Post-coital Babble

3 BFNs and a Wedding

2006-06-25T08:43:00.000-05:00

Donor cycle didn't work. On the other hand, we finally decided to tie the knot.

http://photokinetic.net/blog/?p=23 click on wedding slide show (Atlantis, Delamar, CT)

all images copyrighted to Denise Cregier, whom I highly recommend for any event. She's wonderful! (These are low res images - just done as a sample.)

Cheers!

tHINKING ABOUT GIVING IT ALL UP?

2006-01-17T13:19:00.000-05:00

Your blog, I mean. There is help. Not that it helped me but...it's a fun read.

http://thenonist.com/index.php/weblog/permalink/a_nonist_public_service_pamphlet/

For all of you who have sent private emails asking what's up - thank you, I'm OK. Still didn't start the DE cycle but have chosen a donor. Planning killer vacation for my b-day in late April this year. Then we'll do this thing.

I still check in on all of you guys once in a while. Happy for those of you who caught the ship out; sad for those of us still here on the Isle of Misfit Mommy Wannabes. Still missing Chez Miscarriage.

So, here's the thing . . .

2005-09-21T10:07:00.000-05:00

Bitter.
Angry.
Sad.
Jealous.
Fat.
And worst of all, boring.

I started my "mock" cycle this month. After not having my period for 3 months, they tested me and my FSH was 28. No eggs or ovulation for that entire time.

Assuming all goes well, next Tuesday I will get the egg donor profiles for review. Within 2-3 months I'll be starting my DE cycle.

This summer has been a time of reflection for me. Significant vacation time spent with BH's daughter(10) and his nephew (2) made me really wonder if I have the temperament to be a mother. It was stressful and trying and not very relaxing or rewarding. However, these are not my children. I'm sure Ed's sister has many precious moments with her son every day that I don't see. I'm looking forward to having those moments of my own.

A friend called yesterday to tell me her sister is pregnant. Let me just spell this one out for you. Her sister was 40 when she got married to a man who is still finishing up his doctorate in another state. They do not live together. After 6 months of marriage, they decided to "try" to get pregnant. She is now 41 and apparently hit it the first shot.

If you recall, last summer within weeks of my own miscarriage, 2 friends of the above mentioned friend also miscarried. One of them delivered her daughter last month and the other (the one who felt it was necessary to replace a few meals each day with cigarettes) has scheduled her delivery (via induction) on Oct 2nd.

So here's my big FUCK YOU to the universe. I'm still trying (unsuccessfully) to lose weight and I'm still not pregnant. So I'll do the DE cycle and if it doesn't work, I'll carry on with my life childless and that is that.

In addition, I start a new job on Monday. One where I'm not responsible for nearly half the company's N.American revenue and therefore working until midnight every New Year's Eve, and every other month for end of quarter stuff. I'm going to be Marketing Director for the Northeast for a very well known company. They're paying me about the same but there's more opportunity for bonuses and advancement. I expect to see VP on my resume within 3-5 years. All is on track.

A year ago I was burning out on the infertility thing. I stumbled upon Chez Miscarriage - and what a delightful find it was! I checked out all her links to the Vagina Possee and also Julie's Girls Gone Riled list. I identified with these ladies and their plight. I felt I was one of them. I BELONGED.

Today, Julie, Tertia, Jo, and Grrl are all mothers and I'm left standing here all by myself. Danae - if you still blog at all - you have my most heartfelt sympathy. You WERE one of them and being the only one without a child today must be really hard. I know how I feel on the outside looking in - but you, you were right there with them. Well, you have my cell. Call me anytime to chat if you feel like it. Karen, I can't wait to see photos of you and Maya.

Emily - another woman with whom I identified (but then unintentionally hurt - for which I'm so sorry) is still out here with Danae and I. But certain of her posts make me feel like she's on her way too. Em, if you're out there, I'm off to pursue my own Crate and Barrel life. Good luck with everything!

