Just Call Me Judas

Ok, so from the sounds of it, Charkins wants me to entertain ya'll with some stories recounting certain events of hilarity. And boy, do I have some good tales to share. And I want to - I want to divulge what exactly went down when I experienced my first ever marriage proposal from the Kwok-Man. And I have plenty of Europe stories to relate, like for example the tale of when I went absolutely ape-shit-fucking-crazy on Charkins for losing a most precious bottle of hand sanitizer in Madrid. Or when we took a picture of Pierce Brosnan in the streets of Cannes and then went running for our lives.

But to tell those stories, I would have to be in a good mood. And people, the me who is writing this isn't even close to being in a good mood. As I asked Charkins earlier today, just how much uterine lining does a girl need to shed? And yes, uterus, I understand that you're upset but for fuck's sake, please stop with the goddamn cramps!

Which makes me wonder, what's all this business about PMS? The only PMS symptoms I experience are (a) cry, cry, cry (but to be fair, this might just be a now permanent fixture in my personality); and (b) GIVE ME SOME CHOCOLATE BEFORE I KILL YOU. GRRRRRR. Grrrrrrr. Grr.

But PMS has friggin' NOTHING on actually having one's period. Especially the period I'm currently experiencing. Because this one? Well, this month's rag is nothing short of "The Worst Period I've Ever Experienced Except For That One Where I Had That Incident With The Tampon When I Was 11, Wherein I Realized That You're Not Supposed To Keep The Plastic Applicator Up Your Vagina." But that was 13 years ago, and that horrifying experience had nothing to do with heavy flow and bad cramps and EVERYTHING to do with my mom grabbing a trophy and using it to measure the size of a man's penis.

Riiiight. So how did we get on this topic? Oh, I remember - I was trying to explain why I am in no mood to write a funny, heart-warming tale about some fucking freak show Asian who made me waver in my belief in God when he told me that the Almighty had decreed that I was to be his wife.

No, instead, I am in the mood to philosophize. I am in one of those scary, depressed, melancholy moods where I analyze everything to death and Charkins and Adders start running for the hills they are so scared for their lives. I am in one of those moods where I think that the only thing that might get me through another day would be if somebody made ME a homemade apple caramel pie from scratch. But alas, no one loves ME enough to do that. They only love other people. Poor, poor Courty. Siiiiigh. POOR, POOR COURTY.

So where has my depressed, melancholy, analytical mood gotten me today? Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking on something that I have been mentioning with some frequency on this blog. And that is how I wish I was settled down and had a house of my own.

But this got me thinking about something else, something much bigger. And yes, I am about to pose a question to you à la Carrie Bradshaw. The question is, am I a traitor to my sex?

You see, when I was in high school, I was voted Most Likely To Be The Next Bill Gates. And while yearbook statements such as these usually have no bearing on what one's future might hold, it still proves that at one point in my life I really wanted to be a somebody.

In Grade 11 I made the decision that I was going to be a lawyer. I'm not really sure why I settled on this particular career path. I think it had something to do with the fact that all the female lawyers I saw on TV got to bed Dylan McDermott and I was all, "Sounds fucking good to me!" Plus, even at that tender of an age I was passionate for politics and I thought that law was a good background for when I took over the universe in my role as Prime Minister (or at the very least, Prime Minister's Wife).

And then I went to McGill and two things happened.

1) Reality struck when I realized that four years of school was quite enough, really. And that I wasn't the most intelligent person in the world. And after touring the faculty of law and attending two lectures, I realized that I might not have what it takes to even BE a lawyer.

2) I worked at a law firm in the summers during university and OH MY GOD THE BOREDOM. Law isn't Dylan McDermott, it's not cute outfits while defending murderers, it's not even naked babies dancing. It's really just meeting with loser people and having to take a lot of notes and being bored out of your mind for 99% of your day (and the 1% you're not bored is because you're at lunch).

So I dropped the idea of having a career in law. But somehow I also dropped the idea of having a career at all. Yeah, sure - I make noises that I want to be a writer or do something vaguely important in publishing. And for a period of time there I thought I wanted to be a professor of theology (which Regent quickly cured me of). But now it's like I don't want to do ANYTHING.

Except that's not true. Because I do want to do something, and it's this: I want to be a wife and mother.

It's all I can think about right now: building a house, getting married, choosing linens, getting pregnant. It's ridiculous. And I wonder what's happened to me. And part of me is mad at myself for becoming one of "those girls" so easily but another part of me just doesn't care because this is what I'm CRAVING to do.

A certain traitorous doctor once told me that it's important for a man to marry young because once that's out of the way, he can then focus on his career. I thought about that, and wondered if the same could be true for women. But I don't think it is. (I'm not even sure if it's true for men). I'm certainly not going to be so naive as to think that if I get married and have kids I can still accomplish all of those dreams I had when I was single. Being married definitely limits your options, in terms of where you live, how you spend your time (and your money) and even what interests you are free to pursue.

So if I have any lingering ambitions, the solution is not to just get married and then try to pursue them. Because that won't work. Case closed.

So what I have to determine now is whether I have any lingering ambitions. And the answer is, I DON'T KNOW! I mean, of course, I still want to be a somebody. But I don't know how. Or even, in what. At this point I don't even have enough energy to go and publicize this blog on other parts of the internet, much less make a name for myself in the real world.

I remember being in Mexico with my brother last year and we were commiserating over the fact that my parents raised us kids like we were members of an impoverished aristocracy - we think we're better than everyone else and that we're entitled to the best things life can offer and yet we have no means or money or even ambition to actually go get ourselves the lives we want.

But the thing is, at this point, all I really do want is to get married (the baby thing, I'm willing to put on hold for a few more years). That seems to be my only ambition at this point. And I don't know if it's even the companionship of marriage I'm yearning for (although that is what we all ultimately get married for), but instead the opportunity to finally make a reality of all those fantasies I played out as a child. I mean, as a kid, I was OBSESSED with house. Nowadays I refuse to pick up an iron unless it's to straighten my hair. But when I was little girl I was perfectly content to sit and play with my Fisher-Price ironing set for hours. I've been wanting to play domestic my ENTIRE LIFE.

So what am I really trying to say? I don't know. That's the problem. I don't know what I'm saying, I don't know what I want, I just don't know. I know that I really want to get married, that I really want to settle down, and in many ways, that I really do want my options narrowed. But I'm scared that I'll be letting myself down, and not just me but also the 16 year old girl in me who once thought that I would be on the cover of Time Magazine.

For a long time feminists have been telling us women that we can have it all. But I'm not so sure. Maybe we can. Maybe we can't.

All I know is that I'm without a vision. I can't see the trees through the forest in terms of what I'm supposed to do with my life career-wise. But I sure as hell can feel my ovaries screaming right now, and they're constantly telling me to hurry the fuck up, my wedding registry is waiting for me.

P.S. I know you guys know me better than to take everything I say at face value. But I want to clarify that I know that marriage is more about a relationship between two people and less about choosing china.

P.P.S. Don't be scared, Adders. I love you. And that's one of the very few things I do know.