My friend Eddie Lopez used to tell me, in his slightly Texan accent, "Megan, you hate everything!" He was cute. Probably still is. Haven't seen him in years, but we chat online occasionally. He was just trying to make me see how negative I am. Was. Still am. Probably he wasn't trying to do anything but got sick of me telling him how much I hated this or that....
My ex-boyfriend hated a lot of things:
Tight shirt collars - bothered his neck.
Scratchy fabric - bothered his body.
Crayon wrappers - the paper around each crayon - he had to remove that before using the crayons.
Coral Reefs. There we were, sitting with other friends at a coffee shop and this peripheral acquaintance of one friend came over to tell us about his deep sea diving photography. He metioned various ocean creatures and fish, and coral reefs. He left. My ex said, with a shiver, "oooargh!!! Achchch! I hate coral reefs!" We all stared at him for a moment because he looked like he had bugs all over him or was going to vomit, and then we all laughed.
I asked, "How could you hate coral reefs? You've never been diving. Plus, how can you hate something like coral reefs?"
"They're just so scratchy!" he exclaimed, looking disgusted again.
There's no response for this. There's no convincing him to like coral reefs, or to want to touch an actual coral reef. I think he's responding to the scratchiness of those little dead pieces of coral that come with the touristy shell collections you can buy at beachside bodegas. Yes, those are scratchy.
My ex is a lot like Monk, the OCD detective on television. I hope he's gotten some help for this, because he was constantly tortured by his tics and dislikes and anxieties when we were together. Perhaps it was in response to me. How egocentric, Megan.
Things I hate....
Pretty, thin women who use their looks to get ahead
The men and others who fall for the shit of pretty, thin women
Cultural pressure to be a pretty, thin woman
Liver
Scratchy hotel sheets
Polyester hotel bedspreads
Hot, sunny, summer days
Not being a bazillionaire
My own laziness and lack of motivation
My OCD tendencies, which I'm not willing to explain here.
The dog poop in my backyard
The fact that dogs poop
The fact that I have to clean up after them
I dunno - there's more. I say that I 'hate' things, but I probably need to find a better word. Things make me feel stuff.
That's deep.
I hate not being closer to perfect.
I hate being hot (I'm referring to temperature). It's Summer. It's hot. I have yardwork to do. It's stinky and poopy in my backyard and I now have to get up and brave the sun and heat (with a lot of sunscreen) and start cleaning.
Woo hoo
I hate not having one of those mini bulldozer things to use to clean the yard.
Whatever, Megan. You hate everything!
Love ya, Eddie.
30 June 2007
03 January 2007
Little Megan Big World
The Roloff family are the stars of Little People Big World on TLC. Mom, Dad and one of the children are little people, and the other three children are average sized. They're always having to adjust to the average world in ways that I understand, though at 4'11'' I am not technically considered a dwarf.
I had to have an ergonomic evaluation because my chair wasn't high enough or my desk wasn't low enough, and this cheap-ass plastic footstool sucks. I'm never comfortable at work. I'm either sitting with one leg up on the chair, or both feet on the computer console, ankles crossed. Half of my butt falls asleep, or my bent knee begins to hurt. When I stand up from the chair I stagger like an arthritic, elderly person, which totally foils my effort to be a young and hip member of my tech-team.
I finally asked for a different chair or a different footstool or both. Though I'd prefer a soft, velvety, wingback chair and an ottoman, I'm sure that setup would promote napping more than efficiency.
The chair I have been using is made of a grey-black, scratchy fabric, with tech-looking design details on the plastic back. The back doesn't move at all, because the tension is so high, my weight doesn't budge it. So I constantly feel pushed forward, out of the seat. I can adjust the height to make it more comfortable with the stationary desk area, but only days later the seat has mysteriously sunk back down to its lowest height. Though I worry about my weight, I'm fairly sure that's not the cause of the sinking seat.
Anyway - these two HR Ladies came down to my windowless basement cube to look at my footrest and told me that was the only type we have here. I had it backwards, though, which they say may have been why it doesn't seem comfortable. As for the chair, most of the chairs here are broken, stained, bent or otherwise ruined, and the company does not deem this an important expense. None of the chairs in this area would work, so the HR ladies brought me a chair from somewhere else in the building - the secret stockpile of working chairs.