This last week, our laptop crashed and we had to re-load the entire operating system and all tools from scratch. It may have been the best thing to happen to me. Without the computer, I no longer spent hours every day blogging. I mowed the lawn, exercised, shopped and cooked nutritious, healthy meals, I started making curtains for our bedroom and bathroom (finally!) and generally got back to living my life. I used to have about 40 blogs on my favorites list. Now I've lost them - along with the link to my own stat counter. It's better this way.

I still read a few really clever bloggers, Julia of Hippogriffs fame, is one of my very favorites. I still check out Julie and Tertia now and then but since nearly every post is about their families now, I have to limit myself for my own sanity.

So, there you have it. This is my last post. I have a few book ideas floating around and if I spent half as much time on them every day as I do blogging, well, who knows?

Anyway, it's been great getting to know you guys. Thanks for all your support and good luck in each of your individual pursuits.

Susan

Perpetually Luteal

2005-09-11T09:09:00.000-05:00

So, Joie got me thinking. I haven't had my period since July 5th. I've taken 5 HPTs - all BFNs.

However, every month around the 12th, I still get that goopy mucus oozing out when I piddle.

I know. TMI.

Is it possible to ovulate but not menstruate?

DUH, I tink dat's what dey call MENOPAUSE.

I hate my body. Fat, lumpy, broken knees, menopausal fucking thing.

I'm gonna trade it in on a new one. If I can't have kids, I think I'll spend all that IVF money on plastic surgery.

Get me a tummy tuck and lipo. Open my sagging eyelids up a bit. Stuff some restalyn into the creases alongside my nose, botox my crows feet and forehead, whiten my teeth and VIOLA! I'll be a new woman. If it doesn't make me look like a circus freak a la Burt Reynolds, I'll post before and after photos.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'll spend the money on a donor egg cycle just as soon as I find out what the hell's up with my no-show period. More on that as I find out.

A determined saunter

2005-09-10T13:32:00.000-05:00

So, the entire universe is conspiring against me. No, it's true. I swear.

I'm not sure what the luteal phase (per Joie's comment on the last post) is of my cylce, but since I haven't had my period since July 5th, and because the universe truly is conspiring against me, I'm certain that I'm stuck in the luteal phase for all of eternity.

I might as well go make brownies.

And eat the entire mothereffing thing.

But I won't. You guys are right. I just have to hang with it. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of week 4 for me and the program is only a 6 week thing. What's 3 more weeks? I can do it.

Sure I can! Say it with me now - I think I can, I think I can. Hey! What a great idea for a book! There'll be this little choo choo train, and, what? Oh. Already taken eh?

Anyway...

So, do I think I could make this work for the rest of my life, as I had originally thought?

No. But the extremely limited food and beverage choices, the no salt, yadda yadda were only meant to be just that - a 6 week thing.

What I'll take away from this program, which I'm sure will help me in the long run, is this:

1. Portion control. A half a split chicken breast is not 1 serving, it's 2 or 3. (You notice how I have to keep writing this stuff down? Trying to get it through my thick skull!)

2. Watch the sodium. It's in practically everything. I really don't need to add it. This will be the hardest for me. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you I put salt in or on nearly everything I ever put in my mouth. Apples, watermelon, grapefruit? There was a time when I would have loaded every delicious bite with salt. An ideal snack for me used to be 2 or 3 slices of Swiss cheese with salt sprinkled on top. A ham sandwich? - salted of course. Bacon, egg and cheese on a hardroll? Salty saltidy salt.

3. If I get good coffee (like green mountain), I can put significantly less than 1/4 cup of cream in it and it will still taste good.

4. I don't have to kill myself exercising to burn fat. I don't have to have a personal trainer or lots of expensive equipment. All I have to do is get my fat ass up off the couch (i.e., stop blogging so damn much) and outside for a walk. I don't have to run. I don't even have to jog. I just have to walk. And not all that briskly, as I've discovered, through the clever use of my heart monitor. No more brisk walking for me. (It uses those "fast twitch" muscles anyway). Nope, from now on I'll be doing nothing more than a "determined saunter" as BH calls it.

5. The IPOD is truly the most important invention of the past century. Oh, I'm not knocking computers, cell phones and hybrid cars mind you. And I do likes my meat cooked so that fire thing? Aces in my book. But seriously. The IPOD kicks ass!

