Mamma needs some action

Okay, folks. This is it. I need to get laid. It's been way too long and I'm starting to reach the point where if it doesn't happen soon, I'm going to get all old and shriveled up in there. It's going to turn into the Sahara from disuse. Or I don't know. Can that happen pre-menopause? Do you have to use it or lose it? Because I feel like I'm losing it. Mentally.

It's not only been a long time since I've gotten my freak on, but it's been even longer since I got my freak on with someone new. I was still in my 20's the last time I was gettin' booty and we're at like 6.5 years here, people. My game? It is nonexistent.

Clearly, alcohol is needed.

But hey, my brother's wedding is coming up and nothing's better than sloppy drunk wedding sex, am I right? And I don't even have to hold off and go at it in the double room I'll be sharing with my sister at the La Quinta. Fortunately there are numerous locations where one might go to have sloppy drunk wedding sex at the wedding site. There's a bride house, the groom saloon, a barn, wagons, or wait til dark and just walk down the tree-lined path to the nice altar set up for the outdoor weddings. Unfortunately, I'm not really hopeful for any good prospects. I'm not sure my future sis-in-law has many hot, single male friends coming to the wedding and it's going to take LOTS of alcohol for me to throw away that last shred of dignity and sleep with one of my brother's high school friends. That's like a whole level of sad that I'm not ready to stoop to. But if someone can recommend a date for the night, someone good-looking and charming and totally willing to fuck me, that would be awesome. Kthxbai.

Ok, FINE. I'll update.

It's been awhile. And yeah, the bloom is off the blogging rose. I'm signed up for an exciting writing workshop with Spike Gillespie in September, so I might see a resurgence in motivation. No promises.

I recently moved to a new place and I love it. The house is nice, the rent is cheap and I get to come home to a good friend everyday. While my partially-unpacked room doesn't reflect this, living with her is pushing me to be less of a lazy dirty slob. That's a good thing. And while my cat has seemed to handle the move in stride and has yet to pee on anything (cross your fingers this will continue), the dog has been acting up and she's peed on the carpet multiple times, despite being let out way more times per day than she's used to. My roommate works from home, so the dog gets plenty of attention. She is clearly upset about something and I'm about done with this little act. She's 8 years old. She knows better.

The new 'hood is in a totally different area of town and my street is in a quieter area, but it's still a pretty colorful area. And by that I mean the selection of energy drinks, sexual enhancement pills, MD 20/20 and Boone's Farm is quite stunning. So far my favorite is a drink called "Drank." It's an extreme relaxation beverage that promises to "slow your roll." Two out of two women in line at the convenience store say it's good. A friend bought one last night and I'm dying to hear how her Drank experience turned out. I, on the other hand, am reluctant to spend $2.50 on said beverage when I have red wine and Ambien at my disposal.

It's like a technicolor trip down high school drunken memory lane.

Biggest Energy Drink Collection EVER!

This week is going to be another hectic one with my brother's wedding coming up. Relatives will soon be descending upon Austin and the fun will begin. And I use the term "fun" loosely in this context. It's still a stressful weekend with family, but the booze will help. Or maybe I'll just slow my roll with some Drank.

And who knows? Maybe after all this, I'll be inspired to write another blog post. Until then, I have to get some shut eye.

Only current & former law students will appreciate this

I just reviewed a family violence arrest where a 75 year-old man assaulted his 80 year-old wife. In our database, I have to check off whether the victim was pregnant: yes, no or n/a. At first I checked n/a, but then paused and thought, "But wait, shouldn't that really be "no?" I mean, what about the fertile octogenarian? Can't rule it out!

I'm warped for life.

Summer Doldrums Commence in 3, 2, 1...

Oh, blogosphere, how I have neglected you. Unfortunately I don't forsee that improving much anytime soon. For one, I am really no longer inspired by this blog. I've never done much with it, besides regularly bitch about stuff. And now I don't even update regularly.

I really thought things might ease up, but the past couple of months have been just as hellish. I still haven't gotten back on my exercise routine and my eating habits are still awful. I was smoking and drinking more than I wanted to be, but after I started to feel myself getting sick, I put a stop to that and I feel much better for it. I don't have much time for enjoyable things, which is wearing me down.

I'm exhausted. Since January, I've been President of the Lilith Fund again. And since January, I've had an ongoing conflict with a board member who acts as if they should be the organization's director. I feel like I'm constantly being scrutinized and undermined. I feel like I'm not listened to, not respected. I expend so much energy responding to this person and putting out the fires they start that I feel like I can never get to the point of moving the organization forward. Much sleep has been lost, many cigarettes smoked as a way to decompress (I know, that's no excuse). I've almost walked away from the organization so many times, but I can't.

Lilith is not just an organization I believe in and a cause about which I am passionate. I co-founded Lilith with my best friends. When I look back to those days, it's not just a time when we all took on a big undertaking with no experience and no idea what we were doing and we succeeded, but we had fun working together. We all busted our asses and built something great. And we did it together. It wasn't me, it wasn't any other individual. It was truly a collaborative effort. Then I come back to the leadership of the organization years later to discover that power and responsibility have been largely centralized, while other members flounder and eventually leave, never feeling like they've found their place and never having a sense of ownership in the organization. And often they are critisized for this, when a large part of it isn't their fault when they weren't allowed the freedom to contribute, to do the work, and when they did the work, they were nitpicked to death. I can't just walk away from it now. As much as it's driving me to drink, I have to be strong and endure this difficulty, so that we can move back to a happier place with the organization.

