The Right to Privacy

I have been thinking a lot over the past few days about this blog and what I want it to be. If you've been reading for a while (or even just my last post) you know that I'm fairly open and candid. At the moment I feel perfectly free to write about my personal life because no one in my personal life (other than Victor) reads this blog. But I'm getting to the point where I might want to open up my blog to some close friends. I love to write here and part of me wants to bump up my view count share this part of my life with them.

But I worry. About how sharing may cause me to edit my content. About how someone I don't particularly want to read my blog might accidentally hear about it. And I feel responsible to protect the privacy and dignity of my family. Not just mine, or even Victor's, but that of other people who are close to me who might be just a little bit SHOCKED AND APPALLED that their beloved daughter/granddaughter/cousin/niece/fellow church member is writing about GIRLY BITS and UNDERWEAR and (the worst of all) SPERM-FRIENDLY LUBE on the INTERNET!

I've thought about having another blog, one where I write for my friends and family. But I think that would only serve to take away from my very limited time to write here. Also? It would suck. For example, my narrative of yesterday might go something like this:

"Yesterday we went to church. Andy preached on the sixth commandment. It was good. But I had a headache so I went out to sit in the concourse for the last five minutes. Then we went home and I took a long nap, a mistake since I had trouble sleeping later. I made shrimp tacos for dinner and we watched "Blood Diamond". It was sad."

Okay, I might be exaggerating. Or not, based on some blogs I've encountered. But even spiced up a little bit? BOOORRRIINNNG!

I am pretty impressed with people who write under their full names and can make it interesting without getting too personal. To me though, the personal is what inspires me to write at all. The stuff I don't share with everyone but I want to, need to, release.

For now I'm keeping this blog open only to those who serendipitously find it on the great Interwebs. I think after a while, perhaps once I'm pregnant or once I have children, I'll start to give some select people the address and see what happens. Will they receive it well? Or will I have to move to Lithuania, change my name, and dye my hair?

Product Review, in Which I Completely Eliminate Any Semblence of Discretion

Let's discuss this product.

Pre-seed is pitched as a lubricant for couples trying to conceive. Most products are known to be hostile to sperm. As seeing a dark test line on an ovulation predictor kit isn't enough to get most women in the mood, it's good to have some help that won't defeat the purpose of the rendez-vous. Pre-seed is not and actually mimics the kind of fluid that your body should be producing naturally

This stuff comes with an applicator and instructions to fill said applicator to the 3 (unit of measurement unknown). It looked like an awful lot to me so I only used half of what was recommended. And unless thirty minutes of frantic slip-and-sliding followed by much oozing and complete exhaustion is what tickles your fancy I would not recommend even half of the prescribed dosage.

So much for our clean sheets.

Round two I only applied to the 0.5 line, one third of my original try. With this amount there was not as much slip-and-sliding or oozing, but the completion was still more labor-intensive than when performed au natural.

The final round of pre-ovulation nookie I decided to skip the applicator altogether and just use a pea-sized amount with my finger. Much better, both Victor and I agreed. (wink wink).

My final decision on product endorsement will come in approximately 9 days. At which point I'll either pack our wine stock away or break into it and drink away my cramps.

Ignorance

When I was four my mama gave me this book:

Internet, there are pictures of HAIRY FAT NEKKID people in this book. Having SEX! This book gave all the facts of life in a "nonsense"-free way, as is advertised on the cover. Besides the basic facts of baby-making and delivering, I also learned that sex feels really good but you can only do it for a short period of time lest you become overwhelmed.

Or something.

My mama was very upfront about anatomy, puberty, and sex when my brother and I were kids. As a result, we knew a lot more about these things than our friends. I was always surprised to hear friends make comments that were obviously NOT CORRECT, (I was very keen on the CORRECT as a child) whether it be a nickname for their girly bits or a vague reference to storks.

Now that I spend time on a babies-related discussion board I am still shocked by some adult women's complete lack of knowledge about the reproductive process. Questions like:
Can I take birth control so that I don't get pregnant even though I already am pregnant?
Can you be pregnant and still get a period?
I had sex yesterday and today my boobs hurt: could I be pregnant?

I'll confess that part of the reason I love this discussion board so much is because of the crazy questions we get sometimes. And the carnage that always follows. But it's still shocking to me that such ignorance can be perpetuated.

