A Gemini thing

I've been beating myself up lately...irritated that I have no attention span, cannot actually finish a task, a book, a project or a thought. I was starting to research my "pathology" using my favorite and most steadfast source-Google.

Surprisingly, Google could not identify my problem...oh wait, I mean I did not accept the explanation--I think it was Schizophrenia with Multiple Personality tendencies. So I moved on to interviewing my successful friends and family to see what their diagnosis would be. alas...it is a Gemini thing. I've always known this to some degree, but never wanted to accept that this is a part of my personality, my make-up that I just may NOT be able to fix...therapize out of or medicate to make better.

So now I'm left with accepting and embracing my total lack of organization, lack of organized thought and total submergence in chaos! This is me. My desk will always be a terrifying place for those who live ordered or happen to be a Virgo.

Typical me

This is what I do. I decide I'm going to do something, and then without forethought or logic, I sign up.

I've done this again. I have decided I want to sea kayak...in the Sea of Cortez for nine days straight. Now, one might presume I was indeed a "kayaker" perhaps have taken a lesson or 10, or maybe even sat in a kayak. This is not the case. I just like to assume that because I want to do these things, and have full use of my limbs, these "things" are within my scope. So I signed up. Then I read the small print which said.."16 miles a day..." this did not deter me...then I read "must pass Dunk Test or Wet Exit". This did its job...I am deterred. I immediately googled these terms and was horrified. Apparently, one needs to know what to do in the event one of these streamline little suckers flips over leaving you strapped in and under water. None of this occured to me. I have witnessed countless kayakers swooshing aimlessly and effortlessly through the still waters of wherever....but never have I seen the bottom of the kayak with some poor soul stuck under it!

I am now in a bit of a panic. This dunk thing sounds a little too "athletic" for my current state of physical prowess...it may end in disaster...so I have to cancel. I think I will have be realistic and maybe sign up for a lesson before spending $2k on a kayaking vacation. But I hate to do this. After all it is on my vision board.

PMS

I know it is that time when the love song from Pretty Woman brings tears to my eyes...what the F...ok, this is a conspiracy...nonono James Blunt...now I'm really a wreck.

I've been really attached to all things Oprah right now. Girl has really turned it around...was disenchanted by the sad slit your wrists stories. Am now enchanted by the you can do anything and be really rich when your done stories...ahh yes, this is what I need to hear or see.

On that note...her recent show about donor kids as adults was fascinating. I have grappled with this for some time. When it became obvious I would not "accidentally" conceive the old fashioned way, (missing sperm and parts) I began really thinking about the alternative....

The bank.

I love the bank. I am so glad we have the bank. But I also wondered what the long-term identity issues would be in kids created...yes, created...in this way. I say created, because insemination does remove the fate component...it is choice -total well thought out, pre-meditated choice. As an adult wanting a baby, I can make that choice, but what does that mean to the offspring brought about in this way? Potentially NEVER knowing where half their DNA, history, family comes from or who they are. This plagued me. Then Oprah had a show about this very thing, and there were adult women on the show who were the product of sperm donation and they were not pleased. They felt lost in their identity and pulled toward a "father" that essentially does not exist for them. I was in such pain for them, that it solidified my decision to either adopt at some point, or not have children.

This is not a judgement towards people who use sperm donation, nor is this a decision come upon lightly, but the chance that my child would feel this way, and the fact that there would be no way for me to relieve that longing, is too much to bear. I know the old argument: deadbeat dad's or rape victims. But, again you have fate involved there...not too many women choose either of those scenarios, they are forced to make the best of the situation.

I'm just not convinced my desire to see my baby and have that experience is necessarily in the best interest of the future adolescent or young adult trying to find themselves in a world that is already chalk full of difficulty; under the best of circumstances...

argghhhh

I hate all forms of exercise. I’ve been lying to myself in an attempt to recondition myself into believing otherwise. I am also very angry that I have been created in such a way that exercise is the ONLY way I can hope to look hot in my cute new jeans....which of course is not the case today....or yesterday for that matter.

Why can’t we just FEEL cute and have it be? Why can’t we just WANT thinness and have it be? I mean, is that not what the f-ing Secret is all about?? See it, feel it,VISUALIZE it and it will be! Well I’ve spent numerous hours visualizing I am all that and 1 chip–in my minds eye (clearly a one dimensional view) I look HOT... all I want is for the camera to support my visual hypothesis.

