Last night I nearly pooped my pants. No really, I’m not kidding. It was a tough call between pooping my pants, puking, and passing out. In the end, I settled on a fourth option, crying, because it seemed the easiest to deal with.

See, last night we had this little earthquake (5.6! Not so little to me!) and I was freaked out way more than I can explain. I was at the grocery which is very close to our house and our house is close to the epicenter. This all translates to a good bit of shaking.

Let me say now that we are fine. Our house is fine, our animals are fine, nothing broke, nothing really fell other than some books tipping over and a few things shifting a tiny bit. But I did not fair so well.

Since moving to the Bay Area I have been mentally preparing myself for earthquakes. After trying to deal with the thought of them in a few different ways I settled on denial. Why buy an earthquake kit when we’ll never feel one all the way down here in the South Bay? Bottled water, smottled water, we’ll never get one this far south. Are you starting to see how dumb I am?

The fact that last night’s earthquake was not only noticeable, but actually caused (minimal) damage to the grocery store that I was standing in, totally freaked me out. Hello!! Did no one get the memo that the South Bay ISN’T SUPPOSED TO GET EARTHQUAKES??? DO NOT WANT!

I managed to pull myself together enough to check out and get home. Of course, pulling myself together meant standing in shock for a bit while the produce guy asked if I was going to pass out or if I wanted some water. Once home, I immediately dissolved into tears which did not stop for quite a while. Lots of friends called or texted to check on us (thanks! It made me feel so cared for!) and some tried to lighten the mood by suggesting that jparks and I might get eaten by “the gaping, hungry maw of Mother Earth.” (cough cough dsandler cough cough). By 10 I had worn myself out enough that I was ready for bed, but I didn’t sleep that well as I kept waking up expecting aftershocks.

The lessons learned are: 1) even in the South Bay I’m not guaranteed an earthquake free life and 2) jparks won’t let me move. While I know that the built up pressure has been released and chances are we won’t get another quake for awhile, I’m still buying a Costco membership this week and stocking up on supplies. Obviously denial didn’t work out so well for me, so now I’m moving onto to preparedness.

I have a secret and I might lose my Democrat street cred when I admit this, but well, here goes.

deep breath

I didn’t see An Inconvenient Truth.

I had really good reasons for not seeing it, the main one being that after the hurricane I saw a trailer for it and that trailer made me cry. The trailer. The 30 second long trailer. Made. Me. Cry. In a movie theatre. While I was alone. Surrounded by people that just wanted watch Friends With Money and not have to uncomfortably ignore the insane person sitting a row behind them.

I’m well aware the planet is going down the crapper and we’re not doing much to stop it. I know this and it scares the hell out of me. Scares me enough that I wonder if I should even have kids. Why should I bring more people into a world this fucked up? Or why should I add more people to the problem?

Another reason why I didn’t see An Inconvenient Truth is because I like to go to the movies and forget about how much life sucks and how we are all going to drown in the near future. I like to pretend that while I’m in the dark theatre there is someone actually doing something amazing to stop global warming and save us from our destructive ways. And when I leave the theatre I’ll walk out into a world that is a bit cooler and frozen on its tips.

Anyway, I’m not trying to be preachy. People that don’t believe in global warming aren’t going to be swayed by me. It’s just that lately this kind of crap has been on my mind. I guess I’m growing up. Although I still think the word poop is funny, so maybe not.

People in the know probably think this is going to be a post about my sudden desire to take ballet class. (which I am going to start doing next week) Well people in the know, you are wrong. This post is about my sudden fascination with earthquakes. Actually, I’m not sure fascination is the correct word. “Obsessive about dying” in one might be more accurate.

Recently we had a mild earthquake out here. While jparks and I were actually pretty close to it, we felt nothing, yet our friends further away did. And even though it was very mild and caused no damage, it still got me thinking. And by thinking I mean, pissing my pants.

Before I get started let me say that, yes I know I should be excited about little earthquakes and not just because it was a great Tori Amos album, but because they release the built up tension and help ward off bigger earthquakes. I know all of this and yet I’m still terrified of earthquakes no matter what size they are.

So the other night we had that small earthquake and it got me thinking “Hey self, did you know you’ll probably be killed in an earthquake. And self, if you don’t die then you’ll probably be trapped under a bookshelf and Lily will have to gnaw through your leg to free you. And she’s got really tiny teeth, so that’s going to take awhile.” I thought maybe if I spoke to resident Californians about earthquakes they would help ease my mind, but that has not proven true at all.

