Should be filed under "Inner Monologe"

Things I have lost:
  • My keys (over and over again)
  • Other people's keys
  • My wallet
  • My purse
  • Scrabble
  • My mind (that was fun)
  • My children (recovered shortly thereafter under clothing rack at Old Navy)
  • My wedding ring (intentionally)
  • Risk
  • My shit
  • Every watch I've ever owned
  • Every race I've ever run
  • A job
  • Battleship
  • Pole Position
  • My cell phone

And there is one more thing I've lost, and I lost it 14 short years ago today, and there is no way to further this conversation without crossing my imaginary line I have drawn.

But, well, you know. You really know.

Hey, you asked for it

I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I have been putting off this post for years. But I had to go and add the stupid category into the stupid poll and now I have to write this stupid post.

Sex. We're going to talk about sex. I'm totally fine talking about sex normally; I've had THE TALK with both boys, my doctor and I have no secrets, and if I'm in a room with a little too much football talk, I have no problem in the world saying "Vagina", not too but almost too loud for comfort. That word hushes a crowd, let me tell you.

See? There? Totally dodging the subject.

Have your kids ever walked in on you? If they haven't, they're gonna. Soon, probably. I walked in on my dad once, when I was 18. So. Not. Cool.

Grrr, I'm off topic again.

Ok, I'm just going to come out and say it. One day, 1of3 walked in on mommy and daddy at a rather inconvenient time for walking in on mommy and daddy. He wasn't older than 1 year; he was still 1of1 at the time. So, he walked in, and god knows how long he stood there before he said, "Momma? Daddy? Momma! DADDY!!!" And then he ran over, and then he started punching his daddy.

Good for him, taking care of his mom like that.

While dad was trying to stop the beating, 1of3 kept saying, "Daddy, what doing MOMMA?" Daddy's reply, and this is where it pays to think on your feet, was, "Daddy's bouncing on momma! Do YOU want to bounce on momma, too?"

Hell yes he did. Bouncin's what 1of3's do best. And so began the happiest fun time ever, Operation Permission to Jump on Momma. Momma almost ended up with a collapsed lung and a broken nose, but momma has one un-scarred-for-life baby boy.

So when they walk in on you, and they will, I certainly hope you remember this little parenting tip. And otherwise, I seriously hope that you forget that I discussed my sex life in any small way with you.

one line means NO

It doesn't matter at all that I already knew the answer was no; it makes no difference whatsoever that I have a full military installment complete with camouflage suits and nonoxynol-9 laced grenades and barbed-wire fences and little interest at all in the Geneva Convention stationed at my cervix. It's guerrilla warfare they're waging, keeping my borders safe. No sir-ee; you watch me sit for over a week with chemotherapy nausea, and you will watch me totally convince myself that I am pregnant.

I have a routine for this sort of thing:
  • Suspect that I am pregnant

  • Sit for a few weeks in complete denial (while throwing up and watching my boobs apply for their own time zones)

  • Get a test at closest market in the middle of the night

  • Take test in closest bathroom (I took 1of3's in the bathroom of a Ruby Tuesday's; home was just too far {a whole MILE away} to wait)

  • Confirm suspicions

  • Smoke a pack of cigarettes right then and there

  • Quit smoking, but pretend to keep smoking to remove any suspicions from home

  • Freak the fuck out for several days/weeks/months

  • Tell Josh right about the time I'm starting to show

This time I thought I'd do it a little differently. I told Josh I was worried, to which he said, "Hmmm", and I made him go buy me a test. That's more fun than sending them off for tampons, I tell ya. And, of course, I'm not.

And I'm out $15 bucks.

And, of course, I am totally convinced that I have a tapeworm or something. Seriously, I never get nauseous.

And surprisingly enough, even though I know it would be the single dumbest thing I may ever have done in my life, I am slightly disappointed. Why, I will never know. I just am.

My first kiss

The Retropolitan has me thinking about kissing. Like that's anything new. But I digress.

My first kiss was in the apartment of the boy I was madly in crush with. I was 13, he was scandalously younger (12). My mother was banging on the front door because, damn it, it was time for me to go. I grabbed him, drug him into the hall, laid one on him, hopped in the car and blushed the entire 45 minute trip home from North Philly to Delaware. It was to be our only kiss for a long, long time.

His name was Jason M. We used to go roller skating and watch Monty Python and listen to The Cure and The Smiths and The Happy Mondays together. Oh, how I still swoon for that boy.

My next kiss came my sophomore year of high school. I was maybe 15? My (dangerously cute) friend Craig with skin like chocolate milk and eyes you could fall into if you weren't careful found out that I had only ever once kissed a boy and that my one kiss, though backed with much gusto, was actually the sort of kiss one gives their grandma at Christmas after she's bought you your 50th sweater vest. He dared me to meet him in the school bus yard during lunch and I, not being one to ever turn down a dare (much to my own detriment), was there at the designated time and spent a dreary, rainy, cold lunch hour in the back of a bus neither dreary, nor rainy, and certainly not cold.

My third kiss was in 1993, putting me at 18, I think. I went back to Philly for a visit and my friend Chris took me to the shore. Wildwood, I think. I brought some friends: my childhood best friend, Nicole, and her devastatingly cute twin brother, Jason M. Yep, that Jason. Nicole and Chris sort of hit it off and they left Jason and I on the beach during the most beautiful sunset in the history of all sunsets while they took a walk. Jason and I laughed and giggled at our secret childhood romance. We went skinny dipping. We caught up on the 5 years we hadn't seen each other. We talked about god and politics and comic books, and it was one of the best nights of my entire childhood. His sister and my friend eventually resurfaced, and we all headed back to the car to head home. Let's just say that we made it all the way to the Jersey turnpike and then Chris and Nicole had to turn the radio up. And the defroster.

I never saw him again. I doubt I ever will.

And now it is your job to click the title of this post and in my inblognito comments section, you are to tell me about your first kiss. Because, honestly, I'm dying to know....