Exchanging my bad chair for the good chair was not so simple. The good chair had bad, wobbly armrests attached to it that would not adjust up or down. The HR ladies struggled to unbolt the armrests with wrenches, delicately attempting to avoid breaking a painted nail. The bolts required a different wrench, which Rodney, an average-Samoan-sized colleague retrieved from his truck. He was able to help them disconnect the armrests so that I could sit in my ergonomically adjustable chair and work.
These people were in my cube for about 20 minutes, but it seemed like an hour. This is not the type of attention I want. One of the HR Ladies seemed quite pleasant in that HR way. She's clearly nice to everyone, at least to their face. The other one barely looked at me, and I began to suspect she resented me for making her crawl around on the floor with a tool. The nice HR Lady just smiled passively and mumbled something about this being "the law" when I thanked her profusely for the great effort they were making to help me. That did not convince me of her innate pleasantness, and in fact made her smile seem more false.
I've never been self-conscious about my height - my stature. Weight - yes. Height - no. Today I'm feeling like an ugly, older dwarf who's just now realized I'm different and small. Really - I never think of myself as short, unless I'm looking at someone who's my height. Then, when I realize I'm as short as that person, I see myself as small.
The chair issue makes me feel small, and not in an interesting or attractive or cute way. Just small.
I had to have an ergonomic evaluation because my chair wasn't high enough or my desk wasn't low enough, and this cheap-ass plastic footstool sucks. I'm never comfortable at work. I'm either sitting with one leg up on the chair, or both feet on the computer console, ankles crossed. Half of my butt falls asleep, or my bent knee begins to hurt. When I stand up from the chair I stagger like an arthritic, elderly person, which totally foils my effort to be a young and hip member of my tech-team.
I finally asked for a different chair or a different footstool or both. Though I'd prefer a soft, velvety, wingback chair and an ottoman, I'm sure that setup would promote napping more than efficiency.
The chair I have been using is made of a grey-black, scratchy fabric, with tech-looking design details on the plastic back. The back doesn't move at all, because the tension is so high, my weight doesn't budge it. So I constantly feel pushed forward, out of the seat. I can adjust the height to make it more comfortable with the stationary desk area, but only days later the seat has mysteriously sunk back down to its lowest height. Though I worry about my weight, I'm fairly sure that's not the cause of the sinking seat.
Anyway - these two HR Ladies came down to my windowless basement cube to look at my footrest and told me that was the only type we have here. I had it backwards, though, which they say may have been why it doesn't seem comfortable. As for the chair, most of the chairs here are broken, stained, bent or otherwise ruined, and the company does not deem this an important expense. None of the chairs in this area would work, so the HR ladies brought me a chair from somewhere else in the building - the secret stockpile of working chairs.
Exchanging my bad chair for the good chair was not so simple. The good chair had bad, wobbly armrests attached to it that would not adjust up or down. The HR ladies struggled to unbolt the armrests with wrenches, delicately attempting to avoid breaking a painted nail. The bolts required a different wrench, which Rodney, an average-Samoan-sized colleague retrieved from his truck. He was able to help them disconnect the armrests so that I could sit in my ergonomically adjustable chair and work.
These people were in my cube for about 20 minutes, but it seemed like an hour. This is not the type of attention I want. One of the HR Ladies seemed quite pleasant in that HR way. She's clearly nice to everyone, at least to their face. The other one barely looked at me, and I began to suspect she resented me for making her crawl around on the floor with a tool. The nice HR Lady just smiled passively and mumbled something about this being "the law" when I thanked her profusely for the great effort they were making to help me. That did not convince me of her innate pleasantness, and in fact made her smile seem more false.
I've never been self-conscious about my height - my stature. Weight - yes. Height - no. Today I'm feeling like an ugly, older dwarf who's just now realized I'm different and small. Really - I never think of myself as short, unless I'm looking at someone who's my height. Then, when I realize I'm as short as that person, I see myself as small.
The chair issue makes me feel small, and not in an interesting or attractive or cute way. Just small.
Day 3
On the third day of the new year my new love gave to me...
AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! I've been brainwashed!