Fortunately, this is somewhat balanced by my involvement with the National Network of Abortion Funds. They just elected me Vice President of the board, which was an unexpected honor. I'm constantly inspired by the women on the board and staff, as well as all the amazing people I've met from funds around the country and in Mexico, Canada, London & the virtual world. I feel really blessed to get to spend several days three times per year with these women, to learn from them and get to know them. They keep me grounded and focused on my work with Lilith, no matter how painful it can be.

So that's what's going on with me (unpaid) professionally. The jobbie job is about the same. I love my co-workers and I believe in the work, but there are days when I'm SO OVER divorcing people, SO OVER the shitty things people do to each other, SO OVER men who beat up/stalk/threaten/torture/harass their wives. But I keep plugging along. I'm glad to be gainfully employed with benefits right now because I know that out there, it's pretty damn bleak. I'm counting my blessings.

In other news, I'm moving this weekend. A good friend bought a house and asked me to move in. I will soon be living in a bedroom with closets and not a glorified laundry room. I'll have central A/C! Cable! A garage! Fenced yard! Mostly I'm excited to be living with one of my best friends. My roommates are great and I have no complaints after two years, but there's something different, better about living with a friend (assuming that your lifestyles don't conflict to the point where you end up not being friends because you drove each other crazy). Fortunately, K and I have similar OCD tendencies. And we both want to eat healthy and exercise more. I just quit my gym so I can join hers next month (it's not as nice, but it's waaaay cheaper and closer to the house). I've invested in a Wii Fit (well, invested in the Wii, my granny gave me her Fit because she didn't like that it insulted her and she fell off of it once and is now scared of it). So, fun times ahead.

But this week the heat is dragging me down. It's not even July and it's been 100 degree day after 100 degree day. It's predicted to be 103 on the day I move most of my crap, the forecaster cheerfully referring to it as "abundant sunshine." It's not sunshine, asshole, it's an oven. Set to broil. It's getting to me. I don't know why I'm still living here. Seriously, as I move in with a friend - a place I'm excited about - I think about why I still haven't escaped Austin. And it gets me down. Why can't I be happy here? Because my heart is somewhere else, some undetermined location. Or maybe it's nowhere. Maybe I'm always going to want to be somewhere else, looking for a new adventure.

But regardless, the choices I've made have me stuck here temporarily. I just need to focus on what I really want out of life and make the sacrifices to make it happen (which means going without and not travelling for awhile so I can pay down debt). It will happen. In the meantime, I will keep plugging along, wiping away the underboob sweat, and seeking refuge in Barton Springs from time to time.

One of those weeks where Life has punched me out and I just want to scream

This past weekend was my future sister-in-law's bachelorette debauchery in San Antonio. So Sunday I was spent. Brain cells = at best numbed, at worst far fewer. I had two greasy Mexican food brunches at Mi Tierra, first with Steve, Kirsten and kids and Aaron & Kelly and then again with the bachelorette contingent several hours later. I was all about getting in my car, driving home and crashing. I'd left my phone in the car and when I got it, I saw I had a voicemail from someone who normally wouldn't be calling me that early on a Sunday. I listened and with the first tremor of her voice, I knew it was bad.

"Heather, I don't know if you heard the news but Dr. Tiller was shot and killed in his church this morning..."

It didn't sink it. It's a sad statement on how little esteem I hold the so-called "pro-life" movement that I wasn't exactly shocked, but the news wasn't registering.

I turned to Kelley, "Oh my god, Dr. Tiller was killed." I then told her who he was and I just started gushing out his life story, how he came to do abortions and his philosophy. And suddenly there I was, driving down I-35, choking back tears.

I got home and in my hangover haze, I tried to process it. I got on the blogs and the rest of the day was a roller coaster of anger and weeping. I sent out some emails, "What is going to be our response? Let's get a vigil together." I was up late, despite my extreme exhaustion.

Monday I felt like I was beating my head against a wall. I saw the notices for vigils in Boston, DC, Portland and other cities. No one had really responded to me. I began to get despondent. A friend of mine who is interning at my organization and I sat down and brainstormed. I put in more phone calls. Finally, in the late afternoon, I heard back from a local abortion provider and one of her staff. We were all on the same page and planned a conference call for the next day. More emails went out and on Tuesday, in a conference call lasting less than a 1/2 hour, all the work was delegated and someone from every major group and clinic in town was on board. I was completely blown away by my sisters and how we were able to get it together. No one was stressed. No one bore a heavier burden than the rest. No one tried to take over the show. We came together in a way that normally would have made me singing to the heavens, if it weren't for one of the saddest occasions I could imagine.

All week I've been thinking of Dr. Tiller. As I read the articles, the stories about him, the words from women he's helped throughout the years, I tear up over and over again. I barely knew him. I heard him speak once. I went to conferences with some of his staff, talked to them on the phone. But he and the amazing women who worked for him were those type of people who stick out in your mind as exceptional. Exceptionally kind, exceptionally compassionate, exceptionally courageous. They understood that abortion is but a small part of life, a necessary medical procedure for many. Abortion has been around since the dawn of time, since women first learned what herbs to ingest so that they could keep their offspring to a manageable, survivable level for them, so that we could evolve to be something more than rabbits, stuck popping out young at every opportunity without the ability to do more with our lives. Our bodies abort naturally all the time. But it's part of women's reproduction, someone many men have always and will probably always be threatened by, so whenever any amount of autonomy and power tends to sway in a woman's favor, they strike back with fear and vengeance.

