Monday, July 17, 2006

oh the madness, it never ends

I just found out that someone in my circle, someone I personally know, around my age and life circumstances, is GOING TO HAVE A BABY (with his wife).

They aren't really in my circle, because-- if you haven't been paying attention-- all my friends are now lesbians or sissy (but straight) men. No, this is an old friend from those long gone high school days. If I were to draw a Venn diagram of all of the rings of interconnectedness in my life, those high school days would be in the far-off corner and labeled "not important". Um, if that's how Venn diagrams are drawn and labeled in real life.


Anyways, a CHILD? Is he crazy? I'm way too young to have friends with babies. Frankly, my first friend-marriage was just last summer and I'm still not entirely prepared to face that in the harsh light of day. A child? A drooling baby person? I'm not ready for this. This is making me very upset.

The other day I found out that both of my jobs are ending in September. Now, combining that information with what I have just learned, and then looking at the facts of my life and comparing them to his life, this means:

I am unemployed, single*, babyless, and pushing thirty.

To everyone who just rolled their eyes, let's just look at this logically okay? Remember those old elementary school days when we learned about whole numbers and fractions and rounding? Zero to five rounds to zero. Five to ten rounds to ten. And how confusing this is since what the hell do you do with just plain old five? Round up? Round down? And your teacher was all, "eeh, just round the numbers, okay?" As I've gotten older, and matured, I have developed the theory that sometimes five is just five. Let's just leave it at five, okay? However, I am now one year past the five marker for this decade. Which means next year I am TWO years past that marker. And that means I for definitely for sure have to round UP to THIRTY.

Do you know what my deepest thoughts have been recently? I mean, I'm almost thirty, I must be having some awesome deep insights on life, right?

Here it is:

Why does everyone hate Cameron Diaz just because she stole Justin Timberlake from Brittany and has some pimples on her face? That's just plain unfair. One, as a pimpled person myself, sometimes, no matter what you do, you just have fucking pimples. You can't blame a person for that. I mean, you could blame the person if s/he was covered in bacon grease and hadn't bathed in months, but a normal, average, washes-her-face-twice-a-day and uses cremes** and lotions and everything person shouldn't be blamed. And seriously, as someone who has had a man stolen, it takes two to man steal, people. TEE DUBBYA OH. Two. A man doesn't just suddenly wake up duck-tapped to Cameron Diaz's bed, okay? Now back off the bitch.

*I'm not actually single but then what the fark would I blog about? Cameron Diaz?
**When its spelled c-r-e-m-e it means e-x-p-e-n-s-i-v-e. That's how women's shit works. Our shirts are tailored, our pants flared, and our creams spelled creme. And all for more money.