In short kiddies, I'm off to saunter determinedly toward the beach with the dogs, who haven't had a nice long walk all summer due to that pesky NO DOGS ON THE BEACH rule that they only enforce from Memorial day through Labor Day.

By the way, I think I may have found a new job. Remember when I was having such a hard time at work? Weeeelllll, we sort of reached a mutual agreement that I would be leaving this month no matter what. And with all my vacation time, etc to use, this Tuesday will be my last day.

Yay for me! More on the new job once I have the signed offer letter in hand. And - what balls do I have? I asked for a $15,000 signing bonus plus $15k more per year than I'm presently making. I'll know by close of business on Monday if they'll do it or not.

Wish me luck!

Oh, and thanks for the pep talk. I was really feeling down and you guys helped pull me out of it, as always! A couple of you mentioned that a temporary weight gain after hard exercise is common. I never knew that!!! Made me feel better - thanks!

Check In with Me, please

2005-09-07T09:21:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you guys, but this diet thing is not going so well for me.

I had lost nearly 5 lbs this holiday weekend. I didn't go to any picnics and eat bad things. In fact, on Sunday, I temporarily lost my mind and walked for 2 hours.

I know. Sick.

But I was determined to see the back side of 170. When I got on the scale Monday morning however, I had gained 1.5 lbs.

What the fuck?

It seems no matter how hard I work, no matter how good I am (I cut the cheese out of my morning omelet by the way and have stopped eating salt, getting sodium only where it occurs naturally, like in certain veggies - because everyone needs some sodium), and yet I can't lose weight.

I am so depressed about this. I've walked longer and stronger this past week without any good results.

I don't quite know what to do.

Any suggestions? I'm really feeling low on this. Please share your stories with me so I can see how it's going for everyone else who decided to join me on this. And if you used a plan that worked for you and became a lifestyle (meaning you didn't go back to unhealthy habits after the 'diet' was over and you still kept the weight off), please share that with me.

I'm just so tired of working so hard to lose weight and not having any success.

People from Bad Homes

2005-09-04T13:02:00.000-05:00

This morning while I was loading songs on the IPOD my darling BH got me last week, I heard some songs I haven't heard in so long!

Fashion by David Bowie is one of those songs. I love the lyrics.

Other songs, like Closer by Nine Inch Nails I love because of the beat, but the lyrics are pretty fun too (what a tramp!)

And Marylin Manson's version of Your Own Personal Jesus ROCKS THE HOUSE!

All in all, I loaded about 35 songs and it kept me walking today for an hour and a half.

Usually I'm dragging ass by the time that hour mark hits. But not today. I heart my IPOD.

But what a freak I am in my music tastes. You remember Dion? Wanderer. I downloaded it.

Frankie Goes To Hollywood? Relax, I got it.

Tainted Love by Soft Cell? Yep.

And that's just the 60's and 80's.

I'm trying to get The Music Sounds Better With You by Stardust but can't find it anywhere. Also cannot get Usher's Yeah to load off Yahoo music.

I Will Love Again by Lara Fabian is one of my favorites and I can't get that sucker to load either.

And I can't find Fired Up by the Funky Green Dogs anywhere. But I will persevere.

I also realized that I got "tribute" songs done by other artists instead of Guns N Roes Paradise City and Sweet Child of Mine so I'll have to go in and switch them out.

But I highly recommend music to help your workout. It inspired me!

Good luck!

Open your hearts

2005-09-04T08:26:00.000-05:00

I received this from Natalee and wanted to pass it along:

Hey Suz,I just wanted to let you know that my hubby and I *are* going to get a truck of stuff to drive to the Dallas refugees (I HATE that word, but it's true) when they arrive in Big D. Would you please be kind enough to pass the info along in your blog to those who might be interested in helping? I'd really appreciate it. Please visit this blog site for more info: http://donationstodallas.blogspot.com . Thanks,Nat

Please visit the site and help out in any way you feel you can.

I also wanted to say this - If every church across the nation adopted one family who is suffering from Katrina, I really believe that we could pull them out of this alive. Please consider asking your church to adopt one family and drive donations for the next 3, 6 or 12 months, whatever it takes to help these people get back on their feet.

