With everything that's been going on at work lately, I am completely stoked about my upcoming vacation to Scotland & England. Okay, so I would have been stoked anyway, seeing as I'm totally enthralled with the UK, but getting to go back PLUS the added benefit of getting away from work.... beautiful!
I just keep repeating my mantra: I just have to make it to the end of March... end of March... end of March. Of course, I'm also jaded (and paranoid) enough to think that, with my luck, I'll end up getting "let go" just before my trip. "Oh, I hope you have a nice vacation. By the way, why don't you clean out your desk before you go, hmm?"
In the spirit of my coming holiday, I've been watching clips of a Scots comedian on Youtube this morning, defiantly wasting time at work before New Boss arrives. His name is Danny Bhoy, and the following goes out to CC, Martha, and Van Diver, in remembrance of our time around the fire pit:
POTATOES!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsHeOvmmu0o
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Crap! What day is it again?!?
Okay, so I've been a very bad girl. A very, very, bad blogger. I apologize to all the nice people who have been bitching me out about not updating in a while. Mea maxima culpa.
Lately my life has been a game of balancing priorities, and trying to conceive has, unfortunately, been losing the game. Don't get me wrong, I still want to get knocked up. But with all hoopla that's been going on at work, I just don't have the energy to obsess about it quite as much, not right now.
To recap and advance our story...
Where I work, the on-site staff is tiny, as in three people: manager, me (assistant), and the maintenance guy. As you may recall, Evil Mr. Spacely fired my manager-boss a couple of weeks before Christmas. Then on January 2nd, the first day back at work after the New Year's holiday, my maintenance guy fell off a ladder and hurt his knee. I've never before had to handle an on-the-job injury, complete with reams of Worker's Compensation paperwork, and I hope I never have to again.
We hired a temp. to handle some of the maintenance work, since my regular guy is out for an undetermined amount of time going through physical therapy. New Guy apparently likes his women on the chunky side, since I've been ignoring, talking over, and disregarding vaguely inappropriate comments for the last two weeks. Last night, I pretty much decided that one more comment, and he's either going to get a serious talk, or I'll just call the temp. agency and have him pulled off the assignment. I might not be the boss, but I work here, and I'm tired of feeling uncomfortable over pickup attempts that just barely manage to avoid crossing the line into harassment. And I would dare New Boss, or Mr. Spacely, to say anything about me cancelling the temp.
Yes, I have a new manager, who I guess is really more like part time/temp/new-boss. Mr. Spacely just shuffled another manager from another site, and now New Boss is watching over two properties. In two different cities. And of course, New Boss' home base is NOT where I am. So, even though I have a manager on paper and in theory, I only have "supervision" about 2 days a week. Things aren't getting done, or if they are, it's not in a timely fashion. And since New Boss usually works in a high-class, ooh la la, environment, she's just not used to the slightly run-down, once-was-nice environment that we have in this part of town. It's been a nightmare, and I don't see it ending any time soon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And now for something completely different, I will actually attempt to obsess over TTC for a few moments! Femara cycle #2 was a bust, and I'm now starting femara cycle #3. I'm on cd 3 right now, and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. You know, there's a tiny part of me that remembers with fondness, the days when I used to have a period only two or three times a year. Ahh, the blissful ignorance of not knowing that I was totally screwed up, hormonally speaking.
Lately my life has been a game of balancing priorities, and trying to conceive has, unfortunately, been losing the game. Don't get me wrong, I still want to get knocked up. But with all hoopla that's been going on at work, I just don't have the energy to obsess about it quite as much, not right now.
To recap and advance our story...
Where I work, the on-site staff is tiny, as in three people: manager, me (assistant), and the maintenance guy. As you may recall, Evil Mr. Spacely fired my manager-boss a couple of weeks before Christmas. Then on January 2nd, the first day back at work after the New Year's holiday, my maintenance guy fell off a ladder and hurt his knee. I've never before had to handle an on-the-job injury, complete with reams of Worker's Compensation paperwork, and I hope I never have to again.
We hired a temp. to handle some of the maintenance work, since my regular guy is out for an undetermined amount of time going through physical therapy. New Guy apparently likes his women on the chunky side, since I've been ignoring, talking over, and disregarding vaguely inappropriate comments for the last two weeks. Last night, I pretty much decided that one more comment, and he's either going to get a serious talk, or I'll just call the temp. agency and have him pulled off the assignment. I might not be the boss, but I work here, and I'm tired of feeling uncomfortable over pickup attempts that just barely manage to avoid crossing the line into harassment. And I would dare New Boss, or Mr. Spacely, to say anything about me cancelling the temp.
Yes, I have a new manager, who I guess is really more like part time/temp/new-boss. Mr. Spacely just shuffled another manager from another site, and now New Boss is watching over two properties. In two different cities. And of course, New Boss' home base is NOT where I am. So, even though I have a manager on paper and in theory, I only have "supervision" about 2 days a week. Things aren't getting done, or if they are, it's not in a timely fashion. And since New Boss usually works in a high-class, ooh la la, environment, she's just not used to the slightly run-down, once-was-nice environment that we have in this part of town. It's been a nightmare, and I don't see it ending any time soon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And now for something completely different, I will actually attempt to obsess over TTC for a few moments! Femara cycle #2 was a bust, and I'm now starting femara cycle #3. I'm on cd 3 right now, and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. You know, there's a tiny part of me that remembers with fondness, the days when I used to have a period only two or three times a year. Ahh, the blissful ignorance of not knowing that I was totally screwed up, hormonally speaking.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
TTC update
Nothing exciting or new on the TTC front, except yet another cycle. Ho hum. I'm on cd 13, which for me means about another 5 days before I ovulate. A few little twinges and whatnot, but nothing spectacular.
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.
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
Days of Yore II
Something happened last night, something that was far deeper than remembering old days. I was chatting with an old friend, a fabulous man, when he paused for a moment and got a very serious look on his face. He asked me, “Are you doing okay these days?”
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.
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.
Days of Yore
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
Hallowchristgiving, my favorite holiday
I have a goodly number of friends, and count myself blessed to have them. However, there is a small group of them that I consider family, people that I am closer to than my blood relations. Of that small family group, there is an even tinier sub-group (I suppose they're Family with a capital "F") with whom I love to spend time whenever possible. A few years ago, we all got together for a Christmas celebration.
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
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
I'm still around!
Okay, so I went on vacation last week, and only had computer access for a few minutes a day. So, no blogging for me! And while I would like to wax lyrical about the sights and experiences of my mini-holiday, I just don't feel like it right now. So, here are the highlights:
-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!
-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!
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