But I want to get to the point before this becomes absurdly long. There is so much to say here and I've had some wine and it's late and I'm emotional. I'll probably want to edit this entry in a major way tomorrow, having committed the Big Blogging Sin of writing while Under the Influence. I'm still reeling from the beautiful candlelight vigil this evening, blissfully free from disrespectful protesters so blinded by ignorant rhetoric they don't know when to just step back and let someone grieve. To their credit, they stayed away and chose to be visible elsewhere today. And trust me, this week, even that little credit comes so begrudgingly I'm literally holding back bile.

Rather than ramble on, I'm going to transcribe my remarks from this evening. Because much time went into what I said and I spent most of the day reading over it and crying alone at my desk. Right now, I don't trust myself to say it any better than I did earlier. Here goes:

I prepared remarks today and then late in the afternoon I found this story from a woman who went to Dr. Tiller. I wanted to share it because it's not a side of Dr. Tiller that will be portrayed in the media. I think it perfectly illustrates that he listened to women and he profoundly understood and trusted in women to make the right decisions for themselves.

In 2002 I found out I was carrying triplets. My husband did not want me to have them. The day of my appointment I was scared and not sure this was the right decision. They took me back and did an ultrasound. I asked if they all had heartbeats and the nurse said yes. I asked if I would have the chance to talk to the doctor and right away she went and got Dr Tiller. He came in and looked at my babies on the screen. Then he looked at me and said “God gave you these babies, it’s not my job to take them away.” He asked if I agreed and I immediately said yes. He told the nurse to take me to the counter and have them give me my money. You know that day was a turning point for me. I ended up having a great pregnancy and three healthy baby girls. I can never thank Dr. Tiller enough for sending me away that day.

I first heard Dr. Tiller speak at a National Network of Abortion Funds conference in 1999. His words from that speech have stayed with me over the years. He said, "It's criminal to give a woman the technology to find out about the problems in her pregnancy and then not allow her to do anything about it." This was after he'd shown us a slide show of shocking fetal abnormalities and told us about the heart wrenching decisions the couples had come to in deciding to terminate the pregnancies.

I knew of Dr. Tiller through my work with abortion funding and I'd had many interactions with his kind and amazing staff. But when I heard Dr. Tiller speak that night, I gained a deeper understanding about abortion. And I was in absolute awe of him.

We have lost so much more than an abortion provider, so much more than a person. We have lost a true champion of human rights, someone who understood the complexity of this issue and showed an amazing dedication to women's reproductive autonomy.

Dr. Tiller once said "This battle is about self-determination by women of the direction and course of their lives. Abortion is about women's hopes and dreams. Abortion is a matter of survival for women."

Through the years, he saved many women's lives and did so with unmatched compassion. He has a vision for a better world. In his own words, "We need a new paradigm that consists of kindness, courtesy, justice, love and respect in all our relationships." Dr. Tiller put these principles into practice everyday.

Dr. Tiller understood how detrimental financial barriers to abortion are to women and that without financial assistance, abortion is an "unfulfilled promise." He personally worked to break down these financial barriers, both in his own clinic and through his support for the National Network of Abortion Funds, which received a check from him the day after he died.

Dr. Tiller was dedicated to the women he served. When asked why he showed up to work the morning after being shot in both arms, he said, "I'm a health care provider. We had patients to take care of." When his clinic was bombed in 1986, he hung out a sign that read, "Hell, no. We won't go."

So as we struggle to make some sense out of this horrible tragedy, this profound loss, the best way we can honor Dr. Tiller is not to give up and to make our presence known. Keep speaking out, both for yourselves and for the women who can't or won't. Hell, no. We won't go.

And here I am, raw, angry, sad, yet inspired. I know so very deep down in the core of my being that I am in the right. No one can ever convince me otherwise. I have experienced abortion personally. I understand what it's like based on my own experience and through a decade of talking to women about their own unwanted pregnancies. I base this not on rhetoric, but on reality. No one has told me what to think or feel. I have not been fed a line of thinking. Women have abortions. Women need abortions. And just like the wolf mother will eat her young when it is the right thing for the survival of the species, women will always have and need abortions, legal or not. And we need to trust her to know when this is right or this is wrong. For only then can we move toward a just and equal society.

People, fair warning that I will immediately delete any disrespectful comments, and I am the only judge of what is and isn't disrespectful. This blog is not a free speech zone except for me. Sorry and I know that's pretty hypocritical coming from a civil libertarian. But I don't care. I am too raw from this shit to even listen to your fucking crap. Your side comes from a place of ultimate disrespect for women and violence and I won't allow it here. Not now. If you want to be respectful or have questions, I'll have a civil discourse from you, but if you FUCKING DARE to call me or Dr. Tiller a "baby killer," your shit will be deleted tout suite. And that is NOT up for debate. Suck it.

Oh, shut up

"If girls realized the consequences of having sex, nobody would be having sex."

