Thursday, December 28, 2006
I'm in my second cycle of taking femara for improved ovulation, but I don't think it's doing diddly-squat other than making me produce gigantor follicles. My ovulation date hasn't moved up any (still around cd18) which is what Dr. McHottie was hoping it would do for me. And since I'm not triggering, the chances of me getting multiple mature eggs (=more chances) is very slim. I really don't think the femara is doing much for me, except perhaps confusing my insurance company and making them think I have breast cancer.
That reminds me of something kinda funny. Since I'm on metformin for my PCOS, and met. is typically prescribed as a diabetes treatment, some computer at my health insurance company has decided that I have diabetes. I keep getting little pamphlets and emails about diabetes health. The disturbing part is how much they talk about foot rot and infection. I mean, I don't have diabetes, but even if I did I think I'd get tired of people constantly telling me to check my feet.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
You get asked that all the time. “How are you?” “You doing okay?” “How’s tricks?” Okay, so you might not get asked “How’s tricks?” unless you’re from 1930, but you get my point. The thing is, though, you know it’s just a polite inquiry, and that the person doesn’t expect anything more than the polite answer of, “I’m fine, how are you?”
But I could tell that The Fabulous One was truly asking me how I was, if life was treating me okay. He really wanted to know what was up with me. And after a moment’s pause, I smiled and told him that yeah, I was doing okay.
The damndest thing is that I wasn’t lying. In that split second, I realized that I really am okay. I’m not wealthy, but I have a job and a roof over my head. I have family and friends who love me and are beloved in return. If I’ve ever gone to bed hungry, it’s only because I was too tired to go into the kitchen and fix something to eat. I don’t have a child of my body, but I have a little girl who is the child of my heart. I have the comfort of spirituality, without it being a crutch.
It was an amazing revelation. So often I concentrate on all the things I don’t have, the things that are going wrong, and the disappointments, that I forget how truly blessed I am in this life. I’m not a Bible-thumping missionary or anything (see previous post, filled with club-going and massive drinking), but I do believe in something greater than I, and that there are messages and clues for us if we just pay attention.
I haven’t been paying attention, but I’m working on it.
Last night I took a walk down memory lane. I finally went out to collect my birthday drink, even though I’m 4.5 months late. I went out to one of my favorite bars to hear a DJ friend spin, and it was fantastic.
I was reminded of my younger days, when I was a club/raver girl. Just about everyone I knew and associated with was in the same clique, and we had a social schedule to rival that of an 1800’s ton matriarch’s. But one of the best parts of it for me was the music. I was crazy about house, and even though I’m out of touch with what’s out now, I still love it.
After a small family gathering, which included the imbibing of margaritas and apple martinis, I decided to actually go out. So, I traipsed off to Midtown, where, on a Saturday night at 11:30 pm, I was lucky enough to find a parking space only about 20 yards from the bar. Huzzah!
And then I walked into a den of prancing Nancies. Man, I love gay men. There’s nothing like breathing air scented with Polo and Kenneth Cole, and hearing giggles that are higher pitched than my own. I really miss being a Hag. Anyway, this bar used to be filled with aging ex-club-goers like myself; now, it seems like it’s mostly a haven for the wonderfully fabulous.
By the way, apparently the extremely streamlined, 50’s style skinny-legged pants are still in fashion with the light in the loafers set. Who knew?
Anyway, I went up to the bar and order a whiskey on the rocks. I think I shocked the bartender, since most of the drinks I saw around were either beers or pastel-colored fruity drinks. What can I say, I like whiskey. Well, I really like Irish & Scotch whiskey, but Jack will do in a pinch.
So after I said hello to a couple of old friends, I found a seat and sat back to chill and enjoy the music. I gotta hand it to Jay: he was on fire last night. My head was in a constant state of the “club bob”, and my shoulders were rocking like I was having a seizure. The club bob, by the way, is something that you generally only see in ravers or club kids. See, when metal-heads are rocking out, their head bob action is an up-and-down vertical motion, where the chin is going down on the downbeat, on 1. The club bob, though, is more of a horizontal motion, where the head moves forward and back, with the head going back on the downbeat, on 1. Almost as if the bass is so strong and overpowering, that your head is retreating in reverence every time it drops. Anyway, even now, years after my clubbing days, I can identify old club kids at shows and concerts, just by the way their head bobs. Although this isn’t 100% accurate, as I have noticed that rappers are doing this, too, while they drink Hennessey & Cristal, and talk about women being bitches & hos. But we were doing it over 10 years ago, so it’s ours. Nyah nyah.