If you think this is an idea that would work, please use your blog or any of your friends who are willing to post it, to get the support of churches across the nation.

Thanks.

New Orleans

2005-09-03T09:26:00.000-05:00

The last time I was in New Orleans, well, the only time I was there, it was for a big corporate meeting and I brought my sister along for the visit.

Let me just tell you up front, that my sister, C, who used to be so shy in high school that one teacher cracked that he used to sit her in the sunshine and water her every now and then, now has no shame.

She got PLENTY of beads (and I think we all know what that means).

She hit on my ex-boss (who I'll admit is a scrumptious little morsel).

She had room service deliver sixers of beer on ice to the room daily.

We toured a grave yard, which are all above ground due to the fact that New Orleans is, well, below sea level (no pun intended).

Ah, well. Bourbon Street needed a good scrubbing anyway. It reeked of vomit and urine the whole time we were there (end of July 2004).

We'll have to go back once they've got everything all fixed up and see what it's like now.

I thought about renting a truck, going to Costco and grabbing all the not needing to be cooked food items I could afford and driving down there. Then I realized that I'd probably not be able to get the truck through to where it was really needed and decided to make a cash donation instead.

Last night, BH received a phone call from Discover Card Fraud Department asking him if a $5,000 charge was indeed his purchase. Turns out great minds think alike. Not quite the same as driving a truck of stuff down there but, hopefully it will help.

I don't want to seem cynical or anything but. . .

2005-09-02T07:36:00.000-05:00

Every time I read another story about Katrina and New Orleans, I have to wonder what all those idiots were thinking.

Honestly, what does "MANDATORY EVACUATION" mean to you?

If I heard those words - 5 days before a storm actually hit mind you - I'd roll up my most expensive oriental rugs and put them, along with all my irreplaceable artwork, photos and pets, into my car and get the fuck out of town.

But no, these folks have been quoted over and over again saying things like, "I don't care if the wind gets to 100 mph, I'm not leaving my house."

Well, okay.

Now you have to live with that decision, for better or worse.

And all of our tax dollars are going to be spent to save your stupid ass instead of going directly to the clean up and repair of your utilities.

Fucking idiots.

I just had to share this chuckle

2005-09-01T18:26:00.000-05:00

For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free". Here's an update for you.

Today 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig, just to get a little sausage.

The New Theocracy

2005-09-01T09:43:00.000-05:00

Did you see this?

CNN.com - FDA official resigns over contraception policy - Aug 31, 2005* CNN.com will expire this article on 09/30/2005.

Wanna talk about it?

I know it's not easy!

2005-08-30T15:40:00.000-05:00

This is my second day without salt and I feel . . . . different. My pants fit better, I no longer need to undo the snap to sit comfortably (since I refused to by one size bigger!) The back of my calves used to be rippled, almost like cellulite but more like bloating chub, whenever I'd make a tight muscle. Today that's gone. There's a sharp definition around the taught muscle that wasn't there before. I like it.

Course I'm peeing a gallon every half hour or so too.

In any case, I cheated and weighed myself again today. Down another pound. I really hope to see the back side of 170 for the last time in my life come this Sunday.

I walked along the water last night and realized how lucky I am to live where I do. The quiet streets, the vast horizon, the sound of the occasional seagull as it passes overhead. It just feels good.

There were so many times in my life I wondered if I'd ever find a place to call home. When I was a young girl and my mother was very ill, my father threatened to put me "in a home."

Today I realize what a sad childhood I had. I got nearly straight As in school, never skipped (loved going to school!), didn't date or drive until I was 21 and, unlike most kids would have, I never questioned my dad on those topics more than once. I asked if I could get my learner's permit when I turned 15. He said, "No," and I never asked again. Same for dating. I never smoked cigarettes or otherwise, never tried alcohol (hated his behavior when he drank, so why would I?).

To this day I don't know what I did or said that was so bad that he would threaten me with putting me in a foster home. I want to ask him but things are so much better between us than they've ever been, I'm hesitant to stir things up.

And now that I've found a relative peace and contentment in this house, I wonder if it matters.

