on whether to look for my donor father...

(you guys all know I was born of donor insemination, yeah? that information is crucial for the rest of this entry. haa, obvi!)

So, on Friday (I think), I received an email from another woman who was born of donor insemination in Saskatoon in the same time period as I was. Actually, both her and her sister were.
She found me through my post on this website, which is intended to match donor-siblings and offspring to donors.

HA, OFFSPRING. what a detached thing to be called!

I'd actually completely forgotten about that website, and had stopped paying to access the other donor sibling registry, and had not even ever responded to the email from the one donor (probably not my bio-dad) who had contacted me years ago.

If you know me, you know that one of my main priorities is not worrying. I don't like worrying and I don't like being upset about stuff. And there's no point in worrying about things you can't control, like if you don't have a father.
Instead, I would generally prefer to embrace the differences in my life. My mum is my ultimate favourite person in the world that I've ever heard of. No denying. I would give anything to have her in my life forever and ever and ever. I can't imagine having a better parent than her and I say that in all sincerity. I would choose this situation again above any other option.
So, no dad? I guess that's shitty. I for sure have issues with not quite understanding men and the like because of it. But I'm also still awesome. I was loved beyond loved and couldn't have asked for a better supportive extended family...
There just isn't any point being upset about it! I'd rather make jokes!



But, today I'm upset. I'm upset like I was when I was an angsty 12 year old angry at my mother and furious at not having a father.
Actually, I can't even remember when was an actual time I was super upset about this situation. As a child, I guess. Mostly when I was mad at my mum, I guess? When I needed something to be upset about?
It's a good fall-back if you feel like feeling sad about something, that's for sure.

I guess it's lucky that my brother and I both just look like we belong to our family. Like there was never any doubt we were my mother's kids and never any doubt that we were wanted.
And I think it's completely different having no dad at all with a top-notch mum, instead of a dad who you know isn't related to you. I have zero concept of what that situation would be like.
But then, all families are different. No family dynamic is the same. Ever.

I've never felt like I'm missing anything. I mean, it's fun to think about my bio-dad, on account of I imagine him being the super-coolest and a right-on rad dude who is adorable. But it's just a fantasy. A cool fantasy that makes me feel nice.

Now because of all this I'm having shitty dreams about driving down to Buffalo to track down my donor who turns out to be an awful shumshy-faced drunk with watery eyes!
UGH.

But this woman has a few good points. We are almost 30. Who knows how old our donors are now. Or if they are even alive. Who knows their medical history or if we're accidentally marrying extended family members....

My bio-dad could be dead at this point!
The fact is that I will probably never meet him.
Which should be fine. I mean, I don't know him, he's nothing to me. Except I just always assumed at some point things would work themselves out so that I would meet him. And I expected that at some point I would meet all my bio-siblings...

I don't really think about this all that much, but, it's FUCKING BANANAS that I almost certainly have half-siblings out there who could be my buds RIGHT NOW if only I knew who they were.

Is this the time I go on an actual hunt? Is this the moment I assumed would come at some point? Do I now place ads in newspapers, try to get interviews on news programs, organize a BBQ for all donors and offspring from that time period?
(considering it.)

If my bio-dad or her bio-dad (they could be the same one, of course, though probably unlikely) want to be found then it would be easy. If he does not then it will be impossible. Literally. We are powerless in this situation. And I guess, yeah, she's in her full rights to be mad about that.

She's right to be mad that the records with the only indication of who HALF OF OUR GENETICS are from were destroyed.
She's right to be mad that at the very least offspring from the same donors who are looking for each other shouldn't have access to that information. We could all be looking for each other.

We, the offspring, signed no papers saying we wouldn't look for our donors. We signed no papers saying we didn't need to know who are siblings are.
I strongly believe we are entitled to ask whatever questions we want to. And maybe this woman's reaction to the situation is different than mine, but she's entitled to do any digging she sees fit because we had no say in the situation. And because they weren't just making offspring, they were making humans who grow up and feel they have a right to know about themselves...

I still feel very, very lucky to be alive. And I wouldn't be here without this process. But, yeah, I guess I would like to know who my bio-dad is. And even more so I would like to know who my other siblings are.