I got seriously sidetracked… so I’m sitting there enjoying myself, and the DJ plays some old tracks for me. Let me tell you, there is nothing like having a custom set played for your enjoyment! I heard tracks I haven’t heard in 9+ years. And even better, he did a “retrospective”, playing some of the best tracks from the past year, since I haven’t been out in a coon’s age. I felt like a junior reporter, running up to the booth every 10 minutes to peer over his shoulder to find out the name of a song I really liked. My favorites of the night were “Days Like This” by Shaun Escoffery (Spinna & Ticklah remix) and “A Pain That I’m Used To” by Depeche Mode.
So it was a good night. I started out with margaritas & apple martinis and wrapping presents, and ended up with whiskey & shots and house music. Joy to the world, indeed.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
So, the Tennessee contingent of the Family journeyed off to Georgia to be with the others for an extended weekend. We played and laughed and, well, had an all-around good time. We decided that Sunday would be our "Christmas Day"-- it was actually about a week before Christmas-- so that Saturday night was our "Christmas Eve". We had to have a grand feast, right? Of course we did! But we didn't go the traditional route of turkey and dressing, oh no!
We had a boil. We took a bunch of big ole pots, filled them with water, boil seasoning, and an entire can of cayenne pepper, then tossed in crab legs, shrimp, sausages, potatoes, onions, and corn on the cob. Since it was going to be a messy dinner, we covered the dining room table with newspapers, and used paper plates and napkins. And that's where Hallowchristgiving started.
You see, we'd been talking about how since we'd only been together once during our favorite autumn/winter holidays-- Halloween, Thanksgiving & Christmas-- that we were celebrating them all at once. Add in that it was (our) Christmas eve, we were having a grand feast like you do on Thanksgiving, and that we were eating off of the coolest Halloween plates, and it somehow became Hallowchristgiving.
We all enjoyed it so much that we decided that it would be an annual event, and our new tradition. We generally get together about a week or two before Christmas, and re-create the grand boil feast (forever more known as "The Beast Feast and Sea Creature Feature"), and eat until we're about to explode. Then later in the evening, once we can move again, we get to open our presents. Checking our stockings happens the next morning, because of course, Santa won't come until we go to sleep! ;-)
This past weekend was our 4th Hallowchristgiving celebration. Despite my own personal angst, I had a wonderful time being with my Family. It just seems to get better and better, and I can't wait until next year.
One last note for my TTC friends: it's always so freakin' funny to me when the Family is emailing each other about Hallowchristgiving, because we abbreviate it HCG. Even though I know better, human chorionic gonadotropin always pops in my head for a second when I see those letters. :D
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
-Tuesday 12/12: arrive in Nashvegas. 14 dpo, no positive test. Nauseous.
-Wednesday: do the touristy/Christmas/I'm just so freakin' glad to be away from home & work thing. 15 dpo, no positive test. Go to see the Rockettes (fantastic!), start having the most evil cramps I've ever had in my life.
-Thursday: more touristy stuff. 16 dpo, no positive test, no spotting or bleeding. Nauseous.
-Friday: Feeling like shit, skip company Christmas party because of nausea & extreme cramps. Head home. 17 dpo, still no spotting or bleeding, still a negative hpt. Go home. Late at night, around 11pm, start spotting. Despite the lack of a positive hpt, lose my shit completely. Hope is insidious, and I'd let myself start to hope.
-Saturday: By noon, the Red Sea is flowing. Almost a freakin' 18 day LP!!! That just ain't right. Spend most of the early afternoon crying, but have to pull it together because friends are in town to celebrate Christmas. Whoohoo. Yeah, I was SO in the holiday mood. Not. But my friend-family turned out to be the best medicine for me, as they really lifted my spirits.