[sigh] In any case, I need to find a new job. I'm incredibly unhappy with my job situation right now. And I'm sick of being overweight. So those things need to change and hopefully then I can focus on enjoying my safe, secure, beautiful home.

And I've taken steps toward changing those 2 things. But neither is easy for me. So bear with me while I muddle through this transition. It's a bit painful and I've been dreading doing either thing for the better part of the year.

It's time now to get it done.

And the results are in!

2005-08-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

Welcome to all the new joiners! Thanks for coming along on this journey with us. Remember to write down your goal for the next 6 days. One of the keys is setting short-term livable goals and writing them down and putting them in a place where you can see them throughout the day is key.

Here is mine: I vow to follow the "emergency" plan for the next 6 days or until I lose 5 more lbs, whichever comes first.

I forgot to weigh myself yesterday. I know! Hard to believe.

However I did this morning and I've lost 2 lbs. BH lost 3. Not a bad start.

I had really hoped for a bit more though since, based on all my dieting experience in the past, the first week of any diet is usually the best and I can lose 5 lbs or more in water weight.

So I went back to the kit and listened to the "In case of emergency" cd. In the interest of sciene (and because I am inherently selfish, impatient and narcisistic), I have decided to really go whole hog (I make leetle joke) into following this plan EXACTLY for the next 6 days, beginning today. Please keep in mind that I realize the below list is really restrictive and not something that can or should be maintained for the duration of any diet. Nor do I think it's realistic to assume I can or would want to make this a life plan. I'm only following this for 6 days or so to see what difference it might make.

1. Salt is my enemy. I thought "A little salt here, a little there is no big deal." I occasionally put some of that "seasoned salt" on the veggies I cooked to spice things up a bit. No more!

2. No dairy is permitted whatsoever. You'll remember that I added a little cheese to my egg beaters omelet. NO MORE I SAY! I had also been substituting low fat cottage cheese or one of those Carb Control yogurts for a meal at least once a day - usually for my morning snack and as a dessert if I really felt I needed one after dinner. I've also been using fat-free half and half in my coffee. The reason they gave is not the milk sugar I would have suspected, but the sodium. Says all dairy - even "low fat" or skim contains way too much sodium and is to be avoided during the emergency 6 day plan.

Yesterday, however, we made 3 days worth of food ahead of time. We marinated some chicken breasts in a bunch of stuff, one of which was yogurt, cilantro, lime juice and a touch of cumin. YUM-MEE let me just tell you. So we'll be eating that but afterward, no dairy for the rest of the week.

2. I kept drinking diet soda. Apparently all sports drinks and carbonated beverages have too much sodium. Also, I heard from a nutritionist several years ago that aspartame competes with the binding sites on fat cells, which makes it impossible for the body to use the stored fat as energy for a period of time after comsuming it. The emergency CD says I can have water, iced tea with Splenda and lemon or black coffee.

3. My portion sense was WAY out of control. I think this is the biggest mistake women make today. We sit down to eat and we either eat what's on our plate (in a restaurant) or we dish out about the same size portions to our mates as to ourselves. Big mistake. Our portion size should be roughly half theirs and not just because they're bigger. Men metabolize food differently than we do. Our simple carbs (rice, potato, etc) and protein servings should be much smaller than what we get in a restaurant. Think about this: when was the last time you and your guy shared a lunch and he ate the whole sandwich while you only ate half of one? For me? Very rarely unless we were at one of those delis where every sandwich is HUGE.

We weighed one half of a chicken breast yesterday. Keep in mind that BH can have 3-4 oz and I'm supposed to have 2-3. One split breast weighed 11 ounces!! That's 3 meals people. In the past I would have just cooked that sucker up and ate it all - along with at least a cup of rice and some veggies and thought I was on a diet because I didn't use oil or butter to cook the rice or chicken. Reform is in the works here and it's a beautiful thing.

4. Don't think running, jogging or walking up hills will be more effective than simply walking briskly on flat surfaces. I was walking all wrong. My target heart range is 97 to 116 and my average was 108. In order to be a "fat burning machine" I need to keep my heart rate just about 116 (65%), the entire time. My steps fluctuated wildly, at times down to 97 or up around 121.