Ha, I would like to have money too so I could DNA test everyone I could possibly be related to!


(haaaha baby me at the window. over-dramatic illustration for this post!)


I guess bottom-line, I'd like to either meet my bio-dad or know that he has no interest in meeting me. I think I could stomach that. It seems almost fair. At least then I'd know he's not the sort of person I need to know!

So I guess that means I'll have to look at some point. And the sooner the better if I actually want success... I don't know if it's right now. But it probably should be.

The worst part is, I've always known I wanted to look, but I also don't want to look because once I've exhausted the few avenues, then I will have failed.
And failing at finding family seems like a hard place to be in.

bibliotheque

In highschool I told Killary that I was pretty sure that I would meet the love of my life at the library.
And judging from the Craigslist missed connections, I'm not the only one.


I did meet one babe there once.

We made eyes at each other in the arts section of the top floor of the Frances Morrison branch, he was looking at books on sculptures and I was looking at books on crafts.
I had to go to catch my bus but first I stopped in the lobby to call Killary to ask "I think maybe I should meet this guy, what should I do?"
and she said I should stay to see what happens.
So I missed my bus and went upstairs and read in one of the chairs and he passed by a couple of times, after meeting up with the girl he was with.
Finally, on his way out he looked at me, lagged behind the girl a little on the stairs and then dropped a piece of paper.
Unfourtunately at that moment an older woman was coming up the stairs and she was like "you dropped something" and he was like "no I didn't" and she said "no, you did, it's right there" and forced him into picking it back up.
He paused again with it and waited for her to go on and then purposefully threw it back down and then left quickly.
I, of course, ran to the paper and picked it up, sure enough:
"You seemed so intriguing, I didn't want to pass you by. Call if you wish." With his name and phone number written on. I'm sure I still have that note somewhere, should've scanned it in for you...

I've told that story too much, I remember it exactly.

I called him that night. Because I'm a big dork. And we talked quite a bit forever and we ended up hanging out a couple of times, but nothing ever came of it.
He was good on paper but I was so hung up on Toad (this was before we ever got involved)...

Also, he talked way, way too much about bongs and weed and more weed and people wrecking his stuff and whatnot. I just wasn't feeling it.


Now I don't even believe in love so really, it doesn't even matter where I meet people.
Just Kidding.


Oh yeah, p.s. - April 1st is the 26th anniversary of my conception!
Congratulations Mother on having had the courage to get inseminated and make me!
I turned out not warped at all and very great!



Oh Also April 1st is the 5th (? already???) anniversary of me living in this apartment! Wild!



That is pretty hard to believe though... Wow.
I still kind of love it too much, too. And I can't really imagine leaving it. Only when I have to, I guess.

working, babes, and donor dads

At my friend's restaurant a man was pestering one of the servers and being completely inappropriate and she finally had enough when he started feeling her up. So she leaned in closely to him and asked if he'd like to come outside with her and of course he very much wanted to spend a moment alone with her outside and so she told him to grab his jacket and then she lead him through the restaurant and then out...
When they got there she said "BYEEE" loudly and firmly and waved to him as he walked away...

.

Today I got a tip bigger than the price of the product I was selling. It was accompanied by the man telling me that I was the cutest girl he'd ever seen. I resisted telling him that he needed to get out more.
I am wearing french braids though...
One of the good things about closing up before the game is even over, is that when the men come back to ask for your number, you are no longer there.

Also I'm pretty sure one younger customer told his father to "quit cock-blocking" him. But maybe I just made that part up.

Our favourite supervisor brought us popcorn in a cup on which he'd written "miss you guys :("
Pretty sweet.

.

I'm trying to figure out a way to make a living off of scoping babes. I am so, so good at it. And always interested in it.
And I'm a pretty good judge of babes I wouldn't even be interested in. I feel like I know a babe when I see one.
Although sometimes my babedar is weirdly off.

.

It's hard to be friends with men. As much as I know babes (in terms of scoping and eying up and chatting up and dating for two weeks), men are still kind of a mystery to me.
I have never lived with one, I have never counted on one, I have never really known one. Really.