Just shut the fuck up, Bristol Palin. There is so much wrong with this statement. First, it should be "unprotected sex" because that's what she had and that's why she got pregnant. Lots of teenagers have sex without any consequences because their parents aren't ignorant dumbasses who think preaching abstinence to horny teens will actually work. Or because those teens, despite government and parental stupidity in not providing comprehensive sex ed, figured it out on their own. Second, why just "girls," Bristol? It still takes two to make a baby. Sure, it's usually the female who ends up with the shit end of the stick when there's an unintended pregnancy that doesn't result in the couple actually staying together. And in my opinion, the statement that "nobody would be having sex" just adds to the impression that women can't be sex-positive and that sex is inherently bad. Shame! Shame!

Compare that to Monday night's Colbert Report with Megan McCain as guest. Sure, she may be one of those Republicans who need to go ahead and admit that they're really not already, but I liked quite a bit of what she had to say. She's pro gay marriage and she describes herself as sex positive. And she's ballsy in a good way. She talked about wanting to speak out about being sex positive after seeing Bristol Palin on her stupid "abstinence tour."

Ugh. Flaunting your baby as the bad consequences of getting laid is the most evil thing anyone could ever do. Not only is it unfair to the kid - who didn't ask for your dumb ass to have him - but also? Babies should not be a punishment. And the real message is "learn about how to PREVENT pregnancy, whether you're going to be knockin' da boots or not." Besides, is it some shocking revelation that when you have unprotected sex, you might end up making a baby? Are you really that daft that you don't know that's where babies come from? On some level, Bristol and Whathisface knew what they were doing. They were stupid teens in love, who thought they were going to get married and have a baby and be together forever. So, just shut it, Bristol. No one cares.

Your Daily Questions

I need answers, people. First, I have a physical problem. I've noticed that whenever I go on a long jog/walk (more walking than jogging, to be honest), my hands get all swollen. After awhile, it's super painful and I can't even make a fist. Today I went for a 4.5 mile walk along the lake after work and by the end of it, I had comically large hands. I tried walking with my hands above my head, but that kind of made me look like a crazy person. Plus I have a damn rotator cuff injury and it hurts to do that. I googled it and some psycho-runner site (like runners who run 100's of miles runners...freaks) went on and on about electrolytes and salt and blah blah, but then there was another answer I found that says it's because the blood goes to the legs and whatnot and the hands get all "wait, I want some blood, too!" and so they freak out and then they get too much blood and BLAM! all swoll up. (Whew! Crazy run on sentence!) I don't know what to think. Has anyone else encountered this? Can I do anything to alleviate the problem?

Next question: What does it say about me that I've stopped putting sheets on my bed and I'm just throwing a quilt down and lying on top of that at night? Is this a sign of depression or have I reverted to a college-age boy? Or is it just because the thought of changing the sheets hurts me? Because of the style of bed I have and my big, fat pillow top mattress, in order to put them on, I pretty much have to lift up the corners and I'd have to use my injured arm to do so. Lately the arm just makes me not want to do anything. Yet I can't seem to keep to the schedule of doing those stupid physical therapy exercises the doctor gave me. And the drugs work for a little while, but I can only take one pill per day and it sure as shit doesn't last anywhere close to 24 hours. Maybe I should just switch to regular Alleve, which I can take more than once per day, and see if it's strong enough.

Fuckety fuck fuck. Getting older sucks. I feel so frail and weak and lame.

Somewhere in between

I just found this Autism Spectrum Quotient test and I scored a 24. The average score is 16.4 and 80% of those diagnosed with autism scored 32 or higher. So, crack diagnosis = socially awkward. I knew that.

Good times on the West Coast

A couple weeks ago, I got to spend some quality time with my favorite person, Amanda, in her adopted hometown of San Francisco. I get regular fare updates from kayak, so when I saw a round trip Austin-SFO ticket for $140, I jumped on it. Of course, I had to time my trip with the NNAF staff's West Coast fundraising tour and Amanda and I threw a kickass brunch to raise money and awareness for the Network. Unfortunately the whole thing coincided with a complete breakdown of my body, the culmination of weeks of stress and unhealthy habits. Congestion and flying don't mix, especially when your plane has to circle for awhile at that awful altitude where your ears are completely pressurized. So for the entire five days I had a ringing in my ears, stuffiness and intense pain. Good times! The morning of the brunch, when we had so much cleaning and cooking to do, I woke up and the pain on the left side of my head was so bad, I couldn't open my mouth more than an inch or two. No blow job face for me! Consuming vast quantities of mimosas helped, as did a muscle relaxer I took after I'd already done the fundraising pitch.

Not much occurred on this trip and the weather was pretty much like this the whole time:


Muggy, rainy, cold and wet at night. I didn't mind because if it had been beautiful out, I would have felt obligated to actually do stuff. Grey and wet was just fine with me. Also, my DSLR is acting up and needs to go in for repairs most likely, so if I was going to be stuck with nothing more than an iphone and a piece of shit point and shoot, I was glad I couldn't get out much to take photos.

Most of my time was spent getting as much friend face time in as possible. Fortunately most of my favorite people in the world all came together for the brunch. I finally got to introduce Amanda to Lynne, Sheila and Jill. Having those four powerful women in the same room with the lovely Elina, badasses Steph and Megan and all the other fantastic people who came to the brunch made up for whatever pain I was feeling. Even though most of it was a haze, I felt great having all those people around me. Unfortunately I was too out of it to remember that I had a camera. So zero pictures, which really bums me out.