5. You are supposed to breathe in for 4 steps and out for 2 - THE ENTIRE TIME. Take one minute to try that. Not easy is it? I get light headed. But using this technique is supposed to help you (a) oxgynate your muscles for optimal fat burning and (b) pace your walking so it stays consistent the entire time.

We walked 3 times last week. Starting today, I'm going to walk every day for the next 6 days or until I have lost 5 more lbs. Oh my - I've gone and set a second goal. All on my own.

I like the challenge of this right now. And if it works and I can fit into my clothes again, I'll know I can simply return to this 6 day plan any time I feel things getting tight again.

Ok, so good luck folks! I hope these notes are informative. I promise to write some more posts that are not me obsessing over this diet but for now, I need to micro focus on something because something big is happening in my life right now that I'm not comfortable talking about just yet. But I promise to let you all in soon!

And no, I'm not pregnant but I haven't had my period since June. Probably due to the other big thing that I can't talk about yet. BLAH!

I lurve you guys!

2005-08-27T13:16:00.000-05:00

YAY! So at least one of you will join me! A round of applause for Joie!! Your target heart range depends on your age so I checked your site. Your range is between 102 and 121.

Thanks for all the lurve you guys. I do so appreciate your comments!

Natalee - sounds like your plate is full. I know how it feels from when I was going to school part-time and working full-time. Adding something like this ( which is definitely a lot of work with all the food prep) is like adding another part-time job. Don't stress. I'm just happy to have your support.

And the lovely Ollie~girl, you're perfect just the way you are!

Cricket - always there for me girl - and I do appreciate it!

Chris (I got yer Kaballa water, right here) - you crack me up! You joining us for this little adventure?

BH hid the scale on me by the way. Can you believe it? He catches me weighing myself 4or 5 times a day and thinks I'm "obsessing."

The nerve.

I'll have it back by tomorrow though. DAY 6! I can already tell it's working because I put on a pair of shorts I haven't been able to wear since 2000 and they fit. Comfortably even.

The test, however, will be to see if I can stick with this plan. 4 months of South Beach is the longest I've ever been on a program. Once I went off it though, I went back to eating all the wrong stuff and not exercising at all. In addition, because I felt like I "sacrificed" so much of eating the good stuff when I was doing the diet, once I went off it I started doing things - very bad things - that I had never done before.

Like stopping at McDonald's for a strawberry shake on the way home from work if I was stuck in traffic right near the turn off.

Like stopping at a convenience store for a newspaper and picking up one of those packages of 6 small powdered donuts. And eating every last one of them.

And washing them down with chocolate milk.

Like getting a package of oreos from the vending machine by my office door. And a package of peanut M& Ms. And washing them down with milk. And when the sugar coma hit me, I'd go get a hot chocolate. And put 2 packages of the cocoa mix in.

You see? When I have the perception that I'm doing without something, I more than make up for it later.

So, just because I can fit into my shorts now (which is nice), doesn't mean much. If I can fit into them again NEXT SUMMER, now THAT will be an accomplishment!

Thanks again for the rally of support kids. It means a lot to me.

I'll keep you posted.

Where's the love for PCB?

2005-08-25T09:47:00.000-05:00

164 of you looked at this yesterday and not one of you felt the urge to comment?

Wazzup wit dat?

Why you gotta be like dat?

Come On PEOPLE. Someone out there must feel like joining me. You don't have to post your weight or measurements. Just be there to support me. Tell me how it's going.

Don't make me pout. It's not my best look you know.

I'm a fattie, he's a fattie, wouldn't you like to be a ...uh, oh, wait...

2005-08-24T15:24:00.000-05:00

After three years of fertility treatments, a cushy job and a generally great life, I’ve gained 40 lbs. My boss tried Slim in 6 a year ago and it really worked for him. He recommended it to everyone under the sun and about 4 people I know used it successfully and have all kept the weight off. I tried it but I just could not make myself do a really hard workout for a full hour (sometimes more) 6 days a week for 6 weeks.

