Once I latched my teen brain around a few punk faves, I began calling the Oyster at the station to make requests. Request calls turned into chats. Chats into flirtations. And finally, one call netted me one of my most cheirshed lifetime events: My First Real Date.  [See my 100 Things About Me list #41]

Of course I had to learn this guy's name if my mother was to allow me, her 15-year-old daughter, to go to Center City (Philadelphia) with a college freshman. I don't recall how I asked or how he told me, but eventually I learned his name was George.

George asked me out to share the epitome of cool punk date opportunities: Go  downtown to the only arthouse theatre in the metro area to partake of Repo Man.

Even in my boy-shy state back then, I don't think I considered the date to be romantic in nature, as much as getting a one-time opportunity to hang out with a really cool guy, someone I looked up to at the time.

I lost a BABY, not a houseplant or a goldfish. I find the concept of "replacing" him right away offensive and crass. And I lost a baby due to congenital birth defects - ones which correlate directly to my age. In a situation like mine, I'd think it to be instinctive to proceed with extreme caution. Criminy.

I have never been able to identify with women who identify themselves as "mother" first and foremost. Its one aspect of my life but it isn't "my life" in its entirety. I was never one of those girls who fantasized about having children and what I would name them.

I see how I feel each day, each week. Weigh the pros and cons of the situation and make my decision. I am not a romantic person. Both of my pregnancies were planned based upon "pros" outweighing the "cons" at the time I had the biological urge. I have no urge right now. I do not know how I will feel in 3, 6, or 12 months from now. I don't have a crystal ball. So I am being a totally responsible and practical person and I'm using the #1 most effective birth control method on the market, and one which eases many of my health problems as well.

So if another person has the audacity to ask, "Are you trying again?" I doubt I'll be able to offer a sane and polite reply. They are going to regret ever asking.

As a sort of "creative therapy" for myself I volunteered to be on costuming crew for my church's spring musical "C'mon, Get Happy!" Yes. An amateur theater production based on a '70's tv show or something like that. I know it will end up being dubbed "C'mon, Its Crappy" by my snickering husband but nonetheless its an opportunity for me to not only meet some new people in my neighborhood but also I hope to donate and use up these two bolts of era-appropriate fabric my sister gave me as a gift many years ago to produce my own "vintage" clothing. I never ended up getting around to THAT project. I like costuming becuase nothing has to be "perfect" like when making clothes  for everyday wear. It suits my skill level, I guess.

Oh, and my ham of a kid also auditioned and supposedly will be in the actual production. I just get to hang backstage and bite my lip when middle-aged women try to croon Joni Mitchell tunes while swathed head to toe in old-school polyester.

Its clear to me why I have gravitated to my Church as an outlet for getting out of the house. Due to the circumstances over the past few months, I got on prayer lists and such and my sad story kinda spread around some of the parish circles. And then when the bomb dropped (literally - sorry Jack!) it was in the Parish bulletin ("In sympathy" announcement), the Berevement counselor and one Priest came to Jack's funeral, and I suspect my daughter's ccd teacher (or maybe my mom) informed the other ccd parents about what happend. Many people would be annoyed but for me it makes things easier in that I know that THEY all know I used to be pregnant, had a bad situation, etc. Thus, I am not insecure about anyone asking me stupid-ass questions like "When are you gonna have another one?" Or "When is the baby due?" (DUH! I'm not THAT fat!!!!)

Rather, people I barely know stop me and state, with genuine concern and empathy, "How are you doing?" and note "Take it one day at a time. I/We will be thinkng of you." That is very reassuring for me. They are comfortable acknowledging my loss, it seems, and THAT make ME comfortable.

My big fear is (still) that I'll get into a really awkward social situation (common fear for people in my place) and either I'll say something that makes someone react wierdly (some people I have told started to cry. That made me feel just GREAT lemme tell ya'!) or they'll say something dumb that makes me react wierdly or feel badly.

I was kinda pumped that one gal I met who was auditioning brought a "best of The Monkees" cd and noted that the only time she ever sang on stage was while revved up on Margaritas at a karaoke bar.

This could be alot of fun after all ;)

My last entry lamented my lack of exercise and the way its wracked my body and self-image...

And then, as if delivered on a silver platter, was the motivation I craved RIGHT when I needed it most:

All of my fave, sentimental 80's hits played with no commercials courtesy of internet station Radio Nigel. THANK YOU to Miss Ginger for pointing me in this direction! Major halo points for you, saintly woman!!!

Anyone who has known me for the past couple of years and/or has read my blog for some time knows I was quite a fitness maven and was pleased with my level of muscle tone and the resulting body image it helped me to project. I wasn't "skinny" per se but quite toned, healthy-looking, self-confident. Dare I say, even "attractive."

Now I have next to no muscle tone in my arms or legs due to the Doctor-ordered sedentary lifestyle I led while in a "high risk" pregnancy. None of my old clothes fit. Not even CLOSE. I'm 3 dress sizes away from my "old" self. I'm on the cusp of "plus size" if only due to that nagging pooch of a tummy from a stretched-out-ute' that yielded no living fruit. It sounds whiny but really, I am just frustrated, not full of self-pity. I want to get back on a fast-track to 5-a-week workouts including plenty of running to burn up that awful "bacon".

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Sidebar: Do you know what "bacon" is???? When a woman is even slightly overweight, its the fat on her back that droops over the edge of the bra straps!!! Isn't that the WORST term you have ever heard? I heard it from, of all people, my HUSBAND one day in the car. A young, somewhat attractive woman in a dress got out of the passenger-side of the car in front of us while we were at a stoplight. She had to adjust something with the seatbelt. She was about average height and weight and was obviously "dress up" for Church or similar Sunday morning event. Her dress was just a hair bit tight through the bodice, revealing that dreaded bra indentation and the resulting flesh-spillage. I stated, "Gee she looks cute, all dressed up." Hubby noted, "Yeah but she's got some BACON going on!!!"

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Well now I have f*cking BACON, and HAMHOCKS and a G*ddamn RUMP ROAST to boot!!!!! ;)