Quiet please, I think my uterus is trying to say something.

Mr. Stork has dropped a bomb on my world. Don’t worry, I have avoided his successive fire, but it seems everyone all around me is spontaneously reproducing. Ten, yes ten, of my facebook friends are pregnant or have just had a baby, not to mention the dozens of my friends who are recently engaged, married, or attached at the hip to some perfect partner. And it leaves me left to wonder, did I miss a memo or something?

Am I to assume that once you hit a certain age, my age, that you are meant to couple and make little couplettes? Did I miss that guidance class which taught students that by the time they’re 30, the biological clock should be in full swing? All I remember was getting condoms and maxi pads and told to be successful. Go to school girls, find a career girls, be independant girls, make lots of money girls. No one told me about starting a family. So why does everyone else around me seem to know something about this time of life that I don’t?

At first, I was oblivious to it all. Oh look, Jane’s engaged, that’s wonderful. Wow, Suzy is pregnant with her first child; I can’t wait to see the pictures. Lynn and David are having their second child, what amazing parents those two are. It was all warmth and sunshine until all of a sudden, every time I logged onto facebook, there was another announcement, then another, then another.

I was beside myself. I was fucking mad.

I logged on one morning, and the first thing posted on my wall was a picture of an overly expensive piece of jewelry with the comment “this is what my wonderful husband bought for me for birthing our beautiful baby. I’m so lucky.”

That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was furious. I angrily called one of my few single friends, ranting and raving about how my facebook page, my safe little connection to the outside world, my little place to be an asshole without consequence, was being bombarded- downright invaded- by familial bliss. It was disgusting.

I barred the woman who posted the picture, and anyone else who put similar posts on my wall.

And I was happy. I was once again the quirky single gal on facebook, making asshole status updates and laughing at suggestive comments and links posted. But eventually I began to facebook stock those women who I had barred from my page. I began to peruse pictures of their little ones, and smile at their adorable smiles and outfits. And a little thought popped in my head…

Am I jealous?

No! Never! Why would I be! I’m a free woman. I sleep in till noon when I like. I go to bed at 3am when I like. I can drink champagne on a week night. Why would I be jealous?

Now I’m passed the halfway point of my 30th year. I’m now closer to 31 than I was to 30. And with the coming of autumn, I’ve felt a shift in my body. I can no longer party till the sunrises. After three glasses of wine, I feel like going to bed, not going dancing. The idea of spending two nights in a row away from home makes me a little nauseous.

And babies make my uterus leap.

It’s embarrassing. It’s uncontrollable. But now, when I see a baby, my heart flutters and I can’t help but grin from ear to ear. And I’m left with this confused, what-the-fuck, feeling in the pit of my stomach. Frankly, it’s gross.

Now there are some rational reasons for these crazy feelings. First, the colder weather always makes me feel like staying at home with a good book. And I do enjoy a good cuddle with my fluffy cat. So how is wanting to cuddle with a baby any different?

And I will admit now that I have been dating someone on the regular. Nothing super special yet, no monogamous promises made. I’m just simply spending time with someone who is worth spending time with. But we are at that “we just met and can’t get enough of each other” stage, that stage when a couple holds hands at inappropriate times, and stare into each other’s eyes saying nothing while the waitress awkwardly waits for them to order. The stage that is so uncomfortable for outsiders to watch, yet feels so glorious for the ones involved. Maybe it’s because I’m enveloped in these new feelings of affection that I’ve begun to feel new warmth for little ones.

Or maybe it’s because I’m quickly realizing that my days of youthful fertility are numbered, and if my thirty’s pass by as quickly as my twenties did, then I, in my singledom, am hooped!

But could this really be my biological clock ticking? Has television been right all this time and women, when approaching their mid thirties become desperate to procreate? Is this really my body sending my brain subliminal messages that it’s time to make babies?

Excuse me for a moment while I pop another pill.

picture taken from http://monkeyworks.wordpress.com/page/4/

To all the men I've loved before

I know I know, I am a terrible blogger. But I am trying to be better. Slowly but surely. At least I'm posting more than one blog per year now!

Anywho...

In my last entry I had promised to dedicate my next few entries to all the men I've loved before. But for a long while, I didn't really want to. Mostly because I started to feel that none of them deserved the time it takes to write about them- that they don'tdeserve my energy. Secretly because I didn't want any of them to have the satisfaction of knowing that I still think of them from time to time. But after further thought, I realized writing about them- rather, about the few of them that are worth the time to think about- would be a cathartic experience. A way for me to clean the palate, maybe even start fresh.