You name it, I've tried it. Last summer I did South Beach. For 3 months I obsessed over carbs (because let's be honest, anyone who has read the book and Atkins as well knows that they're essentially the same program at the beginning), weighing myself and working out 3 times a week with a personal trainer. Net result? From 168 lbs to 157. Sorry but 10 lbs for all that freakin work is Bullshit!

Tried weight watchers, Atkins, tae bo and other fitness tapes, The Firm, etc. Nothing keeps my attention. Plus, this is supposed to be something I can do for the rest of my life if I don't want to pack the weight on after I stop, right? None of them felt so right for me that I was ready for that type of commitment. I'd tell them that and invariably they'd get all insecure and demanding. Start calling me at all hours of the night and hanging up. That type of thing.

Anyway - I recently found a program that looks like something I can live with. LIVE WITH being the key words. I don’t want another diet fad. I need a program that will work with my hectic lifestyle long-term so that it’s not just a temporary thing. I think this program looks really promising. I can’t copy it all here due to copyright laws but I can summarize the most important things.

WANNA JOIN ME? [Pleaseohpleaseohplease!!! It’ll be more fun this way!!!]

I’d like to get at least a few others trying it with me so we can compare notes to see if it really works, and to support each other. This program is focused on fat burning at first, then sculpting. It claims you can lose a full dress size in 6 days.

C’mon. You know you need it as much as I do. Let’s try it for 6 days and if it doesn’t work, I’ll take you out for all the fatty Mexican food we can shovel in and Margaritas. DEAL?

FINE PRINT: I’m not a doctor or fitness expert. I’m just a fat chick trying to find some internet friends who feel like joining me for 6 days (longer if it works) to see if this program really works. Consult your doctor before starting this program and all that jazz.

Here are the basics:

1. Walking is the ONLY cardio we’ll be doing. MORE OR HARDER IS NOT BETTER. Gym equipment like stairmasters and orbitracks use something called fast twitch fibers in your muscles. These fibers burn glucose, not fat. Walking outdoors or on a treadmill, staying in the 55 to 65% range of target heart rate burns fat. Too slow, you got nada. Too fast or hard and you’re burning sugar, not fat. ONLY WALKING - KAY?
2. Get a heart monitor and email me your age, height, weight and I’ll tell you what your target heart rate range is on this plan. It’s different than what was listed in my heart monitor kit so don’t assume you already know it.
3. The longer you can walk (up to 1.5 hours), the faster you’ll see results. I’ll be walking a minimum of 20 minutes 3-4 times a week (the first 18 minutes you’re mostly burning sugar, not fat). YOU MUST CONSISTENTLY BE IN YOUR TARGET HEART RANGE FOR THE WHOLE TIME IN ORDER FOR THIS TO WORK. That’s why you need the heart monitor.
4. You MUST eat 5 or 6 small meals per day. This requires some effort and planning. You have to eat every 3 hours. NOT FOLLOWING THIS SLOWS DOWN YOUR METABOLISM AND DECREASES THE EFFECTIVENESS OF THE PLAN. Seriously, you’ll feel like you’re eating constantly so you’ll never be hungry. Skipping meals will make you lose weight slower, not faster.
5. Veggies are basically free. Eat as many as you like of all types (whereas other plans say to limit your corn, tomatoes, carrots – all the high sugar vegs, this one says don’t worry about it). Potatoes are allowed (see below). Rice is good on this diet. Pasta is not ok for me because I gain the majority of my weight in my stomach, butt and thighs. Also, because I do gain weight all over, it says red meat is a no no for the most part (bulks you up faster apparently). If you’re shaped like an egg with legs, the eating plan is entirely different. Email me for details.

I started this plan on Monday. I already feel better, clothes fitting a little better.

Sample Female diet: (guys basically double everything. instead of 2 oz, you get 4. where I say 1/2 cup, you get a full cup, etc):

Most “meals” are 2 or 3 oz of protein plus other stuff. This is they key. 2 or 3 ounces feels like nothing the first 2 days. Then you get used to it. You’ll also realize that you’re stuffing yourself if you have more because you’re eating 6 freakin times a day. 1 small can of tuna has 6 NET ounces in it (after you drain the water). That means it should last you for 2 or 3 meals kids. Take a look at how much that is and use it as a guide. A slice of meat about the size of a deck of cards is about 4 oz. Keep that in mind.