The only brunch-related photo - tulips the day after

On Monday, the twitterverse was abuzz with talk of Star Wars Day, May the Fourth be with you! Uhm, how can we NOT go to Lucasarts HQ and take photos?

Amanda and her handsome roommate Earl

Yeah, so this photo is tiny. Whatevs.

Lightsaber!

Amanda relives childhood memories

The rest of my time was spent in the East Bay. I also got to spend time with Amanda's precocious and adorable nephew and niece in Alameda. Then we had a super-affordable and yummy sushi dinner in Oakland with Lynne. (Seriously - we got tons of sushi, tempura, a bottle of saki and beer for under $50. Hello!) The next day we BARTed out to Oakland again for lunch with Jill. Then it was back across the bay for the requisite shopping trip to H&M and that eve I had a glass of wine with Sheila and margaritas with Dan & Elina.

I could not have asked for a more perfect vacation - good times with good friends and not much else. On the last night, I blew any chance I might have had at feeling semi-normal for the trip home by dancing my ass off with Earl, Amanda and Gavin. I'd like to thank the makers of pseudoephedrine-free Walgreen's brand cold medicine and tequila for giving me the energy to party it up just a wee bit. I caught all of 45 minutes of nap time before my 6am flight home. Lesson learned: just sleep in and catch the next flight out. Work ain't gonna happen when you don't get any sleep the night before anyway!

Thanks, Amanda for being the hostesss with the mostest and for all the great time talking. I need to move out west. Can someone please find me a job so that can happen? K. Thx.

Amanda is v. proud of this plant

I'm going to be talking about sex in this post, mostly because I'm not getting any and I'm concerned because I'm kind of okay with that

(I'm also going to ramble on for a very long post, to make up for my lack of posting of late.)

People, I'm a mere three months out of a six year relationship. And I'm firmly convinced that long-term relationships are where sex goes to die. That and learning to feel sexy with a good 30 extra pounds that snuck up all of a sudden. Let's just say it's been awhile, even before the break up.

There are days when I feel like maybe what's lurking, what's keeping me always on the verge of a massive bitchfest and what is feeding the deep-seeded feeling of dissatisfaction with life is that I really just need a seriously good lay. Like professional quality lay. Like multiple orgasm, screaming, sweating, panting, rolling around, need to carbo-load workout lay. But while that may be the case in theory, in practice, I don't even want to seek it out. Let's just say right now there's a whoooole lotta sisters are doin' it for themselves.

A couple of months ago I was contemplating dating. I even went on an accidental date - what at first seemed like an innocent drink that as the night wore on, confusingly began to feel like maybe it was meant to be something more. You know, you think maybe this new friend who so far has been someone you've dealt with on more of a professional and friendly level asks if you want to grab a drink on the way back to your car and as the night wears on, you find yourself asking, "Wait. Is this a date? Did I accidentally go on a date?"

That was followed up with what I thought was the invitation to an actual dinner date. But then we had to make a pit stop by the home of the immigrant women I had been helping (that's how we met - he was also helping them and translating for me) and we ended up spending almost three hours (and eating) there - three awkward hours where they all chatted away in their native tongues while I watched grainy telenovelas. Then we sat through a three hour movie filled with a giant blue CGI penis flapping all over the place. And throughout the whole night, I got no vibes that he was even interested. So I went from asking myself a week before, "Is this a date?" to "Is this a date?" The only encouraging sign I got was when he invited me in for a drink before I was to make the hour-long drive back home (oh yeah, he lives an hour away, so my sad ass was driving an hour for a really bad date). I sat on the couch, lots of open space next to me, and he sat in a chair, far away. And turned on the TV to re-runs of CSI: Miami.

Oh, but it got worse.

By this point, it's well past 1am and I was falling asleep on the couch. He woke me up to ask if I wanted a pillow and then told me to follow him to come get one. I was half asleep. Suddenly we're in his room and BLAM! He's all over me, octopus arms getting through my many layers of clothing - boots and tights, scarf, long-sleeved shirt under a dress with a sweater over that, all over undergarments. Yet someone he's managing to get to flesh and he's got me down on a mattress on the floor, boner grinding into my leg, and I'm all HOLD UP! YOU HAVE TO LEAD UP TO THIS! YOU CAN'T LITERALLY JUST JUMP ME AFTER THE WORST DATE EVER! Okay, so maybe I didn't say that, but I did tell him explicitly that I was not down for the sex at that particular moment or even at all that night and that I was totally leaving. And I did.

I mean, seriously, what the fuck?

The next week we talked on the phone a few times and it was awkward, strained. He mentioned he'd be in town and maybe we could get together for coffee. I said okay, but when the date rolled around, I made up an excuse. Soon I stopped taking his calls altogether and almost never returned his texts. I didn't have the heart to block him on gmail chat, but whenever he'd message me, I'd say I was busy. But he's a nice guy so I tried not to be mean. I'd respond with a "hi, how are you doing" quickly followed by a "I'm really busy for like the next two months" line. I honestly don't think that's stringing someone along, right?