I mean, maybe Cpt. Heh, he's my best dude friend for sure. But he is not a typical dude. He's more of sweet little darling.

Friendships between men and women get complex. I have ridiculous few male friends (of any degree of friendship) who I have not made out with at least a bit. It's hard to know what is "loving" and what is "being in love". Or the lesser degrees of what is "caring" and what is "wanting to be with".
Especially because attraction is the reason we want to be around each other. Because there is something interesting and engaging...

And even when I try very hard to carve out the space and niche to be friends, it doesn't always go as planned. I can't control both sides. I have a hard time not pushing things. And I'm not always the best at being clear.
Especially when it's up to me to be the communicator. And I'm half-crazy. And too serious about everything, apparently.

.

My co-worker tonight was asking me about being born of donor insemination. She was pretty incredulous that I hadn't done everything I could to locate donor and/or siblings.
It's hard to explain as she has no context and no concept...
Why would I look?
I don't need to, I have a family. And, of course, I'm scared of disappointment.
Also, if I look and don't find, then what? Then it's more frustrating than ever.

I like the possibilities.

She also told me if I met my father I would just know him. If I saw him I would know it was him. She is woo-woo.

He could be a anyone. He could be an asshole. He could be someone I served every day at Jerry's. He could be an uncaring slob who I helped at The Body Shop on Christmas eve (having left everything to the last minute). He could be a Conservative.
There are good things that he could be too. Which, actually, I assume he is. And maybe that's why I'm not particularly looking. I quite like the idea of him that I have in my head.

A friend of friend here in Toronto gave sperm apparently. Thinking about that makes me uncomfortable. I don't think people realize what they are doing.
And that's part of the donor/offspring issues.

My donor father probably does not believe in me. I am not real to him. And he probably does not want me to be.
And that's part of why I don't really look.

ah, maybe I should. I don't know.

.

hmm, this is a way better entry than what I had expected to write

not so much of a secret.

Here's an interesting Post Secret


I just want to make sure that it's clear that I don't feel that way at all. Not even a little bit, not even at all.
And maybe it's the (maybe made-up) information that my donor dad was a really kind human who wanted to help make families. Or maybe it's that I turned out alright.
But probably it's the fact that I feel like if anyone deserved the chance to be a mum, it's my mum. Because she is the best and smartest person that I know of, and (un-biasedly) she is so good with little ones.
And even better with her own little (and now not-so-little) ones.





[Merry Christmas Mumma, that's all you're getting!]

happpppy hallowe'en!

I stole this picture from Steph because I have not uploaded all of mine own yet.

Sssssuper fun Hallowe'en though - you know when you're worried about things working out but then everything turns out even better than you thought it would?
Yep.

I know that I wienered out by going as a Christmas elf, but srsly. I had to buy exactly nothing for my costume. And I had to do exactly no planning, it was too easy to resist.

COSTUMES I THOUGHT ABOUT GOING AS WHICH WERE WAY FUNNIER:

A Wedding Vehicle
(dressed in white with the paper flowers in rows on me, a "just married" sign and tin cans trailing from my butt)

My Dad (circa 1983)
(Hahahahahahahah wearing a moustache and holding a dirty magazine and a cup 'o sperm)


OKAY BRUNCH TIME
because what else do I do with my life.

careful, careful

Blogging is such, such an odd sport.

It's changed so ridiculous much since I started on diaryland back in 2001.
Back then I could write whatever I wanted about anyone, post everyone's names, intimate details, everything. No one really read it, only strangers, e-friends.. I posted inside business, people's secrets, boys I had crushes on, boys I cheated on; knowing that people wouldn't really get around to reading it.. probably.
On that diary everything got written, and I got into trouble numerous times, had to retract, re-think, re-state, delete. I messed up friendships occasionally and got spied on and was cruel.. I got called out on shit and honestly hurt people a few times. And regretted it.
These days I want to be able to say that I am out for the greater good. That I am about care-giving and care-taking. I want to be able to say that. I don't always succeed, but I make efforts.
And therefore I am a more careful blogger.

I want this to be an interesting, entertaining read, but I'm not willing to be mean for it.
I screw up sometimes when something is too funny. When I can't step back and realize the cruelty out-weighs the humour value.

