn around. It’s not an easy process and I seem to be fighting it every step of the way. Last night the boyfriend turned to me and said I was the most beautiful woman he’s ever been with. My little Galaxy Quest guys immediately went into defense mode and gathered around the rational side of my brain in a sort of wicked tribal dance where they seemed to bless and curse those incoming thoughts at the same time. They each had their right hands up to their right ears, smashing their palms in tightly, while their left hands were simultaneously cupped to their left ears as they listened intently to what he was saying to me. I think they are just as confused as I am. My identity is being chipped away at by thieves everywhere. I should be happy but it’s a very scary experience to go through. How can I be the beautiful girl? It’s not in me, it never was. And yet, something is there that others see. Something is definitely there. I'm just not sure what it is yet. The thieves are stealing the outer layers and what I'm left with isn't exactly identifiable yet nor is it completely in one piece.

Do The Happy Dance

My therapist wants me to make a list of things that make me happy so I can remember them when my thoughts are in a downward spiral. I came up with 50 little random items which I'll pare down to about 10 or 15 and post them somewhere conspicuous from now on.

1. Sunshine on my face
2. When one of the cats wants physical attention from me & not just because he’s hungry or whiny
3. eating fruit, especially berries
4. walking in nature
5. running a mile
6. waking up refreshed without an alarm blasting me away
7. cuddling, smooching, hugging
8. an outfit that makes me feel sexy
9. someone’s attention when I’m wearing that something sexy
10. good grades
11. understanding a new and difficult concept in class
12. calls and letters from family and friends
13. packages I ordered containing clothes, c.d.’s or books
14. fitting into my foundation underwear with no pulling or stretching
15. having a quick comeback for a rude and random comment
16. being validated for my feelings
17. amazing sunrises and sunsets
18. Indian summers
19. making an marvelous dinner
20. eating vegetarian meals
21. Oregon chai tea
22. when respectable democrats are elected to office
23. inspiring books
24. insightful documentaries
25. The Daily Show
26. belly dancing music
27. finishing a knitting project and giving it to someone
28. nailing the right notes with very little squeaking on my violin
29. enjoying myself for the day & not caring what other people think about me
30. a day without bills to pay
31. cute animals (that would be the girly side of me)
32. clear skin
33. a good hair day
34. good news from friends and family
35. a date with Mr. Big that makes us both content
36. the smell of freshly cut grass
37. completing an apartment improvement project by myself
38. a tidy apartment with room to breathe in
39. marking off done items on my to-do lists
40. when my shift at work is over for the day
41. lazy Sundays
42. country drives and new adventures
43. thrift store scores
44. attending concerts and music festivals
45. marimba music
46. quiet Christmas nights at my parents' house
47. snowfalls that I don’t have to drive in
48. the first warm days of spring every year
49. going barefoot
50. laughing until my tummy aches

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Hey CBS: You People Suck!

I like Katie Couric just as she is. We don't need any more lollipop heads in the media, real or digitally enhanced! I'm glad you were called out on your stupidity. The American public is catching on (especially the curvy girls) and this shit will not fly in the future. Get it right otherwise I have way more channels to watch with tons of other sponsors to grab my attention. Monique and the Oxygen Channel are far more appealing to me and my fat ass!



The Washington Post article is here (free registration required).

Punkin: 1, Sweet Tooth:1

Q: What do Costco and a wicked sweet tooth equal?

A: Disaster, plain and simple.

I went to Costco since I received coupons in the mail and one of them was for those Swiffer wet cloth refills (just bought me a Swiffer and she make me so very, very happy! That tidy person inside is bustin’ out, I tell ya). Unbeknownst to me, the coupons didn't start ‘til September 8th. So here I was, already inside Costco, having fought tooth and nail for a parking spot (during the middle of the day on a Wednesday no less!) and I didn't really feel like walking right out again. I grabbed some Propel water (at 41 cents per 16 oz. bottle, there simply is no better deal in town), some sugar snap peas, when I blacked out and woke up in the candy aisle.