So here goes nothing

and everything

Lets start with my personal favourite- The Disappearing Peruvian

He's the hardest to talk about. He's the one, the first one anyways, who made me feel special and then utterly alone all in one fell swoop. He was the first man to truely give me butterflies. And as soon as he knew those butterflies had made a permanent home in my belly, he disappeared, as though he had fell from the face of the Earth. Then, after months had passed- coincidentally always at times when important events were happening in my life- he'd reappear, only to vanish again as soon as his presence had firmly planted itself in my heart. Its a vicious cycle that I still allow to happen, many years later.

Sadly, The Disappearing Peruvian still gives me the butterflies, every once and a while.

Then there was The Teacher

The Teacher was the one person in the world more confused about life than I was. Even though we had dated a couple of times, he ended up being my first "amigo especial" (of course, he too fell off the face of the Earth inbetween dating and the other). He had way too many expectations for life though. He'd lay in bed and tell me all about his desperate searches for the meaning of life, never satisfied with the answers he'd found. After a while, I realized I was not his "amiga", but a free counsellor- with benefits! I left that situation feeling nothing but confused.

Ah The Bartender...

When my friends and I took a trip to Buenos Aires, we met a sweet bartender at our favourite resto/lounge. He was always so kind to us, making sure we could eat, even when the kitchen was closed, giving us free beer and ice cream, sitting at our table to chat when ever he had a chance. So at the end of the trip, we all exchanged emails, intending to keep in touch.

A couple weeks later, I encounted our bartender on msn. We chatted a little, and then he finaly confessed that he had had a huge crush on me the entire time I was there. At first, I was skeptical- of course he had a crush on me, he wanted a Canadian passport. But as I gotto know him (and gradually began to crush on him too) I learned he had no need of a Canadian passport, he already had a Spanish one. And so romance blossomed. We'd chat on line for hours at a time, once for an entire day, talking about everything and nothing. It got to the point where we were finishing each others sentences. This lasted for nearly a year until one day he vanished. I hadn't heard from him until December 23rd, when he texted "Merry Christmas Sweetie" It was the last thing he ever sent me.

Viva Mexico- I can't forget The Mexican

We all want a passionate summer romance, well this one was mine. He was avery good looking, well muscled, younger man whose kisses would literally knock me off my feet. To date, he is still the best kisser I have ever had. I had the most passionate summer of my life, and we never slept together. Sadly, like the summer, the relationship ended cold and miserable. I found out he had a girlfriend in Mexico (who, I'm almost certain, was still a teenager). When I called him on it, he ran for the hills, and I never heard from him again. Yet another man stricken from the face of the Earth.

Notice a pattern here?

The Italian

I still get a little teary eyed when I think of The Italian. He was the first man to break my heart. Not just break it, rip it from my chest, stomp on it, spit on it, then give it back. And sadly I still pine for him. I had a dream about him just the other night, that he had come back to me, and we were both so happy. But then I woke up.

My friends all roll their eyes when I mention The Italian, because really I only knew him for a couple of months, and it was long distance. I wish I could convey the feeling he gave me. The electricity that I know we both felt. How, when he looked in my eyes, he saw my soul and knew my thoughts.

It ended terribly

I spent a weekend with him. Unfortunately, it was his last weekend before having to move back to Italy because of work. I was prepared for the long distance thing. He was not. Instead of dealing with his feelings, he completely shut down. It was like I wasn't even there, he didn't look at me, talk to me. It was as though he no longer saw me. And the whole time I was thinking it was all fake. Everything he said to me, all fake. I was just a cheap Canadian girl, there to warm his bed for one last weekend. But when we finally said goodbye, he couldn't look me in the eye. With a red face and watery eyes, he gave me a quick peck on the lips, and then turned away.

Another one I've never heard from again.

The Baseball Player

My second amigo especial, and the one and only man who has been nothing but honest with me. Which is why, even though we never dated, I feel he deserves a mention. There is nothing better in the world, and nothing more rare, than an honest man. My baseball player never played games with me, never pretended he wanted more than he could offer, and always treated me like a lady. I don't think I've had a relationship with a more respectful man. Sadly, I had to end things because I began seeing The Boyfriend

Last and absolutely least, there was The Boyfriend

I can take a lot of abuse. You can treat me like shit, you can call me names, you can do what ever you like, and I will eventually forgive you. The one thing that I cannot tollerate, that makes me seethingly mad, is if you wast my time.

The Boyfriend wasted six months

When we started dating, it was summer. I was having a ball. Dating in the evenings, visiting The Baseball Player at night, it was great. The Boyfriend had just gotten out of a very long term relationship, so I encouraged him to also see other people, to enjoy the summer and all its splender.