It's like Perez Hilton vs. Tyler Durden:
Perez can be sharp, critical, and definitely calls people on their shit, but he honestly loves things, loves people, links to causes and he supports where need be. TD is all about cruelty, attacking everyone and everything, no mercy. Which is honestly funny... but not something I can take very much of. And not something I'd want to be a part of.

I want to be proud of everything I'm saying these days. That's not possible, I'm still a gossip, snitch, and struggler, but maybe sometime...
.

I'm terrible at expressing feelings. I need therapy. To re-learn how to be open. I don't know how to tell my mother (or anyone, really) that I love her anymore. Not properly, warmly, without reservations. I don't know how to hug people, to compliment for no reason, to comfort.. only in tangible ways maybe - gifts, actions, etc.
I don't know how to meet people and be friendly without feeling like I'm faking it.
Being terrible at niceties (and neckties) is one of my main character traits, which I am pseudo-proud of. Which maybe I honed at some point.. But I need to work at being warm, and more specifically, even - gracious.
No one would ever say that about me now.

My mother, while on this trip, found out that one of her best friends is dying, and I am unable to express how terrified this makes me. How the idea of this woman's daughter (an only child, who I've known my whole life practically) being almost alone afterwards... You know.
I can only act in a detached, bored fashion - like this is expected somehow.
.

I was staring at my mum's nose today, while we were sitting outside of the ice cream parlour, and she thought she had something on it, but really I was just checking to see if it was anything like mine.
Not really.

I never did get around to replying to that possible bio-dad who emailed me.
I should. For sure.

I thought today was father's day, but it is apparently not. Good thing. Still got a whole nother week to search him, find him, get to know him, buy him a gift and then give it to him (no generic golf-themed gifts for this girl's dad).
Not to mention then have some sort of buffet brunch!

ouch though

I feel like I spend kind of a lot of time defending some of my friends. I have real issues with people hating on people I love though. And I have a tendency to have one good friend from every group of friends, never being a particular mainstay in any group. So all my friends are sort of scattered. And don't necessarily like each other. Also, things I find funny and charming aren't always appealing to other people.
I don't have a point, only that I love so many people so much and I wish everyone I like liked each other.

Uh huh.

So. My trip is more than half over. Whoaly. So glad I extended it though, otherwise I would have left this morning. Too soon!
I'm less concerned about spending time with my mother though, on account of she's coming to Toronto in three weeks.

I've been looking pretty hard for a Saskatoon husband. See, because I need a babe that will want to live half in Toronto and half here with me. And it'll be easier, I think, to convince a Saskatonian to move to Toronto than vice-versa.
But so far, no luck on the babe front. Sighs.

Had a mad rad dance party on the rooftop patio of a bar the other night. My friend was DJing and we all broke it down. We girls seriously gave 'er for a bit there. Those kind of dance parties are the best.
I've had a couple of dance parties since being here. Just what I needed. And will always need.
It's funny how everyone hangs out with their siblings here. I can't think of any siblings I hang out with in Toronto, really. But here - holy jesus. You're only cool if you bring along your sisters and brothers. It's kind of fantastic.
Karaoke last night (I did Rocking Around the Christmas Tree [obvs]), I was with three sisters and their mum! Yeah huh.
I wish I had some cool sibs.

A couple of people I meet here ask if I have any siblings and then tell me how much I look like so and so or so and so. Which makes me think maybe I will have siblings too. Man I would totally try and befriend my siblings if I found I had any.. I would try and make them be my BFFs and tell everyone about how I'm born of donor insemination.
I'm obnoxious like that.
Mum really should have considered how little she likes people knowing her business before
a) having babies by donor insemination
b) having an obnoxious child like me

I'm not forgetting that I do, indeed, have a real-time-half-brother (half? he's more like TWO. he's a giant!!) but he's no fun. He is anti-drug, anti-drinking and he wants to be a police officer. And he goes to Mennonite house-church! I don't even know what to say to that.

Hmm.

