BLOG ENTRY RATING:  THIS BLOG ENTRY HAS BEEN RATED UNSUITABLE FOR MY PARENTS. (UMP) 

Read this entry at your own peril.  It contains material that will give you the heebie jeebies and may make you wonder if I am truly your child; or at least, make you want to pretend I don’t exist around your friends.

END OF WARNING

I like peanut butter.  Do you rollerskate?  Yes, you read that correctly.  This is a twofer.  It’s too damn early in the morning, and I am working on a Business Objects client presentation.  Thought I would take a break and write something for those of you who have been salivating for my next post (Avi). Yes, I did promise a great post when I came back to the land of the living, but this ain’t it. Gambling with Netflix. Long have I anticipated the arrival of my next set of movies from Netflix.  With all my copious free time, I am able to take great advantage of my Netflix subscription.  I may even get to watch two whole movies in a month.  So you can imagine my great anticipation at the arrival of my next two movies, since I finally have 30 free minutes during the day, during which I poop, drink a slim fast, do “puppy love”, pick up the house, answer emails, get the mail, masturbate, make the bed, listen to Wayne’s endless rambling on the phone, read blogs, comment your damned blogs, and think about my life. 

I checked my snail mail, and lo, the Netflix Gods had automagically sent me my next two movies.  I felt a tinge of anxiety, because I wasn’t sure if, this time, my wish would be answered.  This time, the gods smiled upon me.  I carefully opened my movie, like a geriatric octegenarian with rheumatoid arthritis, pull out the thin, white sleeve, closed my eyes, prayed a little prayer, and cast my eyes upon the gift.

I screamed out in delight, like the last orgasm I had in 1993 from actual penetration.  THE ENTIRE MOVIE.  THE ENTIRE MOVIE!!!!!  YES, THIS TIME I GOT THE WHOLE MOVIE!

I help my breath, and opened the second movie.  OH MY GOD! TWO MOVIES IN A ROW WITH THE ENTIRE MOVIE! I almost wet my pants.

 So, I wanted to extend great thanks to Netflix for bestowing upon me the greatest gift that they could ever give me.  My hat is off to you!

 Tubal Ligation

In 13 days, 15 hours and 5 minutes, I will be 35 years old.  Thirty-five.  Almost 40.  Not even close to 16.  Not 60, but more than halfway there.  God.  Where did all the time go?  Oh yes.  Wasted on 18 hour days at work, alchohol, Xanax, bad relationships, and sleep.  Oh, and massive quantities of chocolate (see penetration orgasm above).

Now, I am okay with being 35 (yeah, right).  But at 35, I have no children, and am not married.  The prospects are slim out there (see bad relationships).  “The Plan” is too late to put into action.  If you don’t know what “The Plan” is, ask any adult woman. 

I don’t have a huge desire to have children.  I can take it or leave it.  If I were to have children, I would only want one.  And I would want a boy.  Which would require 1) a sperm donor, 2) a centerfuge, 3) a turkey baster, 4) some lube, and 5) a petri dish.  Oh, and 6) a  coat hanger to pull out some very old and bitchy eggs.  Plus, I would probably need some candlelight, romatic music, and lots and lots of alcohol for the sperm to even want to talk to the egg.

Just yesterday, I was offered my dream job.  This job, however, will require lots and lots of education, lots and lots of hours, and lots and lots of brains.  The payoff will be huge, and I will finally reach my current professional goals.  With that in mind, the likelihood of my finding a suitable donor who can stand my fat ass, my personality, or lack thereof, have sufficient time to convince that person that I am capable of keeping a child alive (my plants are dead), and keeping that guy around so that I don’t have to sue him for child support is 100% NIL.

Last night, I was trying to sleep, and my manic mind was going like crazy.  The little thought that had been coming up from time to time surfaced; it’s time for tubal ligation.  Now, the whole point of my getting tubal ligation would be to have sex without a condom.  I can’t take birth control due to migraines.  Plus, at 35, it’s not a good idea.  That, and it’s a pain in the ass. 

In order to accept the above, you have to suspend disbelief as if you were watching a shitty Spielberg movie.  The need for tubal ligation would presume that I am having sex, and there is a small likelihood of my actually getting pregnant.  And, you would also have to assume that the sex that I am having is decent enough for me to not kick the guy to the curb.  Let’s face it; only about one in 20 guys are any good in bed, no matter how much you teach them; or at least try to teach them.  And that should give you some idea of my whore status.

So, going with that complete fabrication of the truth about my life, the question is, “To ligate, or not to ligate.  That is the question.”

I recognize that this is a very personal choice.  I also realize that every time my OBGYN sticks that damned speculum up my vagina, and puts that “Q-Tip” against my cervix, I want to come off the table and strangle her.  I am a total wimp.  After cryosurgery, snipping pieces of uterus out, and freezing my cervix, I am not a happy camper at the OBGYN.  So, I have to think about going under and letting my most favorite doctor stick a knife inside of me.  I have also heard that recovery from tubal ligation is much more uncomfortable/painful than the “snip snip”.  But, I have to take responsibility for my own reproductive ability, and since I don’t have a pee-pee, that means an invasive procedure into my most sensitive area second only to my ego.

I have long said that if I don’t have a child by the time I am 35, I won’t have one.  Not because I can’t; but because I don’t want to be 75 when he or she graduates from college, or disappoints me by becoming a school bus driver.  So, I think it’s time.  It’s a sad moment; every sterilized woman goes through that sad moment,  even if they have children already.   It has to do with the inherent nature of our bodies, and the recognition of that part of our life being over.  Unless you have one or more monster anti-social ill-behaved little shits that can’t behave in the grocery store.  If that’s you, it’s your damned fault, not the child’s… But that’s another story.

So, I don’t have to do it immediately, but I have decided that tubal ligation is in my relatively-near future.  Good thing my parents don’t want grandchildren.  Mother is quite content with the dog, and Dad has a very busy professional and personal life. 

Since my brother doesn’t have any natural-born children (but I do have a step-niece), this means that there are no children to continue our downline.  That’s okay.  We are all batshit crazy anyway, so the buck stops with him and me.

Well, that’s about all for now.  Back to my presentation.  God, I hate creating presentations.