10/2/2007 BREASTFEEDING. IT'S NOT WHAT'S FOR DINNER... Dear Diary, Now that I'm getting on a bit, a lot of my friends are having children. In fact, I was out recently on a friend's birthday, and it was I who was in the minority as a childless, barren wombed singleton. As the conversation is prone to do when you're in a large group of Mothers, we turned to the subject of kids. Now I don't really mind talking about kids. I've got a niece and two nephews and I've certainly done my fair share of bragging about how quickly they walked or when their first word was, but an Aunt and a Mother are two entirely different things. And it was made very apparent to me...
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9/25/2007 I IS OLD... Dear Diary: So I'm 33 now. It's not like I've ever really dreaded getting older or anything, I suppose I've just always accepted that it's inevitable, albeit begrudgingly. I don't really think I'm all that bothered about some of the things that come with the acceptance of getting older either. For example: Wrinkles: I've got a few. But they're not that bad, and I certainly know others younger than me who've got it worse...
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9/18/2007 DRUNK RICKY RELAPSE... Dear Diary. As I told you yesterday, I am in a bit of a pickle. Not the food stuff, mind you, more of an emotional pickle. Several months ago, I was whisked off my feet by a lovely young Englishman who promised me the world. As with all of my relationships, there was just one thing: Drunk Ricky was married. He assured me that the divorce was just around the corner, but as is my luck - all that was round the corner was a call from the wife about their 'reconciliation' and a big fat buttslam. This made me really gun shy about you men, so I kept myself to myself this summer, and have just recently found my feet again. Now the bomb drops. Again. I found out that Drunk Ricky was involved in a terrible accident, was badly injured, and is confined to a wheelchair with a dark prognosis. Being the caretaker that I am, I went to see him as soon as I could and that's where it's all gone wrong. He's still as gorgeous as ever, funny, English, Rich, you know the basics, but now I feel like he needs me. He is also 100% divorced and is extremely contrite about his past actions. He's not asked anything of me, but I may just have a little Florence Nightingale syndrome going on. How am I supposed to know how I feel, how he feels and if this is right, with all these issues? "Hi! I'm lovely, treated you like crap, and now I'm in a wheelchair, telling you I've changed." AHHHH! My brain is melting!!
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9/4/2007 FATHER DAWN'S PRAYER WORKED!!! Dear Diary: As you know, this year had been a tough one for me. I've had a really difficult break up to deal with and then the rebound guy who picked the pieces of my broken heart up turned out to be married and I got butt slammed there too. I've not had any desire or inclination to meet guys and have really enjoyed a summer that was focused on my boxing training and my loyal buddy Blue. My head and my heart have been off men and it's been good. That was until recently...
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8/28/2007 THE DAY I ALMOST KILLED MY DOG BLUE... Dear Diary. Every now and then I do something really stupid. I'm not talking about inadvertantly falling for married guys or risking my entire future with a job in radio, no. I'm talking really stupid. This story probably equals me hitchhiking in the wilderness when I was in high school, or going swimming in Barton springs during the flooding. Except it involves me endangering the life of my beloved dog, Blue...
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Dear Diary, Now that I'm getting on a bit, a lot of my friends are having children. In fact, I was out recently on a friend's birthday, and it was I who was in the minority as a childless, barren wombed singleton. As the conversation is prone to do when you're in a large group of Mothers, we turned to the subject of kids. Now I don't really mind talking about kids. I've got a niece and two nephews and I've certainly done my fair share of bragging about how quickly they walked or when their first word was, but an Aunt and a Mother are two entirely different things. And it was made very apparent to me...
Dear Diary: So I'm 33 now. It's not like I've ever really dreaded getting older or anything, I suppose I've just always accepted that it's inevitable, albeit begrudgingly. I don't really think I'm all that bothered about some of the things that come with the acceptance of getting older either. For example: Wrinkles: I've got a few. But they're not that bad, and I certainly know others younger than me who've got it worse...
Dear Diary: As you know, this year had been a tough one for me. I've had a really difficult break up to deal with and then the rebound guy who picked the pieces of my broken heart up turned out to be married and I got butt slammed there too. I've not had any desire or inclination to meet guys and have really enjoyed a summer that was focused on my boxing training and my loyal buddy Blue. My head and my heart have been off men and it's been good. That was until recently...
Dear Diary. Every now and then I do something really stupid. I'm not talking about inadvertantly falling for married guys or risking my entire future with a job in radio, no. I'm talking really stupid. This story probably equals me hitchhiking in the wilderness when I was in high school, or going swimming in Barton springs during the flooding. Except it involves me endangering the life of my beloved dog, Blue...