So, while walking down Broadway yesterday, I was looking for, and found, a certain boy I'd been needing to talk to. And I'm going to hang out with him this afternoon.
But the thing is that he's schizophrenic. And also he is the only boy I've ever been in love with.
And seeing him yesterday was both wonderful and heartbreaking. He was more lucid than I've seen him since he was hospitalized in 2001, he was funny, charming, and able to make eye contact. Telling me how pretty I am and how well I've aged (ha). He was so, so himself. And cognizant of how he is crazy. Telling me how he's not quite sure what is actually true, how he hasn't heard voices lately, and how he's quit everything (from meat to cigarettes to the ketamine he was injecting [ironically, ketamine is like the pharmacological model of schizophrenia]), and how he's living on his own - aware of how he keeps only being able to be friends with the wrong kinds of people. I guess if you end up on the streets for a bit, you don't get much choice.
It's frustrating how everyone (my friends most definitely included), who had looked up to him when he was a brilliant student/musician/actor in high school, now have so completely written him off. He has become a joke, a leper, not anything anyone can deal with. And even people who I know are so flippant about it with me. Breaks my heart breaks my heart so badly, like it is impossible to explain.
And I loved him so hard then. And never had a chance to fall out of love with him because he just changed. Our relationship never played itself out, never ended naturally.

I want to write all of it out right now, but I'm short on time and perspective today. And I guess I'll just see how it goes tonight. Maybe it'll be good for at least one of us. Maybe it'll be great.
I feel like I need a buffer though, like layers of foam padding around my heart.
He got on his bike yesterday as we left each other and called back "Love you Mare!"

snot true

Here's an email I received today. It is a response to a listing I posted on a donor insemination registry website.


Dear Meredith:

Last night I listened to the Ideas programme on CBC Radio. It was about artificial insemination and the search by offspring for donor fathers and siblings. After listening to the programme it prompted me to look on the internet for sites to list contact information. I found your listing and I thought I should contact you. I was a donor in the programme in Saskatoon at the time you were conceived, however, I doubt that I am the one. The donor is described as very funny and I don't think I am very funny. Congenial, perhaps. I am 6 feet tall with dark brown hair, eye colour is blue, actually sort of blue-green. I do have freckles. The most recent of my ancestors arrived in Canada from northern England in 1835. If you are interested to ask any questions, please feel free to send me an e-mail and I will give you a telephone number.

Best wishes,

****

Hmm.

While nothing discounts him completely from being that Biodad of mine, it does seem pretty unlikely.

I think I'm still interested in contacting him (maybe even more so, knowing he isn't my relation) and seeing what it's like being in the other side of my boat. Especially from the same situation. Same doctors, same procedure. Similar experience to that of Biodad.

.

Set was amazing today. I did good work I think (or at least was told continuously). The best compliment I received was from the product client who sought me out afterwards to say
"I hope that this spot serves you as well as it will serve us, because it is very funny and people should be lined up to use you"

Then we, of course, made jokes about how "using" me maybe wasn't the classiest way of putting it and so on and so forth.

The boy acting opposite me was really great. Very confident and calm. And funny, of course.
But he reminded me so much of my old BFF/one time BF (twice involved, off and on best friend). And so my heart ached gently all day looking at him.
I'm constantly missing people.

I love being the star of the show. I gotta say, when things revolve around me, I am way more happier. Also, making jokes with the crew and getting them all on my side is also my favourite. One camera guy and I called each other every derogatory/cutesy name we could think of. Then I topped it off with "dinkus" and that really seemed to stick.

I've never eaten so many pieces of gum in my life. It's pretty good gum though. But I didn't get a lifetime supply.
.

I'm sick as a dog again. I can't seem to kick this. It's sort of ridiculous. I left improv early yesterday (and I never miss improv! or the drinking afterwards!) but luckily not before my most insane/beyond over-the-top strange classmate rhymed "chin" with "nipple". Maybe she just doesn't understand rhyming?

I'm gooing out every facial orifice. I'm disgusting. And so sick of being sick. I'm glad I held it together on set and kept my voice even through the countless blood-curdling screams I produced.

But I have two auditions tomorrow. One for Best Buy. I've been called back for two different Best Buy commercials and have not landed one yet and so I refuse to take them seriously.
But I still have to get it together. Maybe not snot all over the casting peeps.
Or maybe I will.

who's yr daddy?