So, anyway, that's the quickie version of the last week for me. I went in to see my doc Monday, to make sure everything was as it should be. And you want to know the damndest thing? All that physical and emotional drama, and it was just the drugs extending my LP. No dead baby, no cyst; just an over-productive corpus luteum. Remember that giant follicle I mentioned? Well, it turned into the mutha of all progesterone pumping fools!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Being the gently reared Southern blossom that I am, I can appreciate women who are more genteel and reserved. Women who find discussions of intimate details a little embarrassing, and who would rather be lynched by a horde of angry slaves than to say the word "cock".
The problem is this: there is another side to women. It is the practical and down-to-earth part of femininity, and is the side that is usually mistaken as being bitchy or crass. But here's the thing: they are just flip sides of the same coin.
I, like a lot of people, am a whiz at being a social chameleon. I quickly size up the situation, and decide what's appropriate for my surroundings. I might burp, fart, and use dreadful obscenities while hangin' wit my peeps. And when at a church social, that same potty mouth wouldn't dare say anything stronger than "darn". I don't see it as being fake or a poser; it's doing what's right for where you are, and a part of that Southern thing: you make people comfortable-- and thus also yourself-- by behaving in a way that is hospitable. Whether that's serving iced tea to an unexpected visitor and asking, "How's yer mama 'n them?", or shooting a Car Bomb and agreeing that, "Yeah, that blonde DOES have a great ass," it's all the same thing.
Anyway, something that's a peeve of mine is the prissy women on the Site That Shall Not Be Named. I mean, we're all in the TTC game, but they're worried about posting something "TMI"?!? I don't think there's a thing as Too Much Information when it comes to anything pertaining to sex, menstruation, pregnancy, and giving birth. There's a time for discretion and daintiness, but this ain't it.
Sex is hot, sweaty, and animalistic. Not to mention a little silly, really, but I've talked about that before. As women, we menstruate, and have blood and clumps of tissue oozing out of us on a (if we're lucky) regular basis, often accompanied by cramps and diarrhea. If we get pregnant, there's PCs (or pussy cramps, which is what my best friend called them while pregnant), nausea & vomiting, constantly oozing cervical mucous, and hemorrhoids.
Giving birth kinda pulls together all of the above, but kicks it up to the Nth degree. There's pain, screaming, moaning, blood, and shit, and at the end of it all there's a new person adding their screams into the mix.
How can ANYTHING connected to these processes be considered TMI? Have we become so "civilized" that we can't talk frankly with other women about our bodily functions? Other women who, by the way, are in the same position and going through the same things?
I want the Red Tent back.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Today had to be one of the most craptastic days I've had in a while. And yeah, maybe that will seem a bit self-centered once you read what happened, but hey: my blog, my feelings.
My Uber-Boss (my boss' boss, from out of town) came in town today and fired my boss. Just like that, boom, it was done. To say that I was shocked would be an extreme understatement. My boss has had excellent evaluations, is great at his job, and wasn't embezzling or anything like that. I'm not stupid: this was a case of Uber-Boss covering his ass, since he hasn't been doing his job. So of course, since there's some trouble at work, someone had to take the fall. And you can bet your candy-corn ass, it wasn't going to be Uber-Boss who got the chop.
Here's the deal: my boss wasn't just a boss; he is my friend. We have worked together for over 3 years now, and I can honestly say that with the resources he was given by our company, I think he did the absolute best job that he could. This is all so shitty that I honestly don't know if I'm going to be able to sleep well tonight.
And of course, there are the super fucked-up aspects of this. My boss' partner just had triple bypass surgery about two weeks ago. My boss is in the process of closing on a house... and is now suddenly unemployed. And let's not forget that it's only about two and half weeks until Christmas. Yeah, Happy Holidays.
I am so upset by this. I mean, even though I know it isn't the entire company doing this, I can't help but wonder how I feel about a company that would fire someone without warning 2 weeks before Christmas. Sure, I got about a million reassurances that my position was secure (pending a sale, of course), but how I can trust the word of Uber-Boss Spacely?
And for the 3 people who're wondering, I am now 7dpo. And even though I'm sure I'll take it back tomorrow, I almost hope I'm not pregnant. I just can't deal with anything right now.
Monday, November 27, 2006
There are eggs growing in my ovaries, and I swear that they feel like they're this big. I'm just waiting to ovulate to get some relief from the damn things. When I think of women who're doing IVF, where the point is to have as many eggs/follicles growing as possible, I sweat & shudder, and tip my fedora to their bravery and determination. Not to mention, to their high threshold of pain.