One set of locals told me about how in the 1989 earthquake places were without power for awhile and how part of the Bay Bridge collapsed onto itself. (I refuse to drive across it) At no point in time did they ease my mind, but thankfully nothing they said was new information.

Then I tried another set of locals and that’s when things turned ugly. The words that have done me in are “In an earthquake you are either the squish-er or the squish-ee.” Guess what folks, I’M A SQUISH-EE! Holy crap, I live on the bottom floor of a three story building. I. Will. Be. Squished.

Now at night, rather than sleep, I stare at the ceiling willing it not to fall on me in an earthquake. And when I’m not doing that, I picture the couple that lives above us crashing through it and flattening me with their bed, which I imagine to be a four post one that will impale me on one of the posts. Then I immediately go back to willing the ceiling not to fall. In short, I’m having trouble sleeping at night.

And I’m not just obsessing at night. At work I’m on the second floor. This means I’m a squish-er and a squish-ee. I’m going to die while squishing another person. It’s almost enough to make me quit, but then I would just be hanging out in my apartment all day where I’ll die a squish-ee. At least dying at work I’m earning money so I’ll die dressed nicely and in good shoes.

I need to find a new hobby quick.

I had trapeze class yesterday and I survived! And I’ve even signed up for 9 more classes. Apparently, having the shit scared out of me is something I enjoy.

The woman that spoke to me when I made my reservation explained that by the end of the class I would be hanging from the trapeze by my knees. When she said by the end of class it seems she meant “by the first 5 minutes of class”. Seriously, you show up, they hoist you onto a low bar, and you hang from your knees. Then, a minute later, you climb up a ladder and are on a small platform grabbing the trapeze. Seconds after this, you’re jumping off the platform, flying through the air, and trying to get your legs onto the bar.

I was not successful the first two times. Finally, on my third swing I was able to get my legs over the bar and my hands free. The secret is that you really can’t think about how stupid or scary it is to jump off the platform (you have a safety wire on but it’s not very comforting when you’re high in the air on that platform). My head was swimming with fear, my palms so sweaty I kept having to chalk up, and my knees so weak I can’t remember how I climbed the ladder, but once I stopped thinking about it I was (kinda) okay.

Did I mention that when you’re on the platform, if you don’t jump when the instructor says “hep” he kinda gives you a gentle nudge (read as: a kick in the ass) and knocks you off the platform. Yeah, I was “nudged” every time it was my turn.

Having a hard time envisioning exactly what hanging from one’s knees looked like? As I mentioned jparks was not at this class to take pictures and the girl that I handed my camera to didn’t take very many or very good pictures. I searched you tube and found these videos of people taking classes at the gym I attend, but these are not videos of me. Next week jparks is taking the class with me and we’ll get some footage but until then you can check these out to see exactly what I was doing.

This video is of a catch, which I completed on my first try. I didn’t think I could do it, but I did and was very proud. And again, this is not me, just someone doing what I did.

Yesterday the class didn’t seem like much of a workout but today I can see I was wrong. I’m sore all across my back, in my abs, and my arms. But it’s a good sore. It’s a sore that says I’m proud that I overcame a fear and got a good workout at the same time.

Plus, I didn’t puke on anyone and that makes me proud too.

you: “What? Regan, you really don’t go in the ocean? Ever!?! That can’t be, you’re insane.”

me: “Oh really, I’m insane? I think you’re insane for getting in the water. Jaws might not be real, but there are plenty of other things to get you.”

Goodbye Steve Irwin, animal lovers the world over will miss you. It’s a shame you got taken down by a stingray, would have been more fitting to see a rattlesnake get you.

Crikey!

It’s very weird to have a tropical storm about to enter the Gulf and I am not freaking out, running to Wal-Mart to buy candles and canned goods. I am concerned and I don’t want it to head towards New Orleans (what a horrible way to celebrate Katrina’s anniversary, having to hunker down and deal with another hurricane) but it’s still really bizarre to know this hurricane can’t hurt me. I know my stuff won’t be lost again, that I won’t have to grab my animals and head to Texas, and that I don’t have to worry about finding a new home when I don’t even know if my old home still exists.

I think it’s even more weird that I kinda miss preparing for a hurricane. It’s better than living in constant fear of an earthquake.

Today I went to see an acupuncturist thanks to some lovely back problems I’ve had for quite awhile. Jason suggested I go see one, but never thought I would actually go. I never thought I would actually go. And honestly I don’t know if my experience today counts as a real acupuncturist visit.

