Caterwauling

Visit Rebecca. Now!!! Before the photo in the upper left corner is banned. 🙂 Link shamelessly stolen from Dawn Olsen.

I spend so much time trying to map out my career, and yet I don’t give much thought to all the *fun* stuff that I want to do. In addition to having a fulfilling (read: quasi-lucrative) career, here’s some other stuff I need to do, while I’m on this carousel-ride called Earth:

1. Take singing lessons;

2. Teach classes on writing, P.R., and whatever else I want to do;

3. Find time/inclination to return to writing my books and poetry;

4. Get my ass out to the shooting range and learn how to fire a gun;

5. Either maintain a journal again or really start pouring my heart into this blog;

6. Learn web design better than my amateur-at-best level;

7. Master graphic design software (again);

8. Read more books;

9. Read the magazines to which I subscribe;

10. Acquire a dog and/or another cat (oh, Maddie would hate that);

11. Have more sex. Or some sex. With anything not requiring a battery; and

12. Donate some eggs.

The egg thing has been on my mind lately — I may never settle down and have kids, or it may be a long ways away, and I’m impatient. Look, right now, I wouldn’t be such a great mom, but I heartily believe that it is my womanly duty to produce at least one good citizen to contribute to this warped world. If I donate my eggs to a fertility-challenged couple, I can ensure that will happen (assuming they are sane and wanting a munchkin for all the right reasons). Plus, it would give me some desperately needed cash, but let’s face it, if I am donating these precious eggs, damn it, I am going to use the money and take a freakin’ vacation, in exchange for my efforts. I don’t want my eggs going to cover my late car payments — I’d better ENJOY the money I acquire from having a syringe stuck in an ovary.

On the other hand, I have been half-seriously debating the thought of donating eggs to specific donors — i.e., maybe a gay couple who frankly can’t have a child without a woman. I think I could carry a child and give it to a stable, familiar home. I’d prefer to not be the carrier, but I guess I could do it, for the right people. Like Shan says, we’re meant to change the world, not change diapers. Maybe I should pop out some of those “good citizens” that I owe the world, and leave the rearing of them to people who are more capable of doing it. But can I give up drinking for nine months, while a little creature incubates? Hmm. This subject matter is waaaaayyy too heavy for the present moment, but I hate to say it, it’s not a half-bad idea for me. But in the meantime, I am SO firing up a cigarette and grabbing a glass of wine. …

Link courtesy of The Hun. Good grief.

I swear, it is NOT fair that women must shave their legs and the extremities of their tender parts. Damn it to hell. I totally gouged the back of my leg and I’m sitting here, trying not to kill the cat. Oh, the pain. New razors SUCK!!! I can completely understand why “granola girls” become that way — not that I want french-braidable armpit hair, by any means, but I would imagine that electroshock therapy would sting a bit less than razor burn. Shit. IKEA Boy asked why I even bothered, unless I were planning on getting laid. lol. Not bloody likely. Heh.

And I’m going to further ruin my day with a strapless bra. Oh, why the hell not, right? Bring it on. … It matches the black underwear with which I’ve paired it, though, not that anybody’s gonna even see it. 🙂

IKEA Boy and I decided to blow off going to Mark’s party today — he moved to Maryland, and who the hell wants to drive to Maryland? I was planning to take a road trip to Tyson’s Corner or Potomac Yards today (short trips, of course), but we decided we’re going to take a jaunt to IKEA (surprise) out at Potomac Mills instead. Not like either of us can afford to shop, but it’s better than sitting here with my thumb up my ass.

I was reading some of my old blog entries. I was also reading some old journals, wondering what — if anything — I should share in this forum. Hell with it. There’s a certain disdain I have for those who live in the past, and right now, I think that rehashing all the drama from the last few years of my life would serve to depress the shit out of me. 🙂

I visited Kirby and Jynx when IKEA Boy was at school yesterday. Those dogs are so damn BAD! They are Maddie’s little brothers, and she is eternally grateful to not have to live with them. Kirby is such a shithead — literally. He took a dump and started eating it, even as I yelled at him to stop. I had to slide my way to the back of the yard to grab him and drag him back to the house, and he stopped along the way to graze on Jynxie’s droppings. Argh. To make matters worse, Kirby, once inside the warm house, decided to thank me for my efforts by licking my leg. I had to wash my jeans with a paper towel in the sink before I left. Oh, the joys of being an aunt. …

I’m going to start randomly posting “ancient” entries from 2001, when I get the inclination to do so. I have created several links that are presently inactive. These are not necessarily for the public’s consumption — I’ve done a lot of dumb shit that I am simply not proud of. However, this blog is for me, and I’ve been holding off on making a lot of things public because, well, they hurt to revisit, especially in print. I’ve noticed that I am attracting a lot more visitors than usual, including many of the people to whom I make reference.

I’ve thought long and hard about exposing my past — granted, I’ve not done anything that will get me sent to prison, but I’ve said and done some things that, when put in writing, just seem that much more hideous, especially when the “wrong” people learn about them. But those were my mistakes, my experiences, my thoughts and feelings that were at stake. And they are mine to either conceal or broadcast, too, because everything comes from my point of view. My diaries are nothing like Anais Nin’s, and it may piss off a lot of people, but I’ve decided that I want this online record of my life.

The challenge, though, will be as I am dating and perhaps even meeting the significant other(s) with whom I will spend the rest of my life. There is a certain comfort in having those people NOT know my past … I love having mystery in my relationships. But that is a chance I am going to take, of having people read my innermost thoughts and giving them the choice whether to abandon ship or jump on and sail the mighty seas at my side. I don’t encourage anyone to read the previous entries, but now they’re out there, and all I can do is sink or swim. And come hell or high water, I’m going to doggie paddle. 🙂