Birthday

My birthday is coming up, but I'm not going to tell you how old I am. And I'm not at all ashamed about that.

I believe in the axiom that your only as old as you feel. So why should I let somebody pin me wriggling to the wall.

Instead, I want to talk about the assumptions that people make.

I can't talk to other women my age - thought I might say it, didn't you? - without one of them asking me if I have children.

When I say "no," they shake their heads and their eyes grow large with sympathy: "You still have time."

If I'm in a good mood, I explain patiently that I don't think it's going to happen for me. At this point, I'm actually hoping to end the conversation.

But some women won't quit.

They want to know whether I've tried using a calendar to track my ovulation. Some tell me about their sister or best friend who decided later in life that she wanted children and went through fertility treatment. I try to explain that I just don't think it would fit in my life.

Then I look around my once smoke-filled Upper East Side coffee shop at the clatches of cooing mothers chatting about nursery schools and sipping on red wine while their infants wriggle in their Babybjorns.

Most of these women do not want to hear that I truly do not want children, and I can tell by their faces that they do not believe it.

That's why more and more often I just say, "No, I don't have kids" and leave it at that. Then, I wait for their eyes to widen.


Peace

Scattered Thoughts (Early Mid-Life Crisis)

I've got a sense of wanting to do something more important, but I'm not sure exactly what it is.

Sometimes I think I waste too much time.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

I want to live on an island that has a beach.

I want to never have to work again.

I want to travel more.

I want to see Asia.

I want to go to Africa.

I want to live in Australia for a while, and Italy.

I want to live on a boat for a while.

I want to live in a house with a yard.

I want to get out of the city.

I want to be tan more often.

Wow, I guess I do know what I want to do. Now I just need to figure out how to do it, and convince my husband to do it with me...

Peace,
Tina

Twenty Years

A couple weeks ago I received an e-mail reminding me that my 20-year high school reunion was approaching.

After groaning at the reminder of passing time, I immediately cruised the list of 1987 Wissahickon graduates who had also received the now-attorney's nettlesome dispatch.

I remembered some of the names. I was still friends with a couple. One or two revived happy memories.

For the most part, though, I was unable to pull up faces.

I remembered one boy I liked in 10th grade. I vaguely recalled being mean to one girl in my junior year. (Sorry for that, Karen.)

But I couldn't remember the bad things.

I didn't recall who was popular, who was a dweeb, who was a jock, who was a prep. Back then, those labels were often all that mattered. I don't remember ever having a "Breakfast Club" moment where I bonded with my peers regardless of their place in in the high-school caste system.

I do remember making some stupid mistakes. I was a kid, and 14 and 15 were particularly difficult years for me. Everything seemed so BIG and important.

Except for the things that were...

Peace.

Rich guy

What a strange place, this city.

I thought I would be hanging out with Mark tonight having a few beers but apparently it wasn't meant to be.

He got called into work tonight and I decided I was going to go ahead with my plan: Drink a few Guinness.

So, I went to a bar on the Upper East Side called Doc Watson's because it's a friendly enough place, not a bad place for a girl to read the New York Times and do the puzzle without being bothered.

So there i sat doing the puzzle and trying to mind my own business when all of a sudden this guy sits down next to me. At first, I was guarded. I did my puzzle and didn't look up.

But after a while it became apparent that we were interested in the same basketball game on television, WVU v Providence. So, we started chatting sporadically.

As the conversation progressed, I mentioned my husband and he mentioned his wife, which is good. We quickly discovered we both knew the Bill Murray /Dalai Lama speech from Caddyshack and that we were both from Philly and that he had been to the Tijuana Yact Club, where I tended bar.

So, our conversation continued until we were talking about our childhoods and I talked about my father.

My father worked for the same company for some 35 years and was laid off when Tyco purchased it so that Dennis Kozlowsi could buy extremely expensive shower curtains.

So, I bought him a beer, commenting that he would get along well with my husband, who was also laid off by an evil company.

He has kids, lives in Chicago, wife was a stewardess. All interesting.

Then, as he prepares to leave, I introduce myself. He does the same.

"I'm Gerald."

"Well, i told you what i do. What do you do?"


"I'm president of the New York Stock Exchange," he says.

I laugh nervously and tell him it was a pleasure and that I hope he has a great weekend back in Chicago with his family.

"It was a pleasure talking to you," I say.

Then i wonder if he isn't the very guy I should be mad at. But he was so nice....hmmmmm.....

Pacman

O.K. I've developed an addiction to Pacman.

Yes, Pacman, the video game that you can now access for free from any Internet server.

There is just something about eating all those little blue ghosts after experiencing the adrenaline of scurrying away from those colorful monsters. I think it's the instant gratification. You can be competitve right at your kitchen table.

Or, maybe it's the price: Free. No more running out of quarters at the back of the Big Dipper icecream shop on Rt. 202.

Besides, it's an excellent way to pass the time while Mark is at work.

That's right, I said work. He's editing parttime. He seems much happier now that he's working. I think he feels more useful.

But, does it have to always be on my days off? Ugh.

Shouldn't complain.

So, here I sit with a cup of coffee so I will be awake when he comes home at 1 a.m. I'll make sure I'm no longer playing when he gets here.

C'mon. Don't judge. It's not like I'm addicted to crack or something.

Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka, Woka.