For those of you unfamiliar with Costco or Sam's club, this is no ordinary candy aisle. Oh hell no. This aisle carries every major chocolate bar- in bulk. All the local, small time vending machine companies get their candy from here. Want a Hershey's Bar? How about 48 of them for $15? Feel like some skittles? Go get the cart because your back cannot carry that 20 pound bag around the store for more than a few minutes (exaggerating here, but only a tad). So I'm staring at the oodles upon oodles of candy, wishing I wasn't so fat (I hate when people see me buy "naughty" foods. I may have been carrying a huge box of Propel and a medium sized bag of healthy peas, but damn it, the minute I put a bag of chocolate on top, I’m the stereotypical fat girl who can’t control herself). I bowed to the wicked sweet tooth and bought a big ol’ bag.

Remember at Halloween when you would sort out all your candy into ‘really good’, ‘kind of good’, and ‘I’ll eat it only when everything else is gone’ candy piles? This bag of candy is filled with all the ‘really good’ candies. We’re talking bite sized Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, Hershey’s, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups… I mean the really, really good stuff! I took it home, had the equivalent of two regular candy bars after lunch, and luckily my stomach told me it had enough. I stared at the rest of the bag (roughly 145 out of 152 pieces left) and thought to myself, “How the hell am I gonna get rid of all of this?" Luckily I have a boyfriend with rock hard abs and a crazy metabolism, not to mention a nine year old son whose metabolism matches that of his dad’s. Plus my coworkers never ever turn down candy. So I bagged up what was left (minus a small Ziploc bag of candy for my lunches) and promptly took them to the car.

I’m not proud of buying so much freaking candy. But I am proud of myself for not letting it sit around the house with me. This is the first time I was tempted to buy so much of something. I’ve been really good about portion sizes (especially ice cream). Perhaps that’s why I’ve maintained my weight loss now for almost a year.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

What's More Pathetic?

Reading this blog: trainwrecks and realizing that my two blogs could qualify for a mention or that fact that they haven't?

Am I just being a drama queen again?

Blah, I don't really care cause this is me, warts and all.


That site just brings out the catty, bitchy, gossip inside me. It's my new guilty pleasure.

Friday, August 25, 2006

I Kicked Summer Semester's Sorry Ass

Subject: Geog
Title: Global Environmental Change
Grade: A

Subject: Math
Title: University Math
Grade: A-

Semester GPA: 3.85

Start Clapping. I'm serious.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Remember Where You Are, Where You Came From, and Where You're Headed

I made the mistake of going to Macy's yesterday to shop for back to school clothes. Let's just skip the whole price thing for a minute ($70 cropped pants? Are they serious!?!?!) and talk about sizes. I have never shopped at Macy's before. I didn't know how the store was laid out. Of course I had to walk past the perfume counters and massive junior's section to get to women's but then it took me 5 minutes to understand I wasn't in the Women's section... I was in the women's section (which is usually labled misses, but whatever!). I was so confused since I saw 8's on the same racks as 16's and 18's. So I snagged me a sales lady and asked what the deal was. Looking down at me and through me at the same time, she said that there was a Women's section around the corner and at the end of the store. "But what about the 16's and 18's?", I asked. "The Women's section has those with W's next to them", she replied as she turned her back on me. Then you know you're in the right spot, the silence between us whispered. So I sulked off to the Women's section with a white size 16 blouse from the women's section just to see the comparison. Once there, I grabbed a good half dozen blouses, 2 pairs of pants and a dress, (all with the scarlet W on them), and went into the oversized dressing room. Besides the over priced crop pants (did I mention the adorable bows and lace trim?) nothing fit. Everything was huge and looked like a potato sack on my body! The same white blouse with the damned-to-hell W on it was a freaking tent! So here I was, reduced to trying on things in the Women's section that looked horrible on me (Punkin's one and only rule about clothes shopping: Whether it's $5 or $50... it must look absolutely fantabulous on me or I don't buy it. There will be no more hiding of my curves!), ticked off at not feeling good enough to stand up to the expectation that I scram out of the little people section, when I realized that the little size 16 blouse was the only thing that fit me (and very well, I might add). As I was changing back into my own clothes, I glanced down at the tag on my own jeans and it dawned on me: I was wearing size 14 jeans from the Gap. Remember the tightness of those 22/24's two years ago? Remember deciding to lose weight rather than go buy the more comfortable 26/28's? Remember?!?! I bought the smaller size 16 blouse and walked out the store with my head held high. Keep your stinkin' W's, I thought to myself, I no longer need 'em. Next time, I’m gonna shop the woman’s section and act like I belong there. Because I do.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Comic Relief