After months of listening to holiday muzak I can't get it out of my head. Yesterday - chestnuts, today - partridges. I'm so glad the holidaze are over. I feel like I'm still recovering from too many gatherings and too much group activity.
And after all that I'm STILL not convinced to convert to Christianity. Hmmm.
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Enough about religion.
It's the new year. I need a new attitude, a new outlook, a renewed level of energy with which to pursue life.
Can I buy that on Ebay?
None of the really really important stuff is available on Ebay.
Sure, I can get diet pills, diamond rings, Beanie Babies, Doc Martens and even a time-share.
Spiritual fulfillment
Physical wellness
Motivation for excellence
Creative exuberance
None of this is available for purchase on the site that has IT all.
There should be a kit available for each of these things.
I suppose a church membership, a Bowflex, a life-coach and knitting needles might work for some people.
I think I must mine my own resources for contentment, joy, serenity, productivity, fulfillment, etc.
Today my tank is running low, which gives me that repeated inner mantra of "I WANT, I WANT, I WANT..." in an effort to fill up on something that will soothe.
Perhaps I just need more sleep.
OR A SHOPPING EXCURSION!
(No!)
Or some quiet time after all of the holiday chaos.
That could be IT. Yet another thing unavailable on Ebay.
AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! I've been brainwashed!
After months of listening to holiday muzak I can't get it out of my head. Yesterday - chestnuts, today - partridges. I'm so glad the holidaze are over. I feel like I'm still recovering from too many gatherings and too much group activity.
And after all that I'm STILL not convinced to convert to Christianity. Hmmm.
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Enough about religion.
It's the new year. I need a new attitude, a new outlook, a renewed level of energy with which to pursue life.
Can I buy that on Ebay?
None of the really really important stuff is available on Ebay.
Sure, I can get diet pills, diamond rings, Beanie Babies, Doc Martens and even a time-share.
Spiritual fulfillment
Physical wellness
Motivation for excellence
Creative exuberance
None of this is available for purchase on the site that has IT all.
There should be a kit available for each of these things.
I suppose a church membership, a Bowflex, a life-coach and knitting needles might work for some people.
I think I must mine my own resources for contentment, joy, serenity, productivity, fulfillment, etc.
Today my tank is running low, which gives me that repeated inner mantra of "I WANT, I WANT, I WANT..." in an effort to fill up on something that will soothe.
Perhaps I just need more sleep.
OR A SHOPPING EXCURSION!
(No!)
Or some quiet time after all of the holiday chaos.
That could be IT. Yet another thing unavailable on Ebay.
02 January 2007
Another New Year
New Year
New possibilities?
I dunno. Is there really any more possibility today than there was a couple of days ago? I'd like to believe that each moment is truly new and separate from the many previous moments of my life, and that any influence they may have is imaginary. I'd like to believe that in this new moment, which is separate from the last one, I can generate some new existence which may be more acceptable and enjoyable than many of my accumulated past moments were.
I think the past moments somehow form threads that singly have little strength, but become unbreakable when wound around me over and over again. Tiny filaments twist and tangle, crocheted into nets. These knotted webs entrap, sometimes strengthening as one struggles to break free.
The entrapment is imaginary, as are the long ago moments. There is no substance to these ties, no collectible evidence. Why then can I not escape the past completely and move beyond the limitations I continue to construct? All life is a trap ending in death. What you do before leaving behind this Earth depends on the weight of the imaginary webs in one's life, perhaps.
Of what are these filaments made?
Memories
Regrets
Wishes
Drowned dreams
Unrequited love
Failings
Lackings
Inadequacies
Perception
Self-esteem
Self-loathing
Unanswered questions
Unsolved mysteries
Introspection
all this and more.
Tune in next time when we explore the pointlessness of philosophical psycho-rambling - next episode: The ROI of Taking Action.
New possibilities?
I dunno. Is there really any more possibility today than there was a couple of days ago? I'd like to believe that each moment is truly new and separate from the many previous moments of my life, and that any influence they may have is imaginary. I'd like to believe that in this new moment, which is separate from the last one, I can generate some new existence which may be more acceptable and enjoyable than many of my accumulated past moments were.
I think the past moments somehow form threads that singly have little strength, but become unbreakable when wound around me over and over again. Tiny filaments twist and tangle, crocheted into nets. These knotted webs entrap, sometimes strengthening as one struggles to break free.
