What what?

This just made me laugh out loud.
http://blog.bridgetteraes.com/2011/09/15/clitter-even-this-isnt-real-its-still-omg-horrible/

I mean who DOESN’T want a sparkle baby right?!??!?

You’re welcome.

Never forget. Never

September 11th, 2001.

I was living in West Hollywood and pretty much thought I had life figured out.  I owned my own condo steps from the strip.  I had a boyfriend (who I later married) and a great life.  I had just been layed off from my job, but didn’t feel it was going to be an issue because I lived in a little bubble where the world was awesome and I was awesome and I was doing too well to have anything bad effect me.  Basically I was a little 20 something brat. Oh and I was hot.

9:07am:

I was asleep.  The phone rang.  This was fairly normal as my BFF Pontea called me every morning from NY because she was at work and I wasn’t and she loved waking me up.  We talked every single day.  After getting my ass out of bed, we’d be on AIM all day long.

When I picked up the phone, I hadn’t even rolled over.  I knew who it was.  I just said “what?”.  What?  That was all I said.  No hello.  No hi.  Just “What?”  So horrible.

Pontea was in an absolute panic on the other end of the phone.  I could feel her shaking.  She said “getupturnonthetvyouneedtoseewhatisgoingonthewholeworldisendingandIdon’tknow

whattodoandit’scrazyandscaryandI’mscaredandyouneedtoturnonthetvRIGHTNOW”

Pontea was my best friend.  She was also incredibly dramatic.  So was/am I.  This reaction could have easily been because her office mate put too much sugar in her coffee or Ozzy Osborne announced a new album.  But this really was different.  I shot straight out of bed and turned the TV on.  What I saw wasn’t anything I could understand.  It felt not real.  Like a movie set.  One of the biggest buildings in the world had smoke coming out of it and I had no idea why.  Was this a movie?  Drunk driver?  (look it was early…)  Whatever it was, I was sure it was fixable.  Looked as if a couple of stories of the building were destroyed and I anticipated footage tomorrow of the wreckage.  Blacked out walls and beams.  No windows.  I could tell that people may have died, but they would fix it.  America always fixes it.  We have sadness and tragedy but it is always not as bad as it could have been.  Media goes on for days and days and shows the bad stuff, but always points out the heroes and the stuff that went right so that it didn’t get worse than it was.

I still had no idea why this building was smoking.  Pontea and I stayed on the phone and watched it together.  She was crying and paniced and didn’t know what to do.  She was scared she was going to get hit by a bomb.  We didn’t know if this was a bomb or a war or a gas leak.  At this point I calmed down and just thought Pontea was yet again being dramatic.  A gas leak in a building down the street was NOT a reason to cry.

Then we saw it.  A plane flew right into the second tower.  No words.  We both saw it and just didn’t understand.

I instantly needed to call Mark.  He and his roommate didn’t have a TV at the time so I knew he would have no idea what was going on.  Being that I am known to be as dramatic as Pontea, it was not at all surprising that he didn’t answer when I called.  I called again.  And again.  Eventually I just called Bruce his roommate who also wasn’t gonna appreciate my early morning wakeup.  I called again.  Third time Bruce picked up and said “what do you want woman?!?”

I said:  Bruce.  There has been a huge accident in NYC and both of the twin towers are on fire.  You and Mark need to get up and turn on the news on your computers.  And you need to call your mother.  (Mark and Bruce are both from NY)

While I stayed on the phone he woke up Mark.  Handed Mark the phone while he pulled up the news.  I told Mark and made sure they were on it but I needed to get back to Pontea.

Pontea and I stayed on the phone for hours.  Crying.  We heard there was a third plane.  Was there a 4th?!?  Pontea was terrified but didn’t know where to go.  She worked blocks from the towers and we really didn’t know if more was coming.  We decided she needed to stay where she was and both AIMed everyone to find out who was ok.  And who wasn’t.

This changed my life forever.  For the first time in my life it wasn’t “not as bad as it could have been”.  I watched those towers fall to the ground and just couldn’t believe it.  There was no worse that could have been.  Up until that moment I was always as optimistic as possible and just knew someone was going to fix it.  But nobody did fix it.

It’s sometimes hard to explain how I felt that day.  I spent hours in shock. Everyone did.  I still remember the terror as if it were yesterday and in the 10 years since that day, I have only felt that level of uncontrollable terror twice more.  The fact that things aren’t always going to be OK was something that I had to let into my life.  My bubble had to change.  I was humbled to new levels.

9/11 changed the world.  So much was lost that day.  I will never forget.  I hope nobody does.