It's been quite some time since I last visted stuffonmycat.com. I checked it out recently and found some great entries such as the styrofoam kitty, 'try me' cat box, Princeton as the Phantom, Caesar tanning, the fruit bowl, and my new favorite: Clovis the Drowned Cat. I think Clovis gives Hailey a run for her money as the best cat picture on the site.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Untitled

© 2006 Punkin Dunkin Productions

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Further Proof That I Was Born in the Wrong Era

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Strangling the Butterfly Into Submission Only Gets You One Dead Butterfly: Letting Go & Learning to be Okay

"Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you." ~Nathaniel Hawthorne



© 2005 Punkin Dunkin Productions

I learned this technique from a friend (or rather borrowed it to fit my own situation) and for some reason I always remember to do it after the fact. When it feels like a relationship you have with someone is out of control- or rather you’re having a hard time communicating, getting what you want, understanding them, making changes that benefit you both and nothing seems to work, you should picture releasing the problem from your grips. Actually holding up your fist and opening and closing it, picturing the problem floating away, is a good start. I first used this technique when I was having a difficult time with a lover last year and I was constantly struggling to rope him in and “make it work”. I pictured him as a butterfly and I let my hand open and close again, allowing him fly in and out and flutter about, rather than just grasping at him and breaking a wing or ending his little life (not that I want to snuff you out or anything, Alder dear). When you think about it, a butterfly is a thousand times more beautiful as a free creature fluttering in and out of your vision rather than stuck pinned on a white board underneath some glass. Wouldn’t you agree?

So sometimes I remember this butterfly metaphor when I find my thoughts spiraling out of control and everything feels like a weight bearing down on me. But more often than not, I don’t remember to let go until it’s too late and I’ve worked myself into yet another emotional frenzy. (Oh, to have a better use for all that emotional power I can create so easily!)

I’ve tried slowly to begin to see my relationship with Mr. Big as another butterfly. I want to just let us be. If I don’t think to hard, overreact and pout, overanalyze and imagine crazy shit going down, if I just trust, if I love, if I enjoy the time we are together and also try and enjoy the time when we’re not together, if I don’t worry ‘bout the future, or the past, or whether he’s going to dump me or ask me to marry him, if I just breathe once in a while…




Perhaps the butterfly will just sit on my shoulder and give me what I want. I don’t have to constantly pull out the scalpel and try to dissect it, do I?






Am I having relationship issues? Yes.

Am I having issues in all areas of my life? Yes.

Am I still working on the depression thing? Yes.

I'm not even close to being healed (or as I like to call it- being myself) am I? Hell, no.

So it might be a good idea cut Mr. Big some slack, know that I've got to work on me for a while, and relax just a wee bit in our relationship, right? Yeah, sure.

Let me say that there are two sides to every story (NOTE: I AM NOT EXCUSING HIS BEHAVIOR) and Mr. Big certainly does have his side to things. I can imagine that it’s difficult to put up with me right now. I am not the bubbly and flirtatious person that I can be when I'm normally doing well. I get easily offended and I question the motives of everyone around me. I'm self absorbed and clingy. I let my thoughts spiral out of control and I'm weepy more that I'd like to admit. In short, I guess I'm trying to say that I don't think Mr. Big is necessarily bad for me (in fact, many days I'm convinced I'm the bad one- of course there should a protest over using value judgements like bad or good to describe us...). I wonder what life would be like right now if I wasn't depressed. There would certainly be issues between us (he mirrors my father's personality and it's very eerie) but I'd like to think that I could have better control over my thoughts and feelings and I would be better equipped to slide into the role of his girlfriend. He told me last night that he felt it was his job to make me happy. And I immediately corrected him. It’s no one’s job but mine. No one can give me true happiness if I can’t give it to myself (geez louise, that sounds like a horrible cliché). That’s just the way it works.

I’m trying to learn not to fight so hard. I feel like I’m fighting for things but it usually ends up that I’m fighting against these things in the end. I’m fighting against Mr. Big for a lot of reasons. Some I understand and some I don’t. My goal this week is to not fight so hard. I'm going to relax and try to find happiness in little things like our dinner together last night, this morning's sunrise, the fact that I get to see one of my best friend's this weekend, and the very fact that I have a ton of things to be thankful for. I'm not going to sit and overanalyse anything said or not said to me. I'm going to open and close my fist whenever I get into that panicky depressed mode. I'm going to let the butterfly out for air this week and I'm going to be happy about it. It's a skill that's going to take time. It's a skill that I need right now for all areas of my life. I'm going to be okay, I just need to not work so hard at fighting it all the time.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

An Inconvenient Definition: Atheism is Not a Four Letter Word!