The entrapment is imaginary, as are the long ago moments. There is no substance to these ties, no collectible evidence. Why then can I not escape the past completely and move beyond the limitations I continue to construct? All life is a trap ending in death. What you do before leaving behind this Earth depends on the weight of the imaginary webs in one's life, perhaps.
Of what are these filaments made?
Memories
Regrets
Wishes
Drowned dreams
Unrequited love
Failings
Lackings
Inadequacies
Perception
Self-esteem
Self-loathing
Unanswered questions
Unsolved mysteries
Introspection
all this and more.
Tune in next time when we explore the pointlessness of philosophical psycho-rambling - next episode: The ROI of Taking Action.
27 November 2006
XMas & Nicotine
I had no idea.
I truly had no idea the depth of issues I have with the holiday season.
I am in a Christmas play. I'm the token Jew in the Avantguardians' "DaDa XMas". I was fine with the idea of singing altered XMas carols, and telling classic XMas stories in some DaDa/AvantGuard/Abstract way. Tom and Lisa have great ideas and I love the creative process of developing a show with them. I assumed the content would be irrelevant and that the process would be the point.
The trigger was our conversation about whether or not Christmas is a religious holiday. My opinion is that since it's based on a Christian construct about the fake birthday of Christ and some stolen Pagan rites and symbolism, it's a religiously-based holiday. It's a Christian holiday. Jews don't celebrate Christmas unless they have someone Christian in their family or unless they've developed some elaborate explanation of why celebrating Christmas is allowed even though they're really still Jews. Really. Muslims don't celebrate Christmas either (see above). Christmas is intrinsically Christian. It's about Christ. The name of the holiday even contains the dear Baby Jesus' last name, or whatever that is. Ok - not his last name, but the name by which Baby Jesus is alternatively known.
Tom and Lisa vehemently deny that Christmas is a Christian holiday, citing the examples of Pagan symbols and the inescapable conspicuous consumption of modern-day American XMas. Though I attempted to explain why Christmas is nonetheless a Christian holiday, they could not understand, or refused to agree with my reasoning. During the whole discussion I was surprised by my emotional reaction. I became rather upset and frustrated.
What the hell is frustrating about a difference of opinion among friends? I think I felt betrayed in a way. My friends and art-colleagues don't share my point of view and suddenly I was alone at the table arguing a point about which I was so clearly right, in my mind. My friends and art-colleagues are not religious, so their position is not founded upon any scriptural theory or some covert, open-armed-personal-saviour effort at converting me. Not only was I surprised at my own reaction, I was surprised that Tom and Lisa didn't immediately agree with me. The conversation then involved whether or not this was a "Jew thing" and I was being oversensitive or even paranoid.
"You're not paranoid if they really are after you, " I said to them.
"Exactly," Tom nodded.
Added to the mix is the fact that I quit smoking a few days ago and have cycling homicidal and suicidal ideations. Quitting closet smoking seems to have magnified these issues as well as my obsessions with everything else in life that could possibly be a source of depression. Who knew that two or three cigarettes a day could be so addictive? Who knew that removing such a small amount of some brain-altering chemical would have such a dramatic effect on my affect?
If smoking wasn't stinky and carcinogenic I probably wouldn't bother quitting. I've thought about continuing to smoke through the holidays, just out of spite. The question is - out of spite for whom? Plus, it will be just as difficult to quit in 2007 as it has been this horrid week of 2006. Maybe I could ask my shrink to add some nicotine to the daily dose of happy pills I ingest. Can you add tobacco to brownies?
Quitting smoking feels remarkably like going through a bad PMS day. Everything seems more irritating, and more urgent than usual. By January I will have forgotten all about the descriminatory practices of the Christmas revellers. During PMS days it's not that my issues are made up, it's just that they seem so IMPORTANT and overwhelming. So if I'm short on money, it seems like I'm BROKE and I'm NEVER going to have ANYTHING and might have to go on food stamps or welfare soon, and I'll never get to go on a vacation again, and my bills will never be paid....