Like I said, the one (and a half, if you count the accidental maybe-date) date occurred two months ago. Phone conversations ceased about a week after that and I've limited the gchats as much as possible. There have been calls and texts I've never returned and I often go invisible on gmail now, or at least keep a consistent busy status open. But he persists. Up until today, he hadn't really asked me out again, so I was just thinking that maybe he just wanted to keep some sort of friendship going.

Yeah, I should know better than that.

Then today he asked me what I was doing tonight. I told him I was installing and then restoring and updating a database. On a Friday night. It's like the nerd equivalent of washing my hair. He asked me what I planned to do afterwards and I said that I had a research project due Monday and so my weekend would be completely taken up with work. That is not a lie, people. Although I ended up watching TV and then playing Wii Fit with Kelley most of the night, I really should have done that database thing. Now I have to do it all day tomorrow and then get to the research project. Okay, yeah, technically since I hung out I could have been available for a date. But NO DUH. Who says they're working on a database when they could go on a date if they really want to go on a date? NO ONE. Get a clue, my friend.

Then he asks if he can ever take me out for a drink or something. And here it was, my chance to shoot him down, clearly and honestly. Sorry, not interested. You know, in case the two months of my not responding to your advances didn't make that completely apparent. But, funny thing. I totally balked. Do I just like the attention? Is it because I'm too lazy/unmotivated/terrified to seek out any other dating prospects, so I'm loathe to so finally brush off the only one out there? Do I secretly want to go on a date with him? Do I just want to have some meaningless sex with someone who I know is interested, 30 extra lbs and all? But then, if he's this persistent now, imagine the stalking that would ensue if he got a real taste of my sweet poon.

Yeah, I just called my poon sweet. On the internet.

So what is the larger issue here? I'm not ready to date. That's apparent by my complete lack of interest in it. And I'm beginning to think that I'm also moving toward a perhaps semi-long period of celibacy. Then why not just tell him no, not interested in dating or having sex with anyone right now? It's not like I can't be direct with men. Hell, in the past I have actively and explicitly recruited regular fuckbuddies. I've told men after a few weeks of dating that I don't want a relationship. I've told plenty of men how I feel. And I think it's obvious by the complete lack of excitement over this guy that I am not feeling it. Or maybe I'm just fascinated by his apparent cluelessness. I mean, after I told him that I would be working on a computer all night and then when he asked me if he could ever take me out and I replied, "uh, maybe. hey, i gotta run! bye" he still called me tonight. Hi, guy, if I decided to change my mind and wanted to get some, DON'T YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE CALLED YOU?

But do I really want to be celibate? Do I want to move into the Age of Internet Dates, which is clearly my most viable option now, in my mid-30's? Am I not answering his call and saying, "Look, you're a nice guy and very attractive, but I'm just not ready to date and I'm not really feeling a love connection with you," because I know it's a sure thing that I could leap back on the sex horse with this guy and maybe all I need is to get out the gate again? Am I more terrified of dating again, or of never dating again?

Here's the thing: prior to meeting Andrew, I had a series of emotionally difficult break-ups. I had avoided anything serious in my early 20's and then I fell madly and happily for a great guy...who I promptly cheated on and then admitted said cheating and then he forgave me but I was so self-flagellating that I totally sabotaged the relationship. Well, that and I wanted to go on a South American adventure and he wasn't game, so it had to end. Enter South American adventure and ill-advised romantic novelesque marriage to a guy who was entirely too young and entirely too much of a player. But, you know, hot, so whatever. Then there was the "safe" relationship with a wimpster who refused to ever publicly acknowledge that he might like me, despite me being MILES out of his league. I allowed myself to be tortured by him for a year and a half. And then Andrew rolled up and I told myself that this was it, no matter what happened with this guy, if it didn't work out, I was done with relationships. This would be my last one, and that didn't necessarily mean I'd spend the rest of my life with him.

I was barely 29 at the time and of course I didn't mean it, right? But suddenly I'm starting to feel like maybe I did. I like being alone. I like not having to deal with someone else's shit, not having to listen to them ramble on about their horrible day, not having to spend so much energy on them or having to feel guilty because I'm busy doing things that are important to me, not having to stroke someone's ego or apologize or agonize over or any of those things. Oh sure, there are certainly things I miss about being in a relationship. It sucks going alone to events or not having someone to bitch to about my awful day. I miss neck rubs and back scratches. I miss at least the potential for regular sex. But honestly, I don't miss those things as much as I like being alone.

This is all very strange for me. Am I damaged? Or is this just my fate? I know some older, single women who have been mentors and inspirations to me and they don't date and seem perfectly, wonderfully content. Some of them have kids and some don't. I'm not concerned about having kids and I know I don't want to give birth to anyone. I don't ever want to get married again. Then so what if I'm single at 35 and totally okay with that! Fuck you, Sex and the City, for trying to make me think that women my age should even be concerned with dating men until I find the perfect one.

Yeah, I'm going to have to tell this clueless, smitten boy that I'm not interested. Because it's clear what I want right now and it's not a date.

On the other hand, I'm going to have to step it up if I'm going to have more interesting blog fodder.

Adventures in Kidsitting

This afternoon I got to spend a little time with my coworker's second grader. I picked him up from school and then we stopped off to get a pizza before going to their house to play video games. On the drive, I asked him how mother's day was at his house:

"Well, I got a card for my moms and then my mom got my other mom a card and my other mom got my mom a card. We had lots of cards."