Last week I saw “An Inconvenient Truth” for my geography class. I was profoundly affected to the point of being unable to speak for a good hour afterward. And I am already one of the converted ones. I’ve had enough exposure that I understand global warming and the consequences that we face. Still, the film knocked me on my ass.

It’s hard to explain how I felt: morose, doomed, angry, and hopeless… I didn’t walk away feeling good, that’s for damn sure. I think it had to do with the fact that the hope we should have been given to change our situation around didn’t come until the very end of the movie. The audience is hammered with evidence (to end the debate over whether global warming is real or imagined) but the solutions are almost an afterthought as part of the end credits. That was my only real beef with the film.

So I shared my reaction with a best friend of mine. I told him that Gore was essentially trying (and this is repeatedly pointed out by him in the film) to turn this from a political debate into an ethical one. Once we recognize the ethics of the situation, can we afford to stand around and do nothing? What will we tell our children when they ask why we sat on our hands? My friend said to me: “This is why I believe you aren’t truly an atheist.” Because of my (knee-jerk… hey, it’s not a bad thing in my eyes) reaction to the evidence of destruction of our planet and the empathy I had for animals and humans alike, he felt that I couldn't be -how do you say?- of a “godless” nature?

And here’s where a pet peeve of mine has reared it’s ugly head: Just because I am an atheist….


(Let’s pull out the most appropriate definition please:)

a. Disbelief in or denial of the existence of God or gods.
b. The doctrine that there is no God or gods.







... Does not mean that I have no morals and no conscience. I was offended when he said to me (slightly paraphrased), “you don’t have those atheistic values. If you did, you wouldn’t care what happened to anyone on earth.” Ooooookkkkkaaaaayyyy…

So I haven’t met too many atheists in my life, but I have yet to run into one that is indifferent about human life. From Ethical Atheist Dot Com comes this declaration: “An Ethical Atheist is someone who lives by a personal desire to do good things in their limited life on Earth. They don't believe in a God, religion, or an afterlife. But, that doesn't stop us from living an ethical life and attempting to co-exist with our fellow man in a peaceful, rational manner. We have many atheist, agnostic and religious friends.”

I would like to state to my religious friends and family members that just because I am not “saved” or I don’t believe in a creator, it does not mean that I am filled with apathy or hate for anyone else (save Pat Robertson... ooh here's a secret for all of you... I do like using someone's religion against them from time to time and Mr. Robertson is a perfect example. His disgusting comments are so anti-Christian I have to laugh every time he pops up in the news. I often say to myself, well if he believes in a God, he's got a lot of explaining to do when he dies. It's his problem, not mine). I am not a bad person. There is nothing wrong with me. I simply don’t believe. I still put my pants on one leg at a time, I burn chicken whenever I cook it, I prefer to procrastinate on filing my taxes, I like when the sun is shining down on me, and I bleed just like all of you. I'm not all that different from any of you. I was raised with an ethical framework (sometimes based on religion but more than not based on learning empathy through my parents) and I have carried that framework into adulthood, constantly questioning and updating it based on what I learn and what I experience every day.

Last time I checked there were no horns growing out of my head, but I haven't yet done my inspection for the day so I'll have get back to you all.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Babies On Da Brain


(Disclaimer: Before we begin, you should know that I am not pregnant. I do not plan on being pregnant in the next two or more years until I am done with both my undergrad degree and am well on my way through my master’s degree. I am not waiting for an “accident” to occur. I am taking proper precautions to make sure one does not happen. If you are worried about the content of the following post, you need to remember that I am just expressing my frustrations. I do not intend to follow them up with immediate action so please do not contact me about how it would be a major mistake for me to have a child right now. {And just so we're clear here} THIS MEANS YOU, MOM!)


Everywhere I look, I see babies. I see them in the grocery store, at school, on TV, on the internet, in a friend's email attachments, on cereal boxes and shampoo bottles, in the backseat of the car next to me while waiting at a red light, even at the Oregon Country Fair (and that’s why you aren’t seeing too many photos from that event. I took a bunch but I was terribly distracted by all the babies that kept crossing my path. I didn’t take pictures of them because parents are generally overly paranoid when it comes to that sort of thing). I’m not saying that babies are consuming my every waking thought… but they are definitely popping up a whole lot on the radar screen recently.