I'm sad about not having a father today. This rarely happens, as I never really think about it, except to make continual jokes. My mother is the best mother around and most people I know have at least one shitty parent, so not having father has not really bothered me.
And I've always just felt really, really special. Wanted, worked for, tried for. Being born of donor insemination means that my mother went extremely out of her way, through psychological testing, and even paid money to get me. She wanted nothing more than me in this whole world, I bet. Except maybe Emry. But that was only because of how great I turned out:



I registered today on the Donor Sibling Registry.

I don't believe in fathers.
Men, in general, are so foreign to me, so remarkably alien, that I find it hard to believe that "dads" exist. I mean, I've seen them, I know people who have them, I've watched movies about them, but I just can't ever imagine interacting with mine own.

So, we'll tell it like a story;

Once upon a time in Saskatoon, in the summer of 1982 (not the summer of love, the summer of turkey basters), there was a beautiful woman. She had permed hair and the loveliest crows-feet around her eyes. She had had boyfriends, (had even quite liked some of them) but none quite took. But she was older and she owned her own castle and she had a decent job, and she really, really wanted a baby.

So she went to the hospital and asked them if they knew of any nice young men who liked masturbating into cups*. They said "why, yes, we know of a few but since you are a single woman, you must undergo intensive psychoanalysis so that we know you're not nutso because most single women are. We will accuse you of being gay around a 102 times. And then we will choose the donor who looks closest to you, with a similar ethnic background, and you will have no say in it".

So they decided that the woman was sane enough and picked her a prince charming to give away his semen. This prince was very charming and the nurse liked him very much, she said he received no payment for his donations, only did it for the good. Like donating blood or an organ, yes? She said he was tall, and musical. He probably also was in university, had freckles and lighter hair, had a clef chin and could roll his tongue.
And so for 8 months the woman and the prince charming went to the same hospital twice a month in hopes of getting a tiny baby. Since it was the early 80s it was live donation, meaning, they quite possibly passed each other in the halls or at least in the streets. Maybe they still do, actually...

After 8 months, on the first of April, in the year 1983, a tiny princess was conceived.

The prince would then have not had to go in on that schedule. So, in theory, he probably noticed and realized that the woman had either conceived or given up.

On December 24th of that same year, that tiny baby was born, one day early, almost perfect. Except for almost dying and having an extra muscle by her heart (for protection, I always say). Oh, and those ears that stick out and the sun shines through.

Later on the woman would be pregnant with a full sibling of the princess's but would suffer a miscarriage. She would have a son later though, with another donor.

Ten years after the princess's birth, the records were (apparently) destroyed. And now the doctor is retired and the records are no more and so unless the donor is looking too, the princess will never know him.

*Wow I just killed myself by realizing that the Playboy Magazines that I have from the early 80s are probably the same that my Bio-Dad jerked it too. Or maybe he's gay. That'd be so rad, you have to admit.

I never know what to think of any of this.
I watched the Oprah episode devoted to the subject on Friday. The children of DI all had such different reactions. I don't know where to put mine.

I don't believe that I have a father at all. Or siblings, though I think about them all, all the time.
I just can't wrap my head around having other people that are just as related to me as my mother and my brother. It seems made up.

Certainly, I'd like to meet all of them. Father, siblings, cousins, etc.
Very, very much.

The dream situation of one daughter-donor's interaction was sort of mean to show. How the first time they spoke on the phone they talked for about 4 hours straight. And now are close friends.
And the dream situation of the siblings that met each other and look just like twins and are so remarkably similar.

It's hard not to want all of that.
There are certainly ways I do not look quite like the rest of my family, and though I am best friends with my mother, I don't doubt that there is a Bio-Dad influence in how I am.

And I want little sisters and big brothers. I want lots of fam and big dinners. People to send Christmas cards to.

But it's messy.
Because to let myself want for that sort of thing is just a big set up for disappointment.
And I'm never good with that sort of thing.

Any suggestions on what to do next?

Besides use face transformers on the internet to do mock-ups of what my family might look like?