I'd take the tattoo.

So I've been remiss.

Sue me. The emergency person showed up, work got nutso and here I am, on a Thursday night after a glass or two of legally consumed vino rosso thinking to myself, "I have sooo much to say."

The first thing is that it is refreshing that I exited stage right (er, East) just in time for the social/financial debate of the century to reach its boiling point. (Not so) shockingly, from here everyone looks like an @sshole. Hating the President is so 4 years ago. Then seriously Nancy, take a step back and look at your face on TV. I'm scared that the lady closest to the red phone looks like she cannot feel her face (then again, all you men out there can rejoice that said leader of congress has an aversion to some kind of feeling - isn't that what you didn't want women in office to have?). I digress. I'm just...so...over it.

The only good thing about watching CNN(international) during the healthcare vote was that it reminded me of West Wing (fantastic TV even for the right-leaning - smart people doing good things friends). Also, Anderson Cooper: is global. CNN is everywhere. Ted Turner, nice work. Chris Matthews and Brian Williams don't exist here. Its like heaven until you accidentally sit on the remote and switch to Fox News and realize that yes, world, these people are given carte blanche to be insane on TV. Freedom of speech is awesome. Apparently I can run, but I cannot hide. This isn’t to say that I feel one way or the other about what is happening in the states, just to say that it’s nice to avoid the noise over here when I want.

The second thing I have say is...well, I am having one of those moments where I wish there was more noise. This moment is inextricably tied to my forthcoming 30^th birthday and the fact that I just got my Amazon Kindle (which is life changing, to say the least). I like to call these moments “things I think and should not say” as a play on what Jerry Maguire titled his memo in that movie that I don’t really like so much until Cuba Gooding, Jr. says things like “Boo ya! Touchdown! I make miracles happen!”

Alas, I had the moment when I read this sentence from Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Eat, Pray, Love (which I really enjoyed): “Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face – you really have to be certain about it before you commit.” I have had this conversation with many friends, who keep telling me that I will want the babies. I love kids. I love ALL of your kids. I like holding them, I like hanging out with them as they get older and I like being their Godmother and I LOVE that I will someday take them to see The Nutcracker or a broadway show or a hockey game, etc. I am also a big fan of relinquishing all responsibility to you for your children. It’s awesome. I say this despite what you think about my maternal instincts: I think I am too selfish to be a parent and I am disappointed in myself for it.

Not that I have a husband, or a ticking clock that my 30^th birthday has allowed into my head. I don’t. The ticking clock I have is the fact that I don’t own any real estate (or even a Louis Vuitton bag). The ticking clock I have is the “saved for later” section on amazon.com with the gadgets and books I really want and the shopping cart on Nordstrom.com with those silver Tory Burch ballet flats that the EP says are “weird looking.”

Of course everyone has a situation in which parenthood would be ideal (being debt free, having a certain income, having a husband, having a donor, having a house, etc…) – and of course none of those situations ever really work out as planned. Ever. That said, I really don’t know what the ideal situation for me would be and, if I did and somehow that situation presented itself, I fear it wouldn’t make a difference. Ergo, I think I might prefer the tattoo on my face. I get more excited about shopping for things (including other people’s babies) than I do about motherhood. I feel like it makes me super duper shallow. Or completely different in a way that isn’t that cool. Control freak that I am, I still don’t think I am cut out for it.

This is not bait for folks to tell me “Girl, just wait…” or anything encouraging, so much as it is an honest assessment of my current situation and confirmation that, at my lowest, I think there is something wrong with me because I don’t have the urge as I near the age of 30.

So here I am, in the desert, trying to figure this out. There is no place like halfway around the world (I think Gilbert would agree) to start an examination of yourself. I don’t think this will be particularly profound, but it will at least give me something to do with all of my free time besides eat ice cream and buy stuff.