Here’s some background information for those who don’t know: I am 29 years old and in the last year of my undergraduate degree. I have no children, no spouse, and no mortgage. I feel like a nineteen year old fresh out in the world who has no clue what she’s doing most of the time. I don’t know why my car makes the funny noise that it does, I have a hard time remembering how to boil an egg correctly, I still eat spaghettio’s when I have to cook for myself, I clean the litter box when I feel like it rather than like every other day or third day, I’m not sure how my 401k works and whether I am utilizing it efficiently or not, and I’ve had ice cream for breakfast several days last month (mostly due to the weather). I rarely feel like an adult but somehow I manage to get the rent paid and get to work everyday and take upper division college classes whenever possible. So I am not a teenager and I am not planning on the unwed mother thing, (although with proper measures and a whole lot of maturity, I do believe that sort of thing can work), I have supposedly been around the block for a few years to know the demands that babies have on sleep, finances, time… basically every aspect of a mother’s life.

That being said, I still want a baby. Badly. The clock is ticking louder this year then ever before in my life. I’m not entirely positive why that is. According to one report, a woman’s chance of getting pregnant in a cycle is 50%. But for women between the age of 27 and 34, that chance drops to 40%. Ten percent isn’t all that much in the grand scheme of things, but oh my goodness, does it make a difference! And that could play a role in how I’m feeling. But I think a bigger part has something to do with my depression and one of the underlying causes I’ve been able to pinpoint in the last few months. I am depressed because I don’t feel as if I’m on the same time line as a lot of other people my age. There seems to be this culturally defined and accepted timeline for young people in our society: A person graduates high school at eighteen, goes through four years of college, gets a degree (unless graduate school calls), moves out into the big bad world, and struggles to jump up the ladder from all those shitty grunt work jobs. Soon a person is expected to marry “the one” just after landing their dream job. And then the babies start popping out once the ink is dry on a brand new mortgage. Our society and specifically the media makes it seem like all of this happens between the ages of 22 and 30 (unless we highlight the "desperate" attempts of a woman over the age of 30 trying to snag herself a man). I recognize that there infinite possibilities and technically everyone is different in their timelines. However, I feel like a failure for not following this prescribed timeline, even just a little bit. I’ll be 30 when I graduate with a degree. I don’t have a husband or children or a permanent place where I can paint the walls and start a vegetable garden. I feel like a drifter in my own life and it keeps me depressed.

Of course, that is the big catch-22. It seems like it would be a big mistake at this time for me to be in a family situation with my fragile disposition. I can’t imagine affecting a spouse and children with my short temper, my crying spells, my procrastination, and my bouts of suicidal thoughts. It’s bad enough on just a household of one. So how do I happily get what I want when it’s the very thing that keeps me depressed because I don’t have it? I could (and have an opportunity now) to go down the settled path but I fear the experiment might not work out. I can’t just try out a new life and then decide it’s not the thing that will help alleviate my depression. I know it doesn’t work that way. Pregnancy, marriage, child-rearing… they all take a toll on a person. I don’t know if I could handle that kind of toll and I don’t know if I’m ready for it. I know a lot of people out there would argue with me that having these things does not necessarily make a person happy. And of course, the grass is always greener. I know a few parents that wish they weren’t tied down. I know a few people who would like to travel and do other things besides pay a mortgage every month. I know a few people envy me for not being so stuck in one place. But I envy their groundedness, their predictable schedules, their baby pictures on the wall, the family time spent together, the holidays, the fights, and the quiet and peaceful feeling of everyone sleeping under the same roof.

I feel very wrong in my single life. Something is either missing or off on a daily basis. Some days it’s the baby seat I can picture when I look in my rear view mirror. Sometimes it’s the recipe I don’t cook because there aren’t enough people around to eat it. Sometimes it’s the combination of maddening silence, persistent darkness, and a freezing cold bed that I wake up to in the middle of the night. When someone is asked what gives their life meaning, they tend to say their spouse, their children, their home, their family as a whole. Since I left home, I can’t say that I feel as if I belong to any one family. I have this need to feel connected on a daily basis to a real home. Since moving out of my parent’s house, I haven’t found this for myself, even after 6 different apartments in 8 years. Apartments are not homes. They are square boxes that just hold stuff. Mine is missing a whole lot of stuff. I need baby pictures on my fridge. I need a toy chest to take up a corner of the living room with lots of little toys in it. I need a dining room table with seats that are filled come dinner time. I need these and many more tangible things in order to feel more whole.

