With all the bullets I've dodged, I'm like Wonder Woman.

With The Boy away for a week, I've had lots of thinking to be done.  To be honest, my experiences in the past with boyfriends going away have not yielded positive results.

It started with my high school boyfriend who was bipolar and didn't take his meds.  He went away on vacation and cheated.  Not 1 summer but 2 in a row.  I think he adhered to that rule about not being in the same time zone, so the cheating doesn't count.  Or maybe he blamed his meds (or lack of).  Not sure, but back then the drama of "I'm sorry - I'll never do this again" and the being treated like a princess and showered with guilt gifts was very exciting.

Then, the worst ego blow was my college boyfriend, whom I was with all throughout college and a little thereafter.  The summer after my Freshman year, he went to Italy for a month for a study abroad thing.  Basically 2 weeks into his trip, he broke up with me over the phone from Florence.  

I later found out it was so he could screw a big boobed blonde named Tina guilt free.

A week after peeling myself off the bathroom floor, dry heaving and dried out from crying (we were going to be together forever!!) I managed to get out and promptly start sleeping with a way too old for me, but still managed a music store and smoked massive quantities of pot boy named John. 

John very quickly became a bit of a stalker.  In the time before cell phones he would repeatedly call my house and leave pathetic messages on the family answering machine.  He went as far as keeping the watch I left at his house for ransom until I saw him again.

Ahh young love.

When my ex came back from his sordid romance in Florence, of course he wanted me back.  Apparently Tina Ta-Tas wasn't more than a set of boobs with blonde hair (how many times does that happen and when will these men learn?).  I, the 18 year old birdbrain I was, was happy to oblige, open arms and all.  He wasn't a stalker and it gave me an excuse to give to John: "Uh sorry, my ex came back and we decided it was meant to be forever, keep the watch, bye".

Years go by and Mr. Popularity couldn't keep his little man in his pants.  This fact, I wouldn't find out until years later when we're living together.  He'd taken a few family vacations, sans the GF (me) and I've come to find out he'd screwed Dolphin trainers in Florida, family friends in New York and little chickies that lived in his college dorm.   

I found all this out when he left his e-mail open on the computer we shared.  Vacations and weekend getaways (as well as the nights I worked) were a time for play.  Who saves e-mails from NAKED chicks from 2 years ago and then "forgets" to sign out?  Someone who wants to get caught.  He was like David Duchoveny or that dude that was married to Hally Barry.  I swore he had a sex addiction.

Where was I going with this?

Ahh yes, so now The Boy's away.  And I am calm and cool as a cucumber.  I have no fear of Dolphin trainers, family friends or any kind of fornicating while he is on this trip.  He puts my anxious heart at ease.

I think of all the bullets I've dodged in my life.  Sometimes, when I'm feeling extra introspective I'll read old journals (I have them ALL) and take myself back to the breakups.  I really try to recall that feeling of panic, pain, fear, chest tightness when you realize it's over.  The "why didn't this work out"? lament.  And I realize why it didn't work out.  He's usually sitting right next to me.  And then I take a deep breath and sniff his armpits and relax.

Semi-political, but mostly personal ramblings...

I was wandering around the Internet tonight (work was a slow and steady influx of drunks and stomach aches) where I came across a news story (OK it was on "Yahoo! Shine" - but still it was news) about a girl who started a controversial blog called "What to Expect When You're Aborting".  

I read the blog (all the while I was very conscientious about the fact that I was at work and the word "abortion" was splashed across the screen).  The writing was very good.  And the author seemed bright and witty as she documented the trials and tribulations she is currently undergoing until she has her surgical abortion (in 2 wks time according to the post).

I'm not sure how I feel about this.  Let me clarify.  I am very liberal in my views and I believe 100% in freedom of speech.  I have no problem with her blog and in a way I do appreciate the honest portrayal of what is happening to her.  Without any condemmings to hell or Christian propaganda.  I'm pro-choice.  I'm a nurse.  I understand how dangerous it would be if young women were denied this right.  But I wouldn't go as far as saying I'm pro-abortion.

Years ago I was terrified of those 2 pink lines on the stick tests.  I most definitely would have had an abortion if you asked a knocked up me, aged 17.  But today at 26, I surprise myself at how conservative my personal thinking has become.  I want to have a baby (not tomorrow - hopefully planned and within the context of a happy family), but in the not-so-distant future I daydream about a cute bump or an adorable mini me.  Abortion is no longer in my vocabulary,

Again, as a health care person, I appreciate this author's ability to describe her condition to the masses.  It is easy and accessible.  The part that didn't sit too well with me was the nonchalant way - the almost giddy way - she described the relief she will feel upon completing the procedure.  She likens the abortion to a "reconstruction of {her} uterus".  As though the pregnancy is an anomaly and she must "fix" it.  She describes the procedure as a few cramps and some amnesics and boom - mommy no more.

