I may be re-stating the obvious, but I no longer use this as an online diary. Not for lack of want but because it’s too dangerous. I have a lot to say right now too. I think I’ll just put it in a Word doc for safe keeping because I really appreciate now being able to see how I was thinking and feeling 15 years ago because it’s often different than how you remember and errant minutiae completely gets lost to time. Wild west online anonymity may be one of the only things I miss from the ’90s. Maybe smoking indoors. Maybe also not worrying about bad habit repercussions or repercussions generally. I used to think I was the only Krista Garcia in the world but that’s only because in the old days no one had an online presence. I was recently asked by a Tinder date (the only online stranger I’ve gone on a second date with so far. And speaking of online dating, I almost exclusively have been matching with 29-32 year olds, which I’ve said before, but it’s becoming mildly worrisome because even though these are cute guys, I never reach out [not saying I wouldn’t respond if the youngster took the initiative] because it’s kind of dumb in the scheme of things. But then, aren’t summers for having stupid fun?) to friend them on Facebook because my name might be hard to find. That had never occurred to me. I don’t think that’s fully true–I’m the only NYC one I’m aware of but they certainly exist. And I’m still getting wrong emails for at least four of them–just this week an orthodontist reminder for my daughter Madisen (California) and two separate birthday wishes for my dogs Maggie and Max from their vet (Florida).
Here’s a TMI thing that I wouldn’t post on Facebook (even though I’ve become a scarily active user) despite anyone in the world being able to read it here. (Unrelated: I can’t believe how loose most people have their privacy settings on Facebook–there are online stalkers out there!) I guess birth control pills are free now? After a three-year hiatus I was thrown when I was handed the bag at Duane Reade Friday with $0 appearing on the touchpad screen where I was waiting to swipe my credit card. Is this a thank you, Obama or has my insurance improved? (It’s the same it always was.) It’s not that I think a woman six days away from 43 who has sex very occasionally is going to get knocked-up, though I’m actually at a point now where I might me more amused than upset if it happened. (Also, a fling impregnating a grown woman is the crux of Catastrophe, which I’m pretty sure I would love more if I could watch past the first episode without my computer freezing–it can barely handle word processing, so streaming Amazon Instant Video is too much to ask. [A new laptop is arriving tomorrow and I’ve never bought a new computer and am not even sure how one transfers files from one to the other, which leads me to believe I’m becoming one of those middle-aged women in the office who can’t figure out PowerPoint or never learned basic HTML tags.] I do love that the main character is not a young woman, that’s very British somehow, though I couldn’t help but wonder how likely the scenario would be for a lady of a certain age. Then again, I’m literal about actors and just because Sharon Horgan is 45 in real life doesn’t mean that Sharon on the show is 45. I’ve been having the same issue with UnREAL where Quinn talks as if babies are still a possibility and all I can think is how old is she supposed to be? She looks like a really hot, enviable 40something woman in The 49 Year Old Who Looks 45 and Gets Shit Done vein , though it becomes calculable at one point that the character is meant to be 38. Constance Zimmer is 44.) What I intended to say more succinctly is that I didn’t start taking birth control pills in earnest, especially since I still smoke when I feel like it and don’t want a stroke, but merely because I’ve calculated that my period will start exactly on the day I go to LA next month and I didn’t want it ruining my vacation and I plan to do the stacking thing where you skip your period by starting the new pack early. (I was interviewed for this 2003 New York Times story about women suppressing menstruation on purpose that was timed with the introduction of Seasonale, the pill that eliminated periods, but wasn’t quoted. The reporter found me because I talked about it here, or rather an older iteration of here, because, you know, this isn’t a private space.) Unfortunately, this little gambit may end up costing me $124.99, the full price of Lo Loestrin that insurance won’t cover if dispensed prematurely. Whatever. Happy travels.