More ranting about body acceptance

In my last rant, I complained about size zero and how I'm pretty sure that's a recent invention to make even skinny girls feel bad about themselves (by telling them they're a zero). Well, now I have further proof. I've been watching DVDs of the 1999 show Popular and in it, the skinny mini formerly anorexic blonde cheerleader is a "perfect size two." That's as low as it goes. Never is size zero mentioned, not even on the episode that deals with how they all hate their bodies and want to change and the ridiculous lengths they'll go to get thinner/buffer/bigger boobs/etc. And in that episode, the unhealthy, too-skinny ideal is a size two. So, 10 years ago = no size zero. I hate you, fashion industry, for creating such an evil size.

Now the fashion mags have created a new phenomenon: skinny fat. So even if you're rail thin, you can still be fat if you're not deemed to have a perfectly toned body. While I'm certainly not opposed to promoting fitness and especially weight training (which has great benefits for women as they age and it makes us stronger), some of us could have lifted til our hearts gave out and our gangly arms would have still been thin and shapeless. Yeah, I'm talking about myself. I wanted curves and muscle tone when I was a skinny teen, but it wasn't in the cards for me. I was long and lanky and there was no amount of exercise that could have changed that. So, according to the rags, I was "skinny fat." If that doesn't encourage body dysmorphic disorder, I don't know what does!

And it's not like I didn't give it a shot. In high school, when I had no control over any aspect of my life except my body, I was obsessed with counting calories and working out constantly. Some might call that anorexia, but it never got to the point where I was out of control or way too skinny. It may have happened, but I soon discovered beer and pot and it was a nonstop ride to Gatti Town. Despite my waning interest in any form of exercise and my utter gluttony in all other aspects of my life, I maintained a svelte figure for many years. Of course, I was also doing more active jobs like waitressing and often found myself dependent upon public transportation and therefore walking and biking more. I also had a great metabolism.

My mid-20's hit and the first signs of a slowing metabolism surfaced, although in hindsight, I'd gladly take that mid-20's weight over what I've got now. I spent a year in South America, walking a bajillion miles uphill daily and subsisting on vegetables, rice and lentils, and soon I was back to bobblehead high school weight. That lasted about 6 months after my return to the land of pancakes and breakfast tacos and soon I was filling back out.

I'm now at the point where I fluctuate between caring and not. And the more I care, the worse I feel. So, I'm leaning more toward not. The last six weeks have been so hectic that I haven't been able to exercise at all - or rather I haven't prioritized it at all - and I have been eating like crap. As a result, I feel like crap. Also, a couple months ago my pregnant coworker and I went to a conference and she encouraged me to join her in eating fatty stuff because "calories don't count when you're with a pregnant lady." I continued with this mental charade until I realized that my belly was looking a great deal like hers, and I don't have five months worth of fetus up in there. Also during this time of inactivity, I inexplicably developed tendonitis.

Well, I'm proud to say that today I turned over a new leaf. I had a healthy lunch AND dinner and nothing more damaging than a few M&Ms in between. I just went for a very long, sweaty walk and I already feel less bloated. And the scale? It's staying tucked away because for once, I don't want to feel discouraged. Now it's all about feeling healthy and comfortable in my own skin, no matter what size that skin is. And I may bore the internets with all this a little more than usual because I want to be more accountable for these changes, which means publicizing them. But I promise that does not mean any pathetic Bridget Jonesesque obsessing over every pound lost or gained nor whining about any of it. Screw it. I just want to be happy!

So, that's where I am. Believe it or not, this is the first time in over 2 weeks that I haven't physically felt like ass. Allergies and the congestion so bad I wanted to shoot myself in the head while on vacation have kept me from working out, but now I think that was just another in a long line of excuses. I think I needed to sweat it out! Ugh. And now I need a shower...

Decrepit

Good lord, y'all, I am FALLING APART. Yesterday I finally went to the doctor and in addition to my sinus issues, I have tendonitis in my left posterior rotator cuff. Then I woke up this morning and I can't move my head to the left. My head is still stuffy and painful and I'm going to get on a plane tomorrow. I'm expecting full misery and OF COURSE it's not a direct flight, so I'll have two chances for my ears to get miserably clogged upon landing. Should make for a fun vacay.

This is the start of insanity, isn't it?

For at least the past week, I've had a Black Eyed Peas song in my head, the one that's in heavy rotation on the radio right now, "Boom Boom Pow." It. Is. Awful. And it won't go away. Sunday night I kept waking up because it was playing in my head over and over again, loudly. It continued throughout the day and again today. I can sort of get it to calm down by constantly having my ipod going, but it doesn't get rid of it completely. I'll have a little Bon Iver with Fergie in the background. I can't get it to stop, people. I've tried all kinds of techniques and it just gets worse and worse. I like that boom boom pow, that music's driving me wild. ARRRRGGG!!!

I'm pretty sure this is how people go crazy, isn't it? How much time do you think I have left? Should I start looking into asylums now, or wait and see if it switches to a Beyonce song?

Oh, who brought the fuck-up fairy with them to work today?