Currently, my withdrawal symptoms are causing me to hate Christmas because I'm sure I'm permanently inadequate for my inability to buy the right presents. The nicotine-deprived voices in my head are also telling me that our Fundamentalist Christian culture is against me and it will only get worse. I'll probably end up in prison for not conforming. I'll have to become a handmaiden and have some rich Christian wife's children. No, actually, I'm too old. They'll just hang me as an example for the others. In fact, I'm too old to really make much of myself in this life, with or without the Fundamentalist Christian Handmaiden dilemma. It's too late. Oh, woe is me.... Alas... blah, blah, blah.
So that's the path my withdrawing neurons walk today. On the up-side, I have almost completed my first crocheted scarf. Red. A little bumpy and uneven. I'll say I meant it to look that way. Right now, though, I'm insanely craving just a little, itsy, bitsy, teenie, weeny, bitty, baby puff of a cigarette. Just one more. Just one more time.
"Jane says... Gonna kick tomorrow...." to quote Perry Farrell.
I truly had no idea the depth of issues I have with the holiday season.
I am in a Christmas play. I'm the token Jew in the Avantguardians' "DaDa XMas". I was fine with the idea of singing altered XMas carols, and telling classic XMas stories in some DaDa/AvantGuard/Abstract way. Tom and Lisa have great ideas and I love the creative process of developing a show with them. I assumed the content would be irrelevant and that the process would be the point.
The trigger was our conversation about whether or not Christmas is a religious holiday. My opinion is that since it's based on a Christian construct about the fake birthday of Christ and some stolen Pagan rites and symbolism, it's a religiously-based holiday. It's a Christian holiday. Jews don't celebrate Christmas unless they have someone Christian in their family or unless they've developed some elaborate explanation of why celebrating Christmas is allowed even though they're really still Jews. Really. Muslims don't celebrate Christmas either (see above). Christmas is intrinsically Christian. It's about Christ. The name of the holiday even contains the dear Baby Jesus' last name, or whatever that is. Ok - not his last name, but the name by which Baby Jesus is alternatively known.
Tom and Lisa vehemently deny that Christmas is a Christian holiday, citing the examples of Pagan symbols and the inescapable conspicuous consumption of modern-day American XMas. Though I attempted to explain why Christmas is nonetheless a Christian holiday, they could not understand, or refused to agree with my reasoning. During the whole discussion I was surprised by my emotional reaction. I became rather upset and frustrated.
What the hell is frustrating about a difference of opinion among friends? I think I felt betrayed in a way. My friends and art-colleagues don't share my point of view and suddenly I was alone at the table arguing a point about which I was so clearly right, in my mind. My friends and art-colleagues are not religious, so their position is not founded upon any scriptural theory or some covert, open-armed-personal-saviour effort at converting me. Not only was I surprised at my own reaction, I was surprised that Tom and Lisa didn't immediately agree with me. The conversation then involved whether or not this was a "Jew thing" and I was being oversensitive or even paranoid.
"You're not paranoid if they really are after you, " I said to them.
"Exactly," Tom nodded.
Added to the mix is the fact that I quit smoking a few days ago and have cycling homicidal and suicidal ideations. Quitting closet smoking seems to have magnified these issues as well as my obsessions with everything else in life that could possibly be a source of depression. Who knew that two or three cigarettes a day could be so addictive? Who knew that removing such a small amount of some brain-altering chemical would have such a dramatic effect on my affect?
If smoking wasn't stinky and carcinogenic I probably wouldn't bother quitting. I've thought about continuing to smoke through the holidays, just out of spite. The question is - out of spite for whom? Plus, it will be just as difficult to quit in 2007 as it has been this horrid week of 2006. Maybe I could ask my shrink to add some nicotine to the daily dose of happy pills I ingest. Can you add tobacco to brownies?
Quitting smoking feels remarkably like going through a bad PMS day. Everything seems more irritating, and more urgent than usual. By January I will have forgotten all about the descriminatory practices of the Christmas revellers. During PMS days it's not that my issues are made up, it's just that they seem so IMPORTANT and overwhelming. So if I'm short on money, it seems like I'm BROKE and I'm NEVER going to have ANYTHING and might have to go on food stamps or welfare soon, and I'll never get to go on a vacation again, and my bills will never be paid....