I know that life would not be suddenly wonderful with a family. I know there would be many ups and downs. I’m sure I would make many mistakes, if not completely scar a kid with my ideas about life and my perseverance in making their childhood as perfect as possible. My goals for any child of mine are to create an environment where love is the foremost emotion, intelligence and creativity are encouraged at every possible chance, and where I can teach them to think for themselves and learn to be whoever it is they want to be. I want to watch a child discover her world and move far beyond all of the things I’ve learned and experienced. I want my child to be true to herself, make a few mistakes and grow up largely unscathed into a beautiful and healthy young woman. I have some specific rules that I intend to enforce (low sugar, minimal TV, no pink legos ever :), and I intend to instill respect and discipline without using corporal punishment… but I’m not sure how that will happen yet). I want a happy, healthy, bright child with a future that is limitless. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Of course, if I don’t use common sense and learn to be bendy when appropriate, I could end up on Dr. Phil or being immortalized in some Broadway play as a very bad mother. Or on the flip side, if I don’t grow a backbone around children soon, I could end up with a little hellion that terrorizes the family cats, throws tantrums before, during, and after the terrible twos, and who never learns to value his situation and be thankful for what he is given and what he has in life. I'm scared that I would make some horrible mistakes and really screw up my child. I'm scared I wouldn't be able to give her all the things she needs. And I'm scared that I wouldn't have the emotional strength to be a good mother. I think a person needs to be financially, emotionally and physically ready to be a parent. And from all that I've heard, even those things don't gaurantee success. Maybe my anxiety is why I'm almost 30 and childless.


As usual, I find myself avoiding the very thing I need to overcome.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FOR THE DAY WHEN I NEED ADVICE- SARCASTIC OR OTHERWISE- I'LL TURN TO IMPERFECTPARENT. COM TO REREAD SOME OF THESE GEMS:

Stick a Fork in It: Ten technological marvels that help me ignore my kids.

Leashes. These are by far my favorite. I used to see children in harnesses and wonder aloud at how parents could tie their children up and walk them around like shivering Chihuahuas. But at a Renaissance Faire, I saw a woman dressed as a gypsy, roped to her children. I realized immediately that putting children in bondage can be fun. They can’t get lost, and I can take them home and enslave them or cook them later.

Pole Dancing Mama: My New Exercise Routine

Earth to Mommy:The fall from green grace isn't that far down.

Mother Earth be damned, I slunk to the store where I purchased my first pack of disposable diapers. When my time comes, I won’t go directly to hell, however, because I didn’t scoop up the internationally recognizable Pampers with the chubby pink baby on it. No, I chose the environmentally friendly kind made from pine fiber and yak’s hair. Well, they’re made of something other than that ooky petroleum-based stuff all the major brands use.

There Are No Secrets:Did I mention it was anatomically correct?

Ask the Angry Baby

Q: My 18-month-old takes off his diaper whenever he's in bed, and I often end up having to change the sheets. Why does he do this?

A: Hmmmm, why is he taking off a stinky, pee-pee soaked diaper? Let's do an experiment: Cut two holes in a plastic grocery bag. Put it on. Now shove one of those pad thingys that mommy has in there. And pee. Come on, keep it coming. Now go lie down in bed and try to go to sleep. You get it now, sucky? Sometimes you parents are so stupid. And what, you haven't heard of pajamas? Why the hell is your kid just in his diaper? Come on, be a big spender and spring for some nice soft PJs, not too small, and skip the duckies and teddy bears, I hate that crap.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Q:How Do You Know

When You've Found The Absolute Wrong Person To Marry?


A:When they prefer to eat their pizza dinner rather than be a shoulder for you to cry on.


"Can I just talk while you eat? I just need to talk it out."

"No. I want to enjoy my meal in peace."


Words fail me. This is what it feels like to lose hope. It's a very odd feeling. Kind of like free falling and eventually meeting the ground with my unprotected skull.
Who links to me?