Pontea and I lost touch several years later and I miss her.  I think of her every year on 9/11.  She was a huge part of my life and a huge part of the changes I had to make.  I miss everyone I lost that day.  And I miss everyone I’ve lost since that day.  I know  9/11 is everywhere today and its on the minds of all Americans.  I am no different.  I am not special.

But I remember.

Woah where the fuck have I been?

Wow. It’s been almost 2 years. A lot can happen in 2 years. Lives can change, people can grow, horrible tragedies can happen….

…yeah some of that happened but let’s not get crazy here. It’s really not all that exciting. In fact it’s kinda downright boring.

So last I posted I was moving to Seattle. Yay for me! Holy crap that was a long time ago. Sorry I just can’t get over that. Yeah I moved to Seattle for 10 months and decided that I would be insane to continue living there. Depressed infertile divorcing people should not move to Seattle. There should be a law about it. The sky is a unique shade of grey. Let’s just leave it at that because there is good and bad up there but overall I had a hard time. (And to be fair to the lovely residents of Seattle, I wasn’t in my right mind. Don’t hate me for hating Seattle during a crisis ok? I was getting a divorce after years of infertility. Remember? Yeah.)

Fuck I dont know where to begin here. Nothing is the same. Literally nothing. Will bullets help? Yeah let’s try that:

– moved to seattle
– started hanging out with old grunge rock stars
– hated seattle
– got a call/job offer to move back to Cali
– moved back to Cali and started over
– bought a house for me and the kids (Sandy and Monster)
– stayed in touch with Mark and had INSANE-reality-tv-show-style-drama-that-didn’t-really-effect-me-personally-but-woah-was-fucking-crazy-because-his-life-has-fallen-completely-apart
– got fired from new job (oh there will be a post about this…)
– started working for baby company. Ironic? Umm yes

-lost 57 pounds
– Sandy died
– world ended

…so we caught up now? Yeah I think we may have glossed over a few things but perhaps this list can serve as gigantic chapters haha.

One thing I’d like to point out to the world that really I should keep to myself is that I have been single this entire time. Yup. I’m lame. Total loser right over here. I might regret this post in the morning LOL.

So for now I guess all I can say is that I’m back. Not sure this blog makes sense for my life anymore, but maybe feedback? No. I’m not trying to have a baby anymore. For now. Or ever? God I dont know.

Anyway…I am considering reinventing the babybound blog. It’s not the same and I am certainly many phases backwards from said original goal, but could this be a playground for ridiculous banter about my completely ironic job choice? Maybe? Or maybe you can all laugh at my absolutely ridiculous life of singleton after infertility. That works for me. Thoughts?

We’re moving!

It just seems wrong to talk about dating and moving and being single on a blog entitled BabyBound.  Right?  Right.  I’m pretty sure that would effect the second date.

Time to start a new blog for a new life.

(Don’t worry, I’ll probably still talk about my naughty bits.)

O yeah, I write a blog.

Where do I start?  Everything is different.  Like so different that I am pretty sure I’m thin and awesome now.

Hmm…First off, I got a job.  I know right?  Awesome.

Well yes but its in Seattle.  Which means I am moving to the rainy state.  Isn’t that exactly where someone going through a massive depression should live?  Just keep the flannel and heroine away and I should be fine.  It’s not really all that different from San Francisco.  We don’t see the sun for weeks around here.

I’m also selling my house.  Thankfully there are some decent advantages to being OCD about labels and cleanliness when it comes to preparing for this.  I basically had to move a chair and call it a day.  Phew.  But That didn’t stop me from going insane trying to make everything perfect perfect.  I’ve been runnin around like a Mexican jumping bean cleaning, organizing, paring down, staging, and most importantly, boxing up all Mark’s shit and throwing it down the stairs.

O speaking of Mark, yeah he’s back in San Francisco.  Not here at the house, but here.  He’s chosen to take up residency in the area of SF we all lovingly refer to as the Tenderloin (aka, were you go to score your drugs).  We are being civil, but not talking.  Just dealing with the divorce and the house sale as if we are coworkers.  At this point, that’s about all I can handle.  He’s still lying, using, and self destructing and its killing me to watch it.

I am thinkin about getting a new blog.  This one seems a bit umm…shall we say…irrelevant?  Stay tuned.

So that’s me.  Thank you to everyone who’s checked in with me.  I miss you all too.  I’m just not the same person right now.  I’m some facsimile of BabyBound.  See?  I’m not even clever.  I hope to God that Mark didn’t get that in the divorce.  Cause that’s totally my thing not his.  He can have my bad spelling, emotional wreckness and inability to sleep well, but he can’t. have. my. whit.  (anyone else think my face should be half painted blue when they read that?  I did…)