I'm around cd 17, so if the ovulation stimulation part of this cycle is successful, the Big O should be happening any day now.
More jizz and Instead cups. Thank goodness for poor college students who need extra money to buy kegs and bongs!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
Uh oh, I think I feel a stream of consciousness coming on...
Have you ever thought about how weird mammal sex is? I mean, there's a protruding tube of flesh on the male that fits into a channel of the woman's body. The flesh tube gets wiggled back and forth until it explodes and shoots out snotty gook full of wiggly tadpole thingies, that them swim around inside the female's body for several days.
Ewwwwww. Sometimes I think fish have a better design.
[Wanda Fish] "Okay, I'm just gonna squirt out about a kajillion eggs here on the seafloor."
[Marty Fish] "Hey, that's cool. Are you done yet?"
[WF] "Almost." (Insert fishy grunting noises here) "All right, I'm finished. Whew, that took a lot out of me! I think I'll eat a few of these eggs to recoup my strength."
[MF] "No!!! Wait! I gotta do my thing!"
(Insert squishy noise here. Or actually, would it squish, since it's already underwater? Yes, this is the kind of thing that keeps me awake at night.)
[WF] "Are you okay? Your face kinda looks like Goofy. Of course, being an aquatic creature who's never seen television, I don't know how I know what Goofy looks like, or even what a Goofy is, but somehow I instinctively know that you look like Goofy."
[MF] "Urk! Argh! Grrr! And other manly, I mean fishly, orgasmic noises!"
[WF] "Are you done yet?"
(Insert one last squish.)
[MF] "NOW I'm done. That took a lot out of me, squirting my stuff all over those eggs. Eww, it's everywhere! Oh jeez, it's getting in my gills! I'm breathing it! AHHHHHH!!!!"
[WF] "Just eat a few dozen of the eggs and you'll feel better. Don't worry; after we eat, there'll still be about a padrillion of them left."
Yeah. I get really silly sometimes. Oh, and for all the fish-oriented people out there, yes, I do know that some fish get busy. But I like my fish better.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
But I don’t really miss it. I mean, I have waves of nostalgia that come over me, remembering nights of martinis and my favorite DJ boy-toys spinning; girls decked out to the Nth degree, and the boys all with their casual suaveness. It was fun, but I ain’t that girl anymore.
It’s always funny to me, when people try to “warn” me about having a baby, about how much I’ll have to “give up”.
[Them] You know you can’t go out clubbing on a random Tuesday night, right?
[Me] I haven’t done that in at least 7 years, but thanks for the heads up.
[Them] No, really, everything changes! You can’t hang out at the bar until 3am, then go over to the illegal after-hours juke joint and keep partying. You have to stay home ‘cause you have kids! And you can forget about going to the movies until they’re at least 4.
[Me] Wow, that sounds great, ‘cause I’m all about staying home these days. I go to the theater to see a movie maybe twice a year; I’m a DVD rental whore, myself. By the way, I’m so sorry that you resent your children, and think that they stole your youth. I, however, drained my fucking youth-cup to the dregs, enjoying every drop, and am now ready to grow up and have a family.
By the way, I’m somewhere around 7dpo. And I hate prenatal vitamins.
So anyway, here's this week's eye-candy, Mr. Shemar Moore. I thought he was hot about a million years ago when he was on soap operas. Now, though, he's apparently on one of those gloom-and-doom cop/lawyer/murder-death-kill TV shows. He's still hot, of course, but I don't watch those shows.
I hate those cop shows with a passion. My mum loves them. But I think that's another post entirely; so, enjoy the sights!
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
This week's (belated) Humpday Humpable is a shameless shout-out to my best gal-pal, who just happens to have a thing for Ewan McGregor. So, C, this one is for you!
I have to say, she has mighty fine taste. This is an excellent specimen for exploitation, er, a nice looking bloke. Welcome, Ewan, to the growing ranks of Humpday Humpables!
I must admit, I can think of worse ways to waste time at work, than finding hunky guys on the internet!
