It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I wanna

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I silently prayed that I would not spend my 31st birthday this weekend sitting in a dark corner bawling over a baby I lost. I prayed every day since I found out I’d be seen this week, that I did not want to hear bad news days before my birthday. Not that 31 means anything. Actually, it means pretty much nothing. Just another year in the bag, another day in the pot, an excuse for a pregnant lady to eat cheesecake, maybe, but over all just not much more than 24 hours and 31 years of life marked “finished.”

As fate would have it, I’ll be bawling any way. Continue...

6/11/2006

And a parachute

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I admit I’m a wee bit preoccupied with things of the uterus, gagging, farts and boobs (mostly mine). You wouldn’t think this would be the prerequisite for the line, “which reminds me of that time…” but it is. Did I ever tell you about that time… (stop me if you heard this)...

One Thanksgiving a long long time ago, perhaps 15 years or so, The Pre-Flinger Family were in Salem (that’s in Oregon.. pronounce OR-GAN) visiting the Ancient Flingers. As it was, the Ancient Flinger’s home was booked full of relatives so the Pre-Flinger Family stayed in a hotel. Oma Flinger was so enjoying her time with Ancient Flingers that Pappa Flinger and I decided to head back to the hotel early with my sister to catch some TV and relax without the old people chatter. (You know how you really care about old people chatter at 16? Or 42 if they’re not your parents?) Continue...