Boy oh boy, Readers!
Wait 'till my next post - I cooked up a lovely idea during my sopping wet bike ride to downtown. I'm dying to tell you about it now, but I'll control myself and let it be a surprise.
(During this aforementioned bike ride, by the way, my white socks got utterly drenched AND this nasty gash on my big toe got overly jostled and started bleeding again, which I didn't realize until I got to work to peel off my drenched, now massively bloodstained socks. I hung up my drenched and massively bloodstained socks on my file cabinet handle to air-dry before class, since those were the only socks I had to get me through the work day. Forgot they were hanging there, of course, as a group of innocent students came in to talk to me. I only remembered when I caught them staring wide-eyed right past me at that file cabinet, at my bloody dripping socks, which looked like used Maxi-pads, judging by the shape and color combination. Which means my students must have thought for a fleeting moment that I, their esteemed professor, was a bloody Maxi-pad hanging freak.)
Never mind, I can't hold it in any longer. Here's my idea:
I'm going to try my hand at being an advice columnist, with the pen name of Dead Baby Momma. The column will be called Dear Dead Baby Momma. I'll do it every week or every other week, whenever Dead Baby Momma gets inspired. Might be just a one-time deal, might last longer. In preparation for my first one, you are welcome and encouraged to e-mail me your questions to: monica at exhalezine dot com.
They can be KuKd-related or not, funny or serious, general or specific, whatever. Just know that your answer will be filtered through the wacked-out mind of Dead Baby Momma. No question is too small or big, too relevant or irrelevant, too ridiculous or non-ridiculous. This is just something I've always thought would be interesting, and since I was so troubled by my drenched and bloody bike ride, I was glad to have a happy-making idea emerge from the dreariness of my mind. I reserve the right to make questions up, of course, but nobody has to know that.
In the meantime, I thought I'd spout off a few FAQs about this blog, for the sake of any newbies making their way over here. Someday, I'll be bold and put up a "FAQS" page. But until then, this will have to suffice. This will also give me some practice in answering questions for my Dear Dead Baby Momma column (OMIGOD I'M SO EXCITED!!!). Here I go:
KuKd stands for Knocked Up, Knocked Down. It is used an adjective to describe the experience of losing a pregnancy, a pregnancy-like thing, a baby-like cell, a mass of baby-like cells, a zygote (what IS a "zygote," anyhow?), an embryo, a fetus, a baby. I pronounce it by simply stating the letters: kay-you-kay-dee. Others say "kooked," but if they said that in my presence, I probably wouldn't know what they were talking about (not that the Kukd experience doesn't leave your brain a little kooked-out).
Where did the term KuKd come from?
My own twisted brain, during one of those pinnacle-of-creativity moments when your brain is on both coffee and booze simultaneously. Yeah, like an Irish coffee. Just like that.
Why do you bother doing this blog? What makes you think anyone gives a rat's arse about you or your life or your ideas? Blogging is stupid.
I oftentimes ask myself that very string of questions. I started this blog for me, not for anyone else, about ten months after Zach's dirth. I had some lingering dead-baby-related thoughts that I needed to express, and blogging provided a space to do that. Then, I realized that through this blog, I was gathering a little community of supporters - readers, listeners, people who "get it." Or might not "get it" personally, but don't mind hearing me blather about it. Blathering is fun. Being listened to is fun. It makes me feel more normal during the alienating and insanity-producing experience of losing a baby. It still does.
I'm sorry. Did you just say "dirth?"
Yes. Dirth = death+birth. Dirth, dirthday, dirthing ceremony.
Not that anybody cares, but what do you do besides blog? Anything? Anything at all?
Well, I do have a real job. I teach writing at a community college. I go to lots of meetings in jeans and sweaters. I spend too much time Google-imaging pictures of cupcakes, perusing Facebook, and chatting online with one person in particular. I'm a happy-hour fiend, and spend lots of time schmoozing and boozing. I drink too much coffee and not enough water. I go for long walks with my husband and dog, and oftentimes like with my feet in his lap and a glass of wine in my hand. He makes me laugh, and he's fun to French kiss. I fantasize about being a real writer someday, living in a cabin in the mountains, or on a dairy farm. To that end, I spend lots of time thinking of books to write, and starting to write those books, and then getting distracted and forgetting about them. The one I'm working on now, though, I really am going to finish, I swear. If I don't, my friends and family are going to give me a lot of shit.
Are you religious?
Nope. Not at the moment. Don't ask me why not, because I have no fucking idea.
Why did the Google search terms "bloody nose during fellatio" bring me to this blog?
That's for me to know, and you to find out.