Monday, October 16, 2006
I woke up from my drug-induced coma to find myself in pain, and with surgical incisions along my abdomin. After two days of uncontrollable weeping, I turned into an icy automaton, and announced that "They" had taken my life, my future, and ended my bloodline, and that I was dead inside. Then, I started a bloody killing-spree, tracking down the ones who'd hurt me. Throughout the vengeance-stalk, I was completely emotionless. It was just something that needed to be done. Or, as we sometimes say in the South, "He just needed killin'."
I've been having a lot of weird violent dreams lately, and most of them have dealt with issues of vengeance, getting back at someone who's wronged me. Now, I don't mind the justice issues, but I can't help but wonder if it always has to be so Technicolor Crimson. And I would really prefer not to have sympathy twinges from my girly bits today, as if they're reminding me that they're still there.
Ehhhh, maybe I need to start drinking more.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Monday, October 09, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
To continue my shameless Wednesday tradition of exploiting delicious men, this week's eye candy is Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Now, if you're anything like me, you were wondering who in the hell is JRM?!? So, here's a little backstory... on me, really, that just happens to do with JRM.
In early May 2005, I got the best present from God ever: my niece/Goddaughter was born. She was jaundiced, and soon developed colic. So, trying to help out her parents, I spent oodles of time at their house assisting as much as I could. In the first year or so of her life, also in solidarity with the parents, I watched very little television, rarely saw any new movies, and had no social life other than the wee one.
The last month or so, I've finally begun haunting video rental stores, trying to catch up on all the movies I wanted to see but missed. One of them was "Bend It Like Beckham". I thought that the coach in the movie was cute, in a boy-next-door kind of way: not drop dead, model gorgeous, but very cute. Of course, the Irish accent didn't hurt, either! Being far too lazy to strain my old eyes trying to read the credits at the end of the movie, I decided to look online to see who was the Irish cutie coach. And of course, it was JRM.
I freaked out a bit as I saw how many websites are devoted to this guy. Apparently, he's a "ranker" on the hottie lists. Who knew? I just thought he was worth a second look. Anyway, here’s where the story comes full circle (no, really, I promise). The first really great pic I found of him—where he doesn’t look anorexic or totally androgynous—is the one shown, him portraying the King, Elvis Aaron Presley.
Aside: Yeah, I’m an Elvis fan. I sometimes go to Candlelight Vigil during Death Week. Blow me.
Now, JRM is looking much better to me. I mean, any man who can give good face to the King like that just got several more brownie points in my notebook. So I wondered: how did I miss this? I didn’t even know anything about this Elvis movie!!! And then I found out that it aired on TV the same week that my niece was born, which is of course why I missed it.
Anyway, enjoy the eye candy. I’m going to watch Viva Las Vegas, eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich, and massage my scooties.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Man, there are so many 5th grade moments in the paragraph above, but I'm leaving it alone.
Another couple that I know has offered me their, uh, libations of love. I think I'm starting to leave happy land, and am headed straight for slightly freaked out land. I have no idea why I'm freaked out; I mean, it's an embarrassment of riches, so to speak. And again, the offer was made completely on their own; we weren't even talking about any remotely relating to my uterus.
[Me] "Hey, can I have some more salad?"
[Friend] "Sure. By the way, you want some semen?"
[Me] "Well, no, not on my salad. But thanks, anyway. So, do you often serve jizz salads?"
It didn't really happen like that, but the real event was just as surreal. Anyway, I don't even know if I'm open for business. I have my HSG scheduled next Monday, so I'll find out soon if my tubes are open or not.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Then I "met" some great people online, on the Site That Shall Not Be Named, and noticed that several of them had blogs. Huh. Well, they seemed really cool and supportive, so I gave in and checked out their blogs. I was totally shocked and awed. And I was hooked. Next thing I knew, I was reading some of the blogs that they linked to. And then blogs from those blogs, and so on.
I found an incredible sense of community with all these couples and singletons. I wasn't alone; I wasn't the only one playing the Infertility Game [by Milton Bradley]. And while I don't wish my own misfortunes upon others, just knowing that there are other people who intimately know exactly what I'm going through.... it helps. A lot.