Yes, this rant is in response to the recent photo I unfortunately saw of me next to 90lb Denise at the reunion.

Note to self: Only have photo taken w/ obese strangers to preserve fantastical sense of self.

20 Years Gone...

Just when I was convinced the world is only nice to the smug nasty asses, I attended my 20 year high school reunion and was reminded there is a god. While I am far from perfect, OMG it could be worse! Clearly, wrinkles form freely on those who considered themselves unbeatably pretty and too good for the masses in high school. This is god’s, (yes, I say god because I now believe there is a score keeper) wonderful and fulfilling way of letting those of us who may not have "varsity cheerleader" on our resume, feel pretty damn good about how it all turned out! I know, I know, how caddy and shallow, but fuck it, it is true and we all feel it at the old reunion...I mean really, why else attend? To reconnect with long lost friends? Hell no! Those lost friends are lost for a reason!
On a positive nice girl note..there was one girl there I was happy to see–she was really cool in HS and was a barn friend of mine. She was still awesome, has a wife of 12 years (wha was also really cool) and is an actual quality girl...plus she shared this great memory she had of me and Risky which really made my night...after all his name is tattooed on me arse, I think I loved him!

Some other high-lights of the night included Denise’s husband being voted by the crew to be the "hottest husband" there...heh...OJ being relentlessly clung to by "Gluby"( aka, the heinous drunken mistake on the senior trip to Hawaii...) And me driving into the valet (feeling real special in my sporty lil’ car) THE WRONG DIRECTION! Yep...

I also hear the food was good...all I know is the cocktails were tasty...

It's Cruel

The little Mexican (as my babe calls him) has had the snip job. Testy's are a memory now...gone baby gone!! In order to deal with the loss he has taken up drinking...

I, however, can't wait for the transformation...the lack of humping everyone and everything, the absence of the incessant leg lifting and the constant testosterone driven busy work this little canine does with glee. I know it seems cruel...but he is at peace now.

Fantasy V. Reality

This is not a new phenomenon... the idea of a puppy is far more enjoyable than the down and dirty reality of a puppy. Puppies NEED stuff; like a place to potty every two minutes.

Life was really easy with Bill. Bill holds his bladder. Bill does not crap in the house. Bill sleeps endlessly; if need be. Roger likes to get up at the crack-ass of dawn needing to pee and play. As I’ve already shared, Roger has his balls until Thursday which means he is really attached to lifting his leg. Luckily, he weighs 9 pounds so it is dribble which is mostly undetectable....until a visiting dog comes over and sprays our house in an attempt to eradicate Roger’s scent.

What have I done? And why do we do this? Why turn simplicity into complication by choice? It’s as if there is some subconscious pull whispering in your ear..."life is too easy right now Stace...muck it up...create some drama...go ahead...you really want to start looking for dropped tootsie rolls all over your house, hidden just so
you don't see'em until it's stuck to your foot..." Yes, by choice. My GF tried to say from the beginning..."babe, we don't really NEED a puppy" So I agreed we would try it for the weekend, a temporary puppy--yes, that's a good solution. Except puppies are armed with puppy squeaks and scents and behaviours that make giving the little rascal back an impossibility.

Long story short, even though I came to my senses Sunday and agreed with mama L that the NEED for a puppy was indeed non-existent...it was too late. Damage done. Roger is here to stay, and in true puppy form, he slept above my head on my pillow where I would accidentally graze his puppy package in the night and be horrified.

Roger

Roger is the name of our new four-legged family memeber. His IQ is off the charts fo sho. He is exceptional in many ways...not to overshadow the original star dog, Bill, but really quite special.


Unfortunatley, Roger was abandoned at a barn where he was abused and tossed into the goat pen. The goats attacked him (I know, is this possible?) and somehow he lost his middle toe nail...in addition his left foot is askew and he appears to have no voice. You can see why it is imperative he be so smart...these are some serious obstacles to overcome! I'm sure the constant marking and sprinting down the middle of the road will cease once his ginormous balls are removed. Of course, i wonder how he will feel being named Roger and getting his testy's whacked all in the same week. To make things worse, I think he may suffer from a "small dog" complex that is kept at bay by the existence of the pronounced and impressive package he has been able to keep in this cut-balls world we live in!