32

32 is my magical childbearing age. I can feel it in my bones uterus.

Why 32? Because like mother, like daughter.

No, my mom didn’t have me when she was 32. She had me when she was 27, just before turning 28.

But my parents had been trying to get pregnant for about a year before I was conceived. Ask any couple who’s been trying to conceive for a year. I bet they’ll tell you it was the longest year of their life.

But the strongest driving force behind the age of 32 is the knowledge that my mom began menopause around age 37.

37.

I’m almost 31. 37 is just around the corner.

And although the prospect of a cramp-free existence is exhilirating, the idea of not being able to have a child terrifies me.

So 32 is my age. At 32, married or not, I’ll be putting my savings towards the turkey baster method. Or I’ll just become a turbo-slut until I’m pregnant.

I haven’t decided which route to take yet. I’m leaning towards the disease-free-turkey-baster route.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “What are these pants you speak of?—Inurbase

Scariest Comment From Last Post: Peg-o-Leg’s comment, which you can read here.

If You Throw It…They Will Come

Me: Want to have dinner with my parents and brother tonight?

Kiefer: Sure. Want to go look at a house after work tomorrow?

Me: Sure…. Want to throw a slushie in my face?

Kiefer: Is this a trick question?

Are you as confused as Kiefer? Maybe this background information will help. This email exchange took place earlier that same day….

Hi Jules,

Your slushie post really ”struck a chord” with me. To show my Glee solidarity, I’d like to ask Kiefer to slushie me as well and link to your original post. Would that be ok?

Thoughtsy

Jules said it was ok. And she swore on chipmunks that it wouldn’t be that bad.

So tomorrow’s weather forecast is chilly…with some slush.

Hopefully, the slushie won’t interfere with me becoming a superhero over on Tom’s blog Morning Erection this weekend. Details to come….

The Return of the Pod People

Me: I need to tell you something, and I need you to not freak out about it.

Kiefer: Ok.

Me: When we were looking at houses…a lot only had 3 bedrooms. If we’re really headed down the path that you say we are, we’ll being having a baby, so you should be looking at 4-bedroom houses.

Kiefer: You’re totally right. Otherwise we’d just have to move again in a couple years.

Me: Right. Soooo…you’re not freaking out?

Kiefer: Not at all.

Me: Oh. Good.

Kiefer: I think the only person freaking out is going to be you when we have a baby boy instead of a baby girl like you want.

Me: If we have a baby boy, we’re switching it with someone else’s baby girl. Wait…did you just make a joke about a baby? Craaaaap…you’re not my boyfriend. POD PERSON!

So my question to you is…Is it ok to marry someone you suspect is a pod person?

And That Makes Me the Jolie’s Half Sister Twice Removed

Hello, My name is Rebecca. I’ve recently reconnected with my birth family.

Let me explain…

One time when I was little,  I did something especially bad. Yes, you read that right. I did something bad only once in my childhood. I was an angel.

My mom was so surprised and angry (I don’t remember what I did, but it must have been really really bad) she said I couldn’t possibly be her child because her child would never have done that.

Years later, it became a joke.

• I don’t need to learn the family apple dumpling recipe because I’m not a blood relation.
• It was nice of you to invite me to Christmas dinner…since I’m not your real child.

Then Mephistopheles pointed out that I don’t look like anyone in my family. So I started asking questions…

Me: So…::nervous laughter::…Mephistopheles said I don’t look like you or Dad. That’s funny, isn’t it?

Mom: I guess you don’t.

Me: Is that an admission of guilt?

Mom: You have your aunt’s fingers though.

Me: What are you saying exactly? My aunt is really my mom? Who is my dad?

But the mystery remained unsolved…until I started blogging. Finally…I’ve found my real father: Omawarisan.

How do I know he’s my father? We have the same taste buds.

• He hates pumpkin. I hate pumpkin.
• He doesn’t drink coffee. I don’t drink coffee.
• He hates cantalope. I hate cantalope.
• He dislikes artifical grape flavor. I dislike artficial grape flavor.

And he used to live in Maryland…the state where I live. So that proves it. Plus he admitted it.

That also makes me The Jolie’s half sister…or something.

You Remind Me of the Babe

You remind me of the babe. What babe? The babe with the power. What power? The power of voodoo. Who do? You do. Do what? Remind me of the babe.

Have you ever noticed that the movie Labyrinth is a lot like The Wizard of Oz?

Let’s do a comparison:

• Munchkins = Goblins (avoids the issue of how PC the term “Munchkins” is)
• Dorothy = Sarah (except brattier and more dramatic)
• “There’s no place like home.” = “You have no power over me.” (more feminism)
• Yellow Brick Road = Labyrinth (The road was too easy.)
• Wicked Witch of the West = David Bowie (except more fashionable)

The similarities are amazing, aren’t they?

It’s a tale as old as time. Girl ends up in a strange land. She makes some new friends. They travel to the Emerald/Goblin City. Someone melts or turns into an owl. Happens all the time.

Rewatching this movie just proved how oblivious innocent I was as a child. As an adult, I kept staring at David Bowie’s…pants.

Dude...Stop looking at my...pants!

I did manage to take some notes about what I learned from the movie:

• If you want goblins to take away your baby brother, just say, “I wish the goblins would come take you away.”
• An oubliette is a place you put people…to forget about them.
• Watch out for poison apples peaches.
• Fairies bite; they don’t grant wishes.
• The only person who grants wishes is Bowie in crotch-hugging pants.
• Slapping babies will make them pee.

This movie should have included a tutorial on how to do that crystal ball spinning thing. But since it didn’t, the most important thing I learned is David Bowie may be Macaulay Culkin’s inspiration.

The Originator of the Home Alone Face