In a move of absolute brilliance, the Department of Defense decided to take advantage of a lovely spring NYC day to shoot some photos...of an airliner flowing low past the Statue of Liberty, chased by a military fighter jet. Because that's not going to freak New Yorkers the fuck out or anything.

Way to go!

Having 12,457th thoughts

Ugh. I STILL have yet to put the nail in the ugly-ass coffin that is this appellate brief. I just hate it SO MUCH. I don't find legal writing all that difficult, besides my inherent inability to remember all the damn citation rules and my lack of desire to look them up constantly because OMG TEDIOUS. It's just so freaking boring. I seriously cannot imagine myself doing this on a more consistent basis. I cannot imagine a more soul-sucking activity. And I'm not necessarily talking about all the standard motions, decrees and other forms that I can easily generate by plugging info into a computer program. It's things like briefs that make me hate life. Yet I volunteered for this. Oh boy.

I'm in the home stretch though. The home stretch of the most stressful month of the year so far. The Lilith fundraiser was Thursday and it went off stunningly well. We had a tremendous turnout, way more than anticipated, and we brought in plenty of moolah. I co-emceed the event and despite my being really sick that day, it went pretty well. I decided to take the low-key approach to public speaking and I didn't even write out remarks, just jotted down notes. And I did pretty well. I wasn't even very nervous, which was nice. I guess by that point I was just too exhausted to be freaked out standing in front of a room full of people, including politicians and directors of sister organizations.

However, all night long, as I ran into acquaintances I haven't seen in weeks, months or years, I had to answer the questions, "What's going on with you? What are you doing now? How's your job?" And I really just wanted to gloss over my life updates quickly and move on to them. It's better than saying, "I work for a great organization and I do fulfilling work, but it's not at all what I want to be doing anymore and I have no idea what my next move will be." Then I have to think about how I'm in all this debt to become a lawyer and I really don't like doing boring lawyer shit. And how I feel like I'm back at square one, except for the letters after my name. I know it's not quite that bleak, but I really need to take charge of the situation and figure some stuff out.

In the meantime, I need to get back to slogging through all this crap and crank out this crappy brief. After I turn it in tomorrow, I need to send off some subpoenas, respond to a bitchy discovery request and draft a letter to a client that I'll then have to translate into Spanish. And after all that is done, I'll just be coasting until my much-needed short California vacation. Wee!

Ah, technology

I would have loved to have seen the expression on this 911 operator's face as she was taking this call. I imagine it was a look of resigned defeat, as if she'd finally just given up on humanity.



Although in this woman's defense not all cars have locks that can be easily pulled up manually. In my Mini Cooper, the locks automatically engage when I go over 5mph and when down, the lock is almost flush with the door. However, when you pull the door handle the first time, it unlocks the car. Hence the annoying double pull on the door handle to get out. It's one of the Mini's many quirks. I don't know how many times I've given someone a ride in my car and this has happened:

We stop and first they have a hard time figuring out where the door handle is. It's a little round, silver thing way up on the door as close to the front of the car as the manufacturer could put a door handle. They lean forward and pull on the handle and it doesn't open. Instead of letting go and trying again, they continue to hold the handle, but just pull harder, as if the handle is just stuck. Then they sit back and pause for a second, trying to look for something else that might be a door handle, since that weird-looking round thing didn't work. And every time I have to say, "You have to pull it twice." I could just remember to hit the unlock button when I stop the car so this won't be an issue, but I've gotten used to the double pull, so I don't think about it. Plus, the lock/unlock and window control buttons are in the center of the car, right under the stereo and A/C controls, so it's not very convenient and easy to use. Bottom line, the Mini has some annoying features, but even if I can't pull the lock up with my fingers easily, the car still has a safety mechanism where I can open the door and get out if I need to.

Also, I have to wonder how this woman got the car door locked in the first place. So, she got in, tried the start the car and her door was locked? Or did she arrive, turn off the car, not have the door unlocked yet, then the car wouldn't start? So many variables.

In addition to cars presenting challenges, there are also the anxiety-inducing technological breakdowns when watching TV. What happens when the batteries die on a TV remote? Catastrophe. And obviously the TV won't work at all. Granted, if you've got some overly-complicated, penis-induced TV/cable/electronic device set-up with some sort of mega universal remote, the death of said remote could make TV watching difficult, if not impossible. But I'm talking about a regular TV by itself. When I lived on the Central American political refugee camp in the mid-90's, I came in to watch the Spanish language news and telenovellas one evening and one of the refugees was just sitting on the couch, looking forlorn. He informed me that the TV was broken.

"What do you mean, it's broken?"
"It's broken. Doesn't work. Won't turn on." And he tapped on the remote.
"Oh, it's probably just the batteries. But the TV still works. Look!" I get up and manually turn the TV on.
"No, it's broken," he replied as he sat there on the couch, looking at that crazy gringa actually getting up to press buttons on the TV. Madness!

This, of course, was the same refugee who flew into a panic when I announced that I was leaving the next day for a two week vacation.

"But will you do the grocery shopping before you go?"
"No, I already went to the store this week, on the regular day. I'm sure someone else will do the shopping next week."
"But, we're out of food!"
"What are you talking about? The pantry is full."
"But we don't have any way to prepare the food."
"Uh, the kitchen works..."
"But you didn't buy enough oil. We only have half a bottle left. That's not going to last very long and then we'll have no way to cook food."

Sigh.