Currently, my withdrawal symptoms are causing me to hate Christmas because I'm sure I'm permanently inadequate for my inability to buy the right presents. The nicotine-deprived voices in my head are also telling me that our Fundamentalist Christian culture is against me and it will only get worse. I'll probably end up in prison for not conforming. I'll have to become a handmaiden and have some rich Christian wife's children. No, actually, I'm too old. They'll just hang me as an example for the others. In fact, I'm too old to really make much of myself in this life, with or without the Fundamentalist Christian Handmaiden dilemma. It's too late. Oh, woe is me.... Alas... blah, blah, blah.
So that's the path my withdrawing neurons walk today. On the up-side, I have almost completed my first crocheted scarf. Red. A little bumpy and uneven. I'll say I meant it to look that way. Right now, though, I'm insanely craving just a little, itsy, bitsy, teenie, weeny, bitty, baby puff of a cigarette. Just one more. Just one more time.
"Jane says... Gonna kick tomorrow...." to quote Perry Farrell.
11 November 2006
Quivering Quiverfull
Ok - I just learned about a new movement called the Quiverfull Movement. These are Christian people who've decided to try to have six or more children in order to contribute to the Evangelical Christian movement. Does bearing children and indoctrinating them equal evangelizing and converting non-Christians?
Here's a paragraph from the ToiletPaper blog that got me thinking about possibilities of countering this Quiverful movement:
Jeff Sharlet sent us this link to a Nation story about the "Quiverfull" movement among fundie Christian women who consider their vaginas God's house and having babies as a way of populating God's army. All kinds of terrifying quotes like these: "Tracie Moore, a 39-year-old midwife who lives in southern Kentucky, is mother to fourteen. Wendy Dufkin in Coxsackie has her thirteen." http://www.toiletpaperonline.com/index.php.
I'm thinking we should start a similar movement to forward the "Gay Agenda" and counter this growth of Christian soldier-babies. All I need is some gay sperm, and some willing, fertile lesbians. We'll breed and create armies of gay babies to fight with their Christian babies. This project is still in the primordial ooze stage, but I think I'm on to something with potential here. We could take out full-page ads, recruit people at the mall, convert adolescents with rock music, fog and lasers... speaking of which, did anyone see the live brodcast from New Life last week?
If any of my three or four readers have suggestions, let me know. Plus, if you want to be a part of this movement forward my blog address to everyone. We also have to come up with a name - like Quiverfull - but gay.
Here's a paragraph from the ToiletPaper blog that got me thinking about possibilities of countering this Quiverful movement:
Jeff Sharlet sent us this link to a Nation story about the "Quiverfull" movement among fundie Christian women who consider their vaginas God's house and having babies as a way of populating God's army. All kinds of terrifying quotes like these: "Tracie Moore, a 39-year-old midwife who lives in southern Kentucky, is mother to fourteen. Wendy Dufkin in Coxsackie has her thirteen." http://www.toiletpaperonline.com/index.php.
I'm thinking we should start a similar movement to forward the "Gay Agenda" and counter this growth of Christian soldier-babies. All I need is some gay sperm, and some willing, fertile lesbians. We'll breed and create armies of gay babies to fight with their Christian babies. This project is still in the primordial ooze stage, but I think I'm on to something with potential here. We could take out full-page ads, recruit people at the mall, convert adolescents with rock music, fog and lasers... speaking of which, did anyone see the live brodcast from New Life last week?
If any of my three or four readers have suggestions, let me know. Plus, if you want to be a part of this movement forward my blog address to everyone. We also have to come up with a name - like Quiverfull - but gay.
08 November 2006
Babies
Everyone I know is having babies.
Well, not everyone. Not the men, obviously. When their wives or girlfriends are having babies men like to boast about their masculine involvements and martyr-like tolerance of the hormonal swings and cravings. Who's doing all the real work, though?
In the past year, here are the babies who've come into my life:
1: My neighbor to the East had a baby - Kieran.
2: My neighbor to the West had a baby girl - Sylvie
3: My neighbor to the West is pregnant again - ? They thought, before Sylvie, that she couldn't get pregnant.
4: One coworker at Cedar Springs had a beautiful baby boy. Somehow she kept him safe inside her inspite of the agressive, violent children we worked with.
5, 6, 7, 8, 9: Four women I know well from a particular local group had bunches of babies in the past two years - Oliver, Ruby, Kennedy and a couple of others whose names I can't recall at the moment.