First we talked for a bit. It turns out the doctor I went to specializes in infertility treatments and she was concerned for me and my aging eggs. She said after 30 it’s really hard to get pregnant and stress takes a huge toll on your fertility. After this I got undressed and she brought in the massage therapist. They stood and looked at my back for a few minutes discussing, in Mandarin, the state of my muscles. Finally the doctor said “You have much stress all through your back. And you have neck pain. You are so young to have so much stress. I’ve never seen someone your age with stress like this. You better not wait until 30 to have kids.” Great, I totally won’t stress about that.

This uplifting message was followed by an hour of sweet, sweet torture. The smallest, skinniest Asian girl I have ever seen, laid into my back with such force I honestly thought I was going to throw up. You know how most massages are about achieving a point of relaxation that makes you want to fart? This one was not like that. This one was about beating my muscles until they yelled UNCLE! and let go of the tension for the first time ever. It was painful but wonderful; I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so relaxed.

Did I mention while this was going on I had electric currents shooting through my legs? In place of needles sometimes electric currents are used to move the qi around in your body. Seeing as I have a crippling fear of needles the doctor thought this would be a good way to ease me into acupuncture. Honestly this was the most enjoyable part of the visit; the doctor put a heating lamp on my feet so they were toasty warm and the currents were really low. All I felt were small muscle spasms every once in a while and it was actually kind of relaxing. Hmmm, I wonder if electro-shock therapy might be good for me, in real low doses of course.

You’ll notice no needles were actually used today, and this was probably for the best. I have another appointment next Friday and the doctor and I agreed to three needles being inserted into my hands and back. This means I have a week to build up enough courage to survive the fact that 3 needles will be inserted into my body. Holy crap, I need lots of courage. Or lots of whiskey.

Recently having kids has been on my mind quite a bit. Not that I’m going to have kids anytime soon, it’s just that more and more of my friends are popping out kids or are announcing they will be working on creating kids to pop out and I guess that I’ve just been a bit preoccupied with not full blown baby fever, but some mild, low temperature, baby fever. And it’s honestly not even baby fever as much as “oh my god I’m older than my mom was when she had me, should I have a kid by now, am I going to be too old to have kids by the time I’m ready” fever.

I never really planned on having kids before 30. Actually let’s start a step before that. I never planned on having more than one kid. And in my head that one kid magically appeared in my life, fully formed without any of the pregnancy silliness. Truly I thought the stork was going to bring me a child, because obviously I am not built for pregnancy. Why obviously? Because the thought of swollen feet make my stomach churn. The thought of stretch marks makes my head hurt. And the big swollen food-providing boobs? I don’t even know the right word to describe how they make me squirmy and scared and dizzy and flabbergasted all at the same time. Big swollen food providing boobs make me sqarezzgasted. See, I have to create a word just to describe how I feel. I am not meant to give birth.

Not that I think there is anything at all wrong with swollen feet, stretch marks, or breastfeeding. I fully understand how they are part of the miracle of life and how they are each beautiful because of the larger picture that they are part of, but so help me god, I don’t think I can handle it. In fact, I saw this website: Shape of a Mother and I freaked out a bit. And had nightmares. And decided to keep my legs firmly together. And I’m currently searching for chastity belts online. It’s not that I think I have a perfect body and am worried about losing it. I have my fair share of stretch marks and I’m not nearly the size I would like to be but the thought that it can, and most definitely will, get worse and I will have no control over it really (please pardon my language) freaks me the fuck out. Plus I worry about how long it would take for me to feel attractive again, much less how long it would take for jparks ever to find me attractive again.

And it’s not just the hell that a woman’s body looks like after that creeps me out. What about having an epidural? That’s a big ass needle that they are going to stick right into my spine and I don’t even like getting a flu shot. Or what if the doctor does an episiotomy? Holy hell, the thought of that makes me want to cry. I’m so scared of episiotomies that I can’t even link the word to its definition for fear that I might learn something else about them that I don’t need to know. Honestly I can’t even give blood because I get such a panic attack my blood pressure rises and they won’t let me donate. Can you image how I’m going to be during labor?!? And c-sections! Holy crap, I had a friend that had one and I had to help her pack gauze into it when her husband couldn’t be at home. She was fine with it, but I wanted to die.

See, I. Am. Not. Built. For. Pregnancy.

You know I’ve gotten myself all worked up with my pregnancy fears that I can’t even remember what the point of this post is. Oh well, I’m off to bed to have nightmares of big boobs and freakishly swollen feet. And evil doctors that are crazy about cutting. Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember what I wanted to say.

And rest assured, this in totally and positively not a post to announce I’m knocked up. Because I’m not, thank you chastity belt!