Next thing you know, I'm starting a blog of my own. For someone like me, it was one of the scariest things I've ever done in my life. I was getting naked in front of a bunch of strangers, showing them my scars and my flab, exposing the bits that are usually covered and safe from prying eyes. But I realized that it's a good kind of naked, really. The oddly-pasty bits of me that never get to see the sun, are getting a tan for the first time. And I'm realizing that ugly bits maybe aren't as ugly as I thought they were.
It's all so wonderfully cathartic. I never had the discipline to keep a journal, but for some reason I don't have a problem doing this. Go figure. But the funny thing is, when I first started, I was paranoid that I would be anonymous and unknown, that no one would ever read my blog. Then after the first week, I realized that it didn't matter. I'm not writing for anyone but myself; this is my own medicine. Don't get me wrong-- I'm happy when my friends read it, because then I don't have to verbalize everything that's in my head. There are often things that I can write about, but that I could never say out loud. But this is my blog, my journal, and my purge. And it's not my fault that my mental vomit is being sprayed out into the universe.
It's Cali, Tammy, and Sarah's fault, for being so great and getting me hooked. And I thank my lucky stars for them, because if I'd never read their blogs and consequently started my own, I'd probably be bonkers by now. Arigato gozaimasu.
And I have no idea why I went Japanese for a moment.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
Do you have any idea how incredibly hard it is to be honest about yourself, even when nobody is watching? I realized while taking the first test that I was giving the answers of the person I'd like to be, rather than who I really am, and reset the damned test and started over. And then took another. And another. And yet another. Each and every test I took gave the same result: INFJ [Intoverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging] type. So, what does this INFJ mean?
Well, there's a lot of information out there about the INFJ personality type, but the thing that really gave me shivers was one sentence I read: "INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ."
Okay, so that was TWO sentences, shoot me. But here's why that kinda freaked me out. So, I feel like I'm telling you a dirty little secret, but I have "bedtime fantasies" that I run through my head, like a private movie, to help me go to sleep. Sometimes it's simple, like thinking of something happy that happened that day. Or maybe I'm imagining how great it would be to win the lottery, and how I'd spend all that cash. And of course, since I am a fully functioning adult, sometimes it's a fantasy of the va-va-va-voom! variety.
But one type that pops up, quite frequently, is of me somehow getting even with someone who's hurt a loved one. Whether it's through regular means (like sabotaging their career or wrecking their car), or through comic-book shenanigans (somehow becoming a ninja and kicking their ass, or having superpowers and hurling fireballs/lightning/cosmic rays at them), I always feel really good.
How did those people know about my fantasies?!?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
So, this pic should clear it all up. Yes, it's "that guy" from the Joe Boxer commercials a few years back. There was the original one in the bedroom set, then several that were made for Chirstmas. I know there was "Unwrap", where he was dressed as a present; and there was also "Antler Boogie", where he danced with a quartet of women. There may have been more, but hey, do yer own freakin' searches!
I still giggle when I watch them. There's just something so cute, although vaguely Step-n-Fetchit, about his grin.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Okay, I am one of the biggest geeks/dorks/etc. on the face of the planet: I admit this freely, and without reservation. I like role-playing games [no, not the kind with whips and nurses uniforms!], tabletop miniature battle games, video games, comic books, and all sorts of things of that ilk. In case you’re wonder, I do indeed have a vagina. And I have just finished watching the premiere of Heroes; on NBC, and I am as excited as a teenaged boy with a Hustler magazine and a bottle of Jergen’s lotion.
Oh Gawd, it was awesome!
To me this show was, without a doubt, the best comic book television show [that wasn't a comic book]. I mean, the entire show felt like you were reading a graphic novel, and was exceedingly well done. What’s even cooler is, there is going to be an online comic, I believe a 22-parter, that will fill in some of the gaps, and give a little more background info than is on the show.
To us nerds, this is known as “fluff”. ::snicker:: Whenever someone talks about fluff, I can’t help but have a 5th grade moment and think of fluffers. And if you don’t know what a fluffer is, go look it up. I refuse to be responsible for the warping of your fragile little minds.
Anyway, I now have a new television addiction, which means of course that it will be cancelled after 5 shows.
To us nerds, this is known as “fluff”. ::snicker:: Whenever someone talks about fluff, I can’t help but have a 5th grade moment and think of fluffers. And if you don’t know what a fluffer is, go look it up. I refuse to be responsible for the warping of your fragile little minds.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
On this lovely Humpday, the glorious day that signifies that the workweek is more than half-over, I decided to celebrate by finding a photo of a beautiful man. A Humpday Humpable, if you will.