I take offense because I see so many women in the ER everyday who are pregnant with complications.  The majority of these women want these babies with all their hearts and souls.  I see a future me.  I pray that I never have difficulty in the baby making department.  I know I would be in love with that baby the second the stick says "pregnant".  

I'm confused by my own thoughts sometimes.  I feel that if we were to go back to the times before women could make their own choices, the times of back alley abortions and hemorrhaging in the homes, the fatalities would be devastating.  Or babies would be had and abused and unwanted.  But, here I am, a woman, and I'm offended at the way this girl chooses to discuss her choice.  I feel her lack of remorse, her sarcasm and her analogies are almost irresponsible.  No one should be led to believe the choice is as simple as a mole removal or a cavity filling.

It's as though the second I turned 26, I started thinking this way.  I realized that to have an abortion at my age just didn't make sense any more.  I have a decent job, insurance, etc.  The option just disappeared one day.  It was replaced with a sense of wanting and hoping to have the privilege of being some one's mom (some time in the FUTURE).  Now, when I try to put myself in the shoes of other's, the shoes don't fit.  I'm not there any more.  

I thank God quite often that I never did have to make that choice.  I've had so many close encounters.  I have so many memories of being 17 and stupid and ending up in the bathroom of Barnes and Noble peeing on a stick and days of praying for my period, thrilled with cramps and the first sign of blood - I would never want to go back there.  Ever.  However, it is scary to think that the next step will be days in my bathroom, peeing on a stick, disappointed by the sight of my own blood.  At what age, exactly, does the transition occur?

Being an adult is so funny.

My exciting week

I still have 2 more nights of work, off Sunday and back for 3 in a row.  I love nights because I can get things done during the day and because I am so not a morning person.  But sometimes I miss the curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and some trashy tv midweek feeling.

It's been a week.

Last night at work a man peed in his applesauce container.  When I asked him why he said "It was there and it was empty".  He wasn't homeless.  I bet at his house he uses the toilet.  It's a very interesting thing the ER does to people.  They come there and they have the urge to be naked, to yell and to urinate in areas most places would deem illegal.  Or at least inappropriate.

Speaking of peeing, I'm dogsitting for The Boy's family's sheepdog.  Who hates to pee on concrete.  She will only pee on grass and only while she is off the leash.  So to walk the two pooches has been quite the interesting task this week.  My dog pulls and she's 60 pounds.  His dog is good but she's 80 pounds.  I have to trek to the only nearby area that has grass (which is limited in Manhattan) and let the big one off the leash while I beg my dog to behave and stop being jealous.  I also have to coax the sheep dog with "Izzie go pee" 6 or 7 times before she understands what is expected of her.  Then we make the trek home (because the nearby grass isn't really that nearby) and I have to beg Izzie to eat.  

I wanted 2 dogs for a while and now I'm rethinking the whole thing.  It is sweet how she follows me all over the place though.

There isn't too much going on.  The Boy is out of the state, the job is tiring, but entertaining and the dogs make it possible for me to skip the gym this week.

If you want it to be a surprise than maybe you should skip this one....

I have to try and keep a positive outlook. Because I know positive thoughts make positive things or some shit like that. But I'm watching your dog and you can't call? What's that about?

I like to think it's because you're all in 1 tiny room and they might laugh at the pathetic way you miss me.

I miss you too. I miss the sex. I miss the grabbing and I miss you and me against the door of my old building. When behind doors didn't belong to us. When behind doors was only for me. When I didn't believe it would last. When I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - no crash. A time when I believed things like this crashed and burned. Obviously when you put a boy who's fickle with a girl who's jaded together you can't bet on forever. But some thing's different now.

I know it's going to last. I would bet some cash on it. I wouldn't even mind an oops. That's how sure I am. Of course it scares the shit out of me. But I keep digging. And you keep digging. I have songs and memories and conversations - days and data that would have to be erased. I'd crash my computer if this stopped. I'd have to leave Manhattan. I couldn't imagine functioning with all these thoughts in my head. And The Talking Heads?? Forget about any 80's nights. I'd have to give up Karaoke and whole wheat pizza. I'd have to leave work and the new apartment because I doubt I would be able to function. I have so many many days of memories. And yet some days I feel new. And you feel foreign.

