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Saturday, June 18, 2005
Here I am. Irrevocably in my thirties. There's no turning back now. I'm stuck here for a good nine years.
It's not quite like prison because, unlike prison, where you get out early for good behaviour, after these nine years I graduate to more hard time. My mother tells me it's all flatulence from there on. I'd better enjoy my thirties.
It's hard to enjoy this time, though, when my biological clock ticking. It's like the Doomsday Clock and it's always 1953 for me. At midnight, the fairy godmother's spell will break. I will suddenly transform into the bearded lady and mammograms will begin pancaking my breasts.
My relatives want to save me before the spell breaks. Already they have dangled me and the offer of a Canadian passport before an obese construction worker with a penchant for blondes, a foul-mouthed gas salesman, a swarthy "professor" twice my age, a coal miner, and a "bodyguard" (Romanian for "security guard with a neck the width of a treetrunk").
I'm not entirely sure if I am in such a rush. I would hate to marry someone in a hurry to beat the clock and then meet Mr. Right at the table next to ours at the honeymoon hotel.
MaikoPunk tried to help by offering me different scenarios of happiness. Unlike my relatives' attempts, I do appreciate that MaikoPunk cared enough to lay out the blueprint of my eventual happiness. There was one right fit.*
I know exactly what I am looking for and I certainly have not met him yet. I'm pretty sure he is thousands of kilometres away from here. I am also certain that he's neither Canadian nor Romanian. He better damn well speak English.
Oh, and future Mr. Maktaaq, it would also really help me to recognize you if you at least look like Johnny Depp.
Karen of Rurality put it into perspective: "I used to go around moping that even the mule-faced woman (from a documentary about circus "freak shows") was married."
Here we go. The mule-faced woman. She must have had some charms. Now that we know sex with Angelina Jolie** isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Karen goes further: "I had 5 cats at one time too!"
That's pretty deadly. Five cats. It's like asking for eternal loneliness.
Yet Karen made it through this debilitating condition: "...it all worked out in the end."
In Garden State, that Natalie Portman character had a hamster farm. And she ended up with someone at the end of the movie.
Maybe a hamster wall unit of tangled plastic tubes with another half dozen hamsters is what I need.
*Your gift is very, very much appreciated. It's a good thing someone once told me I look like Kate Winslet, so now I can easily fantasize myself into the deleted Paris Hilton-inspired scenes from Finding Neverland. Heck, I am going to erase Keira Knightley and really have some fun marooned on that rum island.
**Billy Bob is just jealous. If you follow that link, you can vote for sex with Angelina or sex with Billy Bob's couch.
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