Actor Arnold Vosloo, as Imhotep in "The Mummy". Yum. Need I say anything more?
Monday, September 18, 2006
Okay, so one of my online buddies has me feeling all nostalgic-- and not necessarily in a good way-- about my young teen years. So, I'm going to give in, and just wallow in it. Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison is the first in a series of books about a Brit teenaged girl. I love them, even though they're technically classed "Young Adult". Ehh, I don't care; if it's a good read, then it's a good read.
What really makes it kinda scary, yet funny, is that if you just change a few details about Georgia (main character), she could be your average 20-something woman. Like, change "going to school" to "going to work", and it would actually work. And all the romantic angst? Just about the same, really, as what most 20-somethings go through, which is what made it kinda scary. Do we really not grow up for so long? I clearly remember the 'drama' of my mid-twenties, and it is remarkably similar to high-school crap!
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Many of you already know about my infertility problems, but for those of you who are new, here’s the story of me and my uterus. You might not believe it, but this is actually the short version!!!
I was one of those women who never had regular periods, and my doctor, like many others, just suggested that I get on birth control pills (known in the trying to conceive [ttc] world as bcp) to make me “regular”. Well, even though that didn’t really address why I was irregular, I was young and dumb, and just took the damned things. Then I realized that bcp make me crazy and stupidly hormonal, so much so that I couldn’t stand using them.
That glorious moment, that epiphany, happened one evening while watching some musical special on PBS. Celine Dion, who I don’t really like, was singing that song from “Titanic”. Rather than changing the channel, I sat there and listened to her sing about love going on and whatnot, and realized that I was in tears. I was blubbering like a baby, and muttering phrases about love being eternal, and how special life is with love, etc. A half-hour later, I knew something was wrong with me, and the bcp had to go.
I got fed up with no one knowing what was wrong with me, so I started doing a lot of research on the internet. Armed with pages of notes, I went off to see my family doctor, convinced that I had PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome). She sent me off to an ob-gyn, who ran googobs of tests on me, and I was right. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a woman with irregular periods; what I had, had a name.
PCOS isn’t a disease; it’s more of a collection of symptoms which are collectively known as PCOS. Some of the most common symptoms are: irregular/no periods, painful periods, anovulation/irregular ovulation, inability to lose weight, hirsutism, acanthosis nigricans (dark patches of skin in armpits, back of neck, knees, elbow or groin), cysts on ovaries, acne, hair loss, etc. I had so many of the symptoms that I knew what I had even before the official diagnosis!
Now I knew why, despite nearly a year of rampant, unprotected sex when I was 24 and trying to conceive (except for that time span, I was always a super safety girl!), nothing happened. I wasn’t ovulating, which means that there was no way I could get pregnant. So I started taking various medicines to treat some of the hormonal imbalances in my system, and lo and behold, I started ovulating. It wasn’t always textbook regular, but it was ovulation, so I was happy.
A year goes by, and no pregnancy. Zip, nada, nothing. A second year, and I still have to buy maxi-pads. So off I go on another round of doctor’s visits, vaginal ultrasounds, and blood work.
Last month, I had a lovely procedure known as a sonohystogram. They force saline through your uterus and fallopian tubes, while doing an ultrasound at the same time to see how things are inside. The good news was, my uterus looks marvelous. The bad news is, they couldn’t see any spillage of the saline from the end of my tubes, which means that they’re blocked. No wonder I wasn’t able to get pregnant, even once I started ovulating! The eggs couldn’t make it through my tubes, the sperm couldn’t make it to the eggs, and thus no babies.
Now I’ve been referred to a fertility specialist to see what can be done. However, since I’m such a ttc maniac, I already know what my options are: IVF (in vitro fertilization), or laparoscopic surgery to try to open my tubes. IVF is too freaking expensive—I mean, we’re talking anywhere from $9,000 - $15,000 per month—so that’s right out, unless I win the lottery or something. Lap. surgery might work, but it’s still expensive, not covered by my insurance, and carries a high risk of ectopic pregnancy. My odds are not too good, to be honest. I’m starting to try to convince myself that I can be happy even if I don’t have a child. It’s really like being an alcoholic: some days are good, some days are okay, and some days you’d be willing to snuff your own mother for a drink.