Maybe that's the secret to the really good sex? We should write a book or hold a seminar. It's really become a perfected art, the sex. The fact that I still want your body so badly after not seeing you for barely a day - it says something I don't think I've ever been able to say before. The fact that I only want your body. Still. After all those times and after all this time. I still remember that first time. Clearly. Crystal.

I know I could trust you with it all. I know you could read this and not bat an eye. That's how much a part of me you are. But then I'd lose my edge. Have I really got any left anyway? That went away the day I peed the bed because I was so drunk. My edge. Ha. It was fun to have for a sec. I'd give it up again in a heartbeat if it promised to bring us to this place again. I'd leave edge and move comfortably into "obtained" a million times for you.

I know you're it and I know you want that to be a surprise so that's why I suggest you don't read this. I wouldn't want to spoil the ending for you....

MTV is altruistic

Those marketing geniuses at MTV have created yet another reality show based on totally unrealistic lives of supposedly "real" people.  

Remember "My Super Sweet Sixteen"?  The show about spoiled brats that spend more on their 16th birthdays than most people do on their college educations??  Well, "Exiled" is a spin off of that show.  

The premise is - they take those spoiled fuckers and "exile" them to developing countries such as Africa, India, etc.  The idea is these rich biatches see how underprivileged people live.  

I think it's ridiculous.  Not because "My Super Sweet Sixteen" already makes me want to commit homicide.  Not even because MTV has yet to play a real music video (and 4am does not count) since the 80's.  Simply because - most kids (myself included) would kill to go to these countries.  Can you imagine the life experiences?  Or how awesome it would look on college applications?  Never mind - these a-holes can buy their degrees anyway.  But here is this amazing opportunity wasted on Paris Hilton wanna-bes and 17 year old Ghetto Superstars.  

I hate them.

But I watch the show.  The same way I watch those sad ASPCA commercials that make my stomach knot up.  Because I want to find the meaning.  The good.  

MTV, a big pat on the back for this one.  Congrats on giving rich kids more ammo to hold over the heads of their middle class peers.  You're just like Oprah.

Ugh

I am old.  Old in the way that "hangover" takes a new meaning.  Meaning if I get shitfaced on a Friday, I won't feel better until a Monday.  Maybe not even this Monday.  Maybe next.  

Last night we started at the Boat Basin.  Which I assumed would be a low key night for me since everyone was ordering pitchers of beer and I don't really love beer.  I thought this will be a sober night.  Ha.

We wound up at Niagara down on the Lower East Side. I used to go there all the time in the days of yore.  I felt cool because the bar wasn't yet discovered by the trendy 22 year olds the city has come to be inhabited by.

There was lots of dancing.  Lots of drinking and I had fun.  The kind of fun where you know it's probably going to hurt tomorrow.  

Oh and did I mention The Boy came in to surprise me?  He told me he had to work but showed up anyway.  I was kind of expecting him to surprise me because that's his favorite thing to do to people.  But it was still nice to know that I wasn't just imagining an ideal situation in my head.  

Then we fought.  We don't usually fight when we drink.  I hate it especially when we've had a wonderful time and then we fight.  And sometimes I cry.  I hate to be such a stupid girl.  

When I was a little munchkin, I was somewhat rambunctious.  (Wow - I cannot believe I spelled that word right).  I sometimes pushed buttons and my parents would yell at me and I would feel so sad.  Not because I was getting in trouble (I was used to being punished) but because I took a fun, happy moment and turned it into an angry one.  I hated most that I disappointed my mom and dad because I knew how much they loved me.  I didn't want to ruin their time and I didn't want the loving attention to stop.

I still carry that feeling after a fight with people I care about to this day.  Last night was filled with lots of I love yous and you're my favorites and I hated that we had to top it off with a stupid drunk fight.  

He had to leave early this morning, but he still made sure I had water and Motrin because I wanted the room to stop spinning.  He takes care of me no matter how angry he gets.  That's one of his best qualities.  He doesn't stop the loving attention.  Which made me feel more guilty, but I could barely lift my head to say sorry.  I couldn't even take the sleep mask off my face because the sun was making it a mission to burn my hungover eyes out of their sockets.

I know we've made up a dozen times in our sleep already.  But I just hate the stupid fights.  

They made a Peanut Butter Twix

Oh. My. Goddness. Peanut Butter and Twix??? Who said this world wasn't a place filled with joy and love??

Maybe I'll allow myself to have one one day.