10. My brother's wife had a baby girl in July - Abigail.
11. My brother-in-not-law's (because the bigots in Colorado voted to define marriage as one man and one woman legally and will not allow me to recieve civil union benefits from my spouse) wife had a baby girl in August - Shayla.
12. My cousin by illegal marriage had a baby boy in October - Gavin.
Babies - similar to parasites while in the womb. It's not even a mutually beneficial situation, unless you consider the expectant joy and all that glowing. Well, and the loose, comfortable clothes. Okay, and the weight. I'd have an excuse for several months for gaining weight. Considering the constant drain on a woman's internal resources, the growth of a living organism inside her, feeding, bound by blood. Sounds like a horror film, really.
Babies - if I'm still fertile I should be able to sell my babies on Ebay.
Babies - I'm thinking of going out and getting really drunk so that Heidi and I can have a baby of our own. It seems to work for so many others.
Babies - why aren't they more like Octopi? What? Well - an octopus can exhale a lot of its water, make itself very thin, and get through tiny holes in coral reefs and such. Why didn't God or Allah or Yaweh or whatever higher power may exist make babies' heads more like Octopi so that they could become really narrow to make childbirth less painful? Yes, I've read about the Garden of Eden and the snake and all that.
Babies - I'm also thinking that if I get pregnant for some reason, somehow, someday that I should chain smoke so that the baby is really small and doesn't hurt so much coming out. I mean so that I don't hurt while it comes out.
Babies. So much to consider.
I'm kidding about the chain-smoking, in case you don't know me and are reading this. Sometimes I imagine that I'd like to have a child. Then I think about how messy my house is, and how much of an obligation dogs have been. I really love other people's children, though. We'll see.
Well, not everyone. Not the men, obviously. When their wives or girlfriends are having babies men like to boast about their masculine involvements and martyr-like tolerance of the hormonal swings and cravings. Who's doing all the real work, though?
In the past year, here are the babies who've come into my life:
1: My neighbor to the East had a baby - Kieran.
2: My neighbor to the West had a baby girl - Sylvie
3: My neighbor to the West is pregnant again - ? They thought, before Sylvie, that she couldn't get pregnant.
4: One coworker at Cedar Springs had a beautiful baby boy. Somehow she kept him safe inside her inspite of the agressive, violent children we worked with.
5, 6, 7, 8, 9: Four women I know well from a particular local group had bunches of babies in the past two years - Oliver, Ruby, Kennedy and a couple of others whose names I can't recall at the moment.
10. My brother's wife had a baby girl in July - Abigail.
11. My brother-in-not-law's (because the bigots in Colorado voted to define marriage as one man and one woman legally and will not allow me to recieve civil union benefits from my spouse) wife had a baby girl in August - Shayla.
12. My cousin by illegal marriage had a baby boy in October - Gavin.
Babies - similar to parasites while in the womb. It's not even a mutually beneficial situation, unless you consider the expectant joy and all that glowing. Well, and the loose, comfortable clothes. Okay, and the weight. I'd have an excuse for several months for gaining weight. Considering the constant drain on a woman's internal resources, the growth of a living organism inside her, feeding, bound by blood. Sounds like a horror film, really.
Babies - if I'm still fertile I should be able to sell my babies on Ebay.
Babies - I'm thinking of going out and getting really drunk so that Heidi and I can have a baby of our own. It seems to work for so many others.
Babies - why aren't they more like Octopi? What? Well - an octopus can exhale a lot of its water, make itself very thin, and get through tiny holes in coral reefs and such. Why didn't God or Allah or Yaweh or whatever higher power may exist make babies' heads more like Octopi so that they could become really narrow to make childbirth less painful? Yes, I've read about the Garden of Eden and the snake and all that.
Babies - I'm also thinking that if I get pregnant for some reason, somehow, someday that I should chain smoke so that the baby is really small and doesn't hurt so much coming out. I mean so that I don't hurt while it comes out.
Babies. So much to consider.
I'm kidding about the chain-smoking, in case you don't know me and are reading this. Sometimes I imagine that I'd like to have a child. Then I think about how messy my house is, and how much of an obligation dogs have been. I really love other people's children, though. We'll see.
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