And so the other day when I was telling my mama about an especially ridiculous question on the board.
Me: I can't believe how little some people know!
Mama: Well, until [her best friend] had a baby (when my mama was 21) I thought that babies came out of your butt instead of the other side.
Me: (stunned silence)

Thank goodness for sex ed. Otherwise I'd have to question everything my mama taught me.

Not California Dreamin'

Remember this news? Victor found out yesterday he didn't get the job. I have to admit, I'm a little relieved. While I would have moved to LA and been happy that Victor was doing something he found interesting, I would have been really sad to move all the way across the country from my family. Three hundred miles is far enough.

A few other job opportunities are in the works. On the East Coast! Hopefully something will come through quickly.

Being "Bad"

When I was a kid my parents were very strict about the kinds of music I listened to and the movies I watched. Only G-rated and pre-screened PG movies were permitted. We mainly listened to oldies with some Natalie Cole mixed in and one time when a George Michael video came on TV my parents changed the channel and gave us a lecture about what a BAD MAN he was.

Not being allowed to watch and listen to the forbidden media naturally just made me more curious to find out why such things were in fact forbidden. And I did.

Such is the purpose of cool aunts.

My mom's youngest sister, Jackie, is ten years younger than her and only 15 years older than me. She got married when I was six (a story for another day) and she and her husband Greg were much cooler and more worldly than any other family members. I loved spending the night with them, mainly because they would let me watch and listen to things that weren't allowed at home. And to a ten-year old kid there is nothing better than spending your Friday night watching PG-13 movies without your parents knowing.

Kindergarten Cop and Turner and Hooch are the movies I remember best. Jackie and Greg would also play their illicit music. Like Michael Jackson's "Bad" album. I have vivid memories of trying to moonwalk around their small house while singing "I'm bad, I'm bad." And I FELT "BAD"! Maybe it was "DANGEROUS". My parents would have strongly disapproved if they knew what I was doing and that being bad was just so good.

These memories were the first that flooded my mind at nine o'clock last night when Ann Curry's voice informed us of Michael Jackson's death. I feel like a part of my childhood has died. The part where even doing such harmless things as dancing to the King of Pop at my aunt's house felt so cool.

Now that I'm an adult listening to Michael Jackson (and really, pretty much anything else) doesn't feel risky. I'm allowed. But while freedom is nice, there was something so enchanting about that rush of being "Bad".

Things I Learned this Weekend

1). Do not get in line at the grocery behind a couple wearing matching "Proud Daschound Owner" t-shirts. Unless of course, you like standing in line.

2). Fan dancing = wearing lingerie and making eyes at random men.
Our local lindy hop group hosted a weekend with some very talented instructors. The woman demonstrated a fan dance during one of the band breaks at the evening dance. After she was finished the following conversation took place.
Kara: Jason, you have some drool on your chin.
Jason: oh, that must be...because I was cheering so much.
Uh-huh.

3). After a month without lindy hop, a weekend of doing it exclusively leads to serious pain.

4). I am not pregnant. Thankfully mercy was bestowed upon me and my cramps and nausea were fairly mild. On to month two.

And lead me not into temptation...

...but deliver me from pee sticks.

Today is nine days past ovulation and even though I know there is a minuscule chance of a pregnancy being detected by now, I still tested and proceeded to squint at the test for ten minutes until the evaporation line appeared. I woke up this morning determined not to test but somewhere between my bed and the toilet my resolve disappeared. I guess that's why I buy cheap tests.

Despite the fact that it's so early, I feel very pessimistic about this cycle. There's something in me that wonders, "how could I ever get pregnant?" Part of it is due to some doctors from my past who diagnosed me with some things that meant I would never hit puberty, let alone be a mom. They said I'd be under five feet, flat-chested, and a little dumb. At the time they made this diagnosis I was a straight-A student, but that didn't faze them. They told my mom, in front of me, that when I got a little older my intellectual limitations would manifest themselves.

Obviously they were wrong. I hit puberty, grew over five feet, acquired boobs, and continued making sweet grades. I've got tampons, normal-sized clothing, bras, and some impressive diplomas to prove it. But their statements to me have made a big impact on how I view myself as a woman. While all of the above things partially helped relieve me from their diagnosis, I think bearing a child will be my final vindication.