But no, he didn't feel the need. He said I was so amazing, he was happy with just me. So I thought, ok, lets give it a go. I gave up dating, gave up my baseball player, and entered the monogomous life. And for a while it was nice. Not perfect, not passionate, but comfortable. Until he moved into a house with roommates. Great people, actually, I really liked them myself. The Boyfriend liked them too much, and spent every waking moment with them, ignoring old friends, ignoring me. He stood me up twice, making plans with me and then not showing up because the roommates had decided to do something more fun. Finally, he dumped me. His reason:

He had just gotten out of a long term relationship and was not ready for anything heavy.

Now, didn't I say that six months ago?

In hindsight, I realize he wasjust really lonely. I provided him with company until he no longer needed it. I knew his previous girlfriend had cheated on him, and after seeing how quick he was to leave me behind to chase after his friends, I don't blame her. I probably would have cheated on him too- I nearly did on several occasions. So I'm not angry with him for dumping me, because the relationship wouldn't have lasted anyways

I will never forgive him for wasting my summer

And, after all this, this line of disappearing and reappearing men, I wonder why I still long to be in a relationship. Is it a biological need? Am I just falling under the pressure of all my settled down peers? Or am I just lonely?

I supose this is just part of the bumpy road to becoming a grown-up.

I wish I had worn better shoes...

Ah Valentine's Day...

So I spent yet another Valentine's Day, alone, single, infront of the tv. Not that that is much of a surprize, as I was recovering from my birthday celebrations the night before. But it was still a little lonely not cuddling with someone I care about while watching mindless and useless television.

Whats strange about this year, is, ok yes I would have liked to have someone bring me chocolates and flowers, and yes I was a little lonely, but this year I wasn't sad. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I didn't ask the eternal "why me". Have I come resigned to the fact that I am single? Wow, am I actually content with being single?

Looking back to the list of guys I've been with the past few years, one would think that I'd have been content with being single a long time ago. Its a long, international list of good-for-nothing, but good-for-now guys that, actually, I'm proud of. Proud that I was able to survive them with my heart still in one piece, without being bitter or jaded.

Well at least not completely bitter or jaded...

Last night I was reminded of my bumpy romantic past with a simple text message:

Happy V Day beautiful...

I had erased his number from my phone due to my habit of sending drunken and embarrassing text messages at 3am on Sunday mornings. Yet I knew it was him because its the same text message that he's sent to me every year since 2007. The man who gave me the first, incredibly addictive, taste for the exotic and unattainable. The Disapearing Peruvian.

Usually this yearly message from him gets my heart all afflutter. Usually any word from him gives me the giggles and makes me weak in the knees. But this time, all it did was make me smile. Make me reminise the times when I thought, one day, one day. And now, four years later, I know that day will never come. But I remember, at the time, how sweet that feeling was.

So I think my next few blog posts, in tribute to Valentine's Day, to growing up, I will dedicate to all the men I've loved before. Because, although they bruised my heart quite royally, they did make me happy, those few moments that I shared with them. And thoughts of them still make me smile.

The liminality of 30

Its been a long long time since my last entry. I admit I'm very bad at keeping things up to speed, especially when technology is involved. Mea culpa.

So much has happened since August of 2008. I finally moved out of my parents house. Got a new job, a new cat. Gained a boyfriend. Lost a boyfriend. Traveled. Made new friends. Life has been pretty good.

Yet, on the cusp of my 30th birthday, I feel closer to adolecence than ever. For some reason I imagined turning 30 would mean the tying of loose threads, but instead I feel even more frayed than before. All my friends in my age group are settling down, getting married, beginning their careers, thinking about kids, having kids, buying houses and cars- basically becoming functioning adults. I, on the otherhand, am completely and utterly single. Not even dating. I don't even have an "amigo especial". I rent a room in a house I share with two other ladies and a slew of animals. I still work at a coffee shop, and my new job happens to be at the place I started working when I was 18 years old, fresh out of highschool.

Am I moving backwards in life?

Some people tell me no. Some people say this is the lot in life for the 30 somethings of the new millenia. That they are meant to float around the first world with no real purpose in life. To spend their money as fast as they make it. To live life day by day, enjoying every moment, settling for nothing less than greatness, and so not settling at all.

And still I see 30 somethings all around me with purpose in their stride, settling for whats in front of them, rather than some unattainable dream that television and their parents fed to them. And I wonder why isn't that me. Why am I still living life in the uncontrolable fastlane, unable to slow down long enough to sit still a while? Unable to find someone to sit still with me?

So this past year and a half, while its been eventful, feels as though nothing has happened at all. And don't get me wrong. I am not unhappy. Life, even with its ups and downs, has been very enjoyable so far.

Its just, at this point, I am very confused.