So, that’s the story of me and my reproductive tract. Now you’re up to speed, and we won’t have to go through this much detail again! ;-)
Today is my birthday, the day I turn the big 36. Yep, another birthday down, another step closer to the grave. Okay, I’m really not upset about it anymore; it’s here, I’m over it. Actually, I’m pretty excited, but not about the B-day. I had a shipment of books arrive from Amazon this morning, so I’m pretty stoked. Not only did I take the day off work, and have lunch with my best friend, but I get to slob around and read new books. Yummmm.
Tomorrow is my friend Shel’s birthday, and since we have birthdays one day apart, we used to celebrate “Birthday Weekend.” Back when we were young, and both our livers and personalities were more courageous, we would party hard for two straight days, celebrating. Now, we might get together and share a bottle of wine, and talk about how exciting we used to live before we got “old.” I don’t regret it, though—the growing up—because there are a lot of advantages to being my age, than being 24, broke, and living from one self-induced drama to the next.
Here’s my horoscope for today: The stars say that collaborative projects are winners. Even your most heartfelt project will improve when a few other concerned and talented individuals have a say. Be open to their suggestions.
Huh. So maybe I should get some suggestions from writer friends about my latest project…
Friday, August 11, 2006
Thursday, August 10, 2006
One of my gal-pals, LL, is known in our social group as “The Innuendo-ator”. She has the remarkable superhero ability to make perfectly innocent remarks that are incredibly provocative to those of us with dirty--and juvenile-- minds.
So, one hot summer day, while the Gang was all together having a cook-out (and probably drinking far more than is wise while under the Southern sun), LL was fixing her plate, and her husband gave her a hot dog, fresh off the grill. She looked down at her plate, and saw where the hot dog’s juices were running everywhere from being punctured by the grill fork.
LL wrinkled her cute little nose and exclaimed, “You got weenie juice on my cookie!” There was dead silence for a moment, and then snickers began. Yeah, we were having a fifth grade moment, all right.
So, considering the fact that a part of what this blog will be about is my search for answers to my fertility problems, I figured naming it “There’s Weenie Juice on my Cookie” was pretty appropriate. So now you know. And as they used to say on GI Joe, knowing is half the battle.
Okay, so I know it's 2006 and we're supposed to be all touchy-feely, sensitive and PC here in America. Oh, sorry, pardon me while I gag. Puh-leeze! I'm so tired of all the rallies and protests by persons of Mexican descent. Oh god, now I'm being all PC. What I meant to say was, protests by beaners. And I can say that with no guilt, since I'm 1/2 Cuban. Just like I could say the "N" word if I wanted to, since I'm black. But I really don't want to. Uh uh, no way. But I digress.
Solution: lock down the borders. Make an annoucement that any attempts to cross illegally in the United States will be treated as an act of agression, and that soldiers will shoot to kill. Anyone illegally in the US at the present time must report to Containment Camps, where they will be given two options: 1) be returned to Mexico, or 2) they can work for a specified amount of time at the government's discretion and direction, after which they will be granted citizenship provided that they can pass the tests.
Any illegal alien who does not report to the Camps by the specified date, and who is subsequently found, will be treated as a hostile entity. They will be subdued with force if necessary, and either executed as an enemy to the US, or immediately deported.
I mean, it isn't hard to become a citizen of the US if you just go about things the right way. The USCIS (US Citizenship & Immigration Services) has a list of about a trillion ways that you can be naturalized. And if you don't, or can't, meet them, then you need to go home. Sure, sure, I was kidding (a little) about the camps and the rest, but we really need to be more aggressive about this.
America is a good place, despite the bitching of many of my peers. I can understand people wanting to live here, especially those from less fortunate countries. But our protected rights and privileges extend to our citizens, not to every Tom, Dick and Juan who manages to hike across the border.
Illegal aliens have no rights other than those of being fellow humans. And if we would wake up from this hippy-trippy, peace & love crap that we've been wallowing in for the last decade, maybe we could handle this problem without the ultra-liberals having hissy fits.
Okay, I'm just ranting now, and I'm stopping. I could go on forever about this...