Breakfast = Egg white or egg beaters omelet. 2 eggwhites, cook in Pam or other fat free stuff, not butter, margarine or oil. Add onions, peppers, spinach, basil, tomatoes, etc but no cheese and no meat. Have 1 cup of greens or ½ grapefruit with it. You can have a fruit cup if you don’t like grapefruit but it’s considered “gourmet” and you won’t lose weight as fast. (I admit to cheating here. I add 2T of feta or freshly shaved romano to my omelets for flavor. I’ll let you know if I regret it at the end of the week)

Snack = 3 oz protein, ½ c fruit. For rapid results, replace fruit with 1 cup greens. Acceptable proteins are chicken, turkey, tuna, (pork loin or pork chop every once in a while for variety), or light flaky fish (not salmon, orange roughy or swordfish – all are high in fat. Yes it’s the good fat, but let’s just be honest here. We both have too much fat right now so we’ll stay away from it for a few weeks – or until you can bounce a quarter off your ass, you little hottie you.)

Lunch = 3 oz protein, ½ cup greens, ½ cup rice.

Snack = 2 oz protein and 1 cup greens or steamed veggies

Dinner = 2 oz protein, small potato (or sweet potato) & 1-2 cups veggies. Gourmet option includes great recipes such as Chicken sautéed in garlic and white wine, steamed asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes (use fat free half and half instead of milk, cream and butter). Watch the salt. Remember gourmet options are to be added in occasionally for variety, not for every day eating.

Snack = ½ c mixed berries or baked apple with raspberry puree (they gave us recipes). Rapid results is grapefruit.

That's about it. Are you ready to fit into something you haven't been able to wear for a while because of all that chub? ME TOO! So let's get started!

OH! There’s one more thing:

When you’re walking you must do ABDOMINAL BREATHING. Focus on bringing your breath in for 4 steps and push it AAAALLLLL out for 2 steps. This “oxygenates” your muscles and allows them to burn more fat. Supposedly. We’ll see, won’t we?

Here are my specs as of 8/22:

Height: 5’ 8”
Weight: 178
Pant/dress size: 14

I’ll have to buy a tape measure to tell you arms, thighs, etc

Good luck to all who care to join. Please post your comments frequently. If you’re hungry during the day or feel too worn out to walk that night – whatever. Just stay in touch. And feel free to link to this and post your own results on your own site too.

Let’s make this fun! It’s only 6 days – right? If we see good enough results and feel like we can live with this plan, we’ll continue. Anyone who wants the name of the program, email me. Keep in mind that it cost about $200 though. Your thanks are assumed. :o)

Start by writing down a goal – something else they say helps you to succeed. Here’s mine:

I will fit into something in my wardrobe that is a size 12 by Sunday (that’s 1 dress size in 6 days ).

OK, LET’S DO IT!

PCB back in the HIZZOUSE!

2005-08-18T14:06:00.000-05:00

It was a balmy 80 degrees that Sunday morning as we packed the car for our vacation in Maine with BH’s (Better Half) extended family (sister, BIL, their 2 year old, at times BIL’s mother, various friends, etc) in a house we rented for a “reunion.”

Overflowing duffle bags packed for warm or cold weather (just in case), soccer ball, giant soap bubble maker, bathing suits, 2 laptops, a telescope (with multiple lenses) hats, and fishing gear had all been carefully loaded up; the dogs and all their paraphernalia were stuffed into various places, favorite pillows, a teddy bear named Heather and a blankie named Fluffy had all found a space in one tiny SUV.

Somehow, however, I managed to pack not a single book. Imagine my dismay upon discovering that one.

Then we attached the bike rack and discovered that the receiver unit (i.e., the hole) was way too big for the input unit (i.e., the bar). We jerry rigged that sucker six ways to Sunday and hopped in. By this time we were over an hour late to pick up Darling J (DJ). We drove down the block and were headed off to grab a quick breakfast when we heard a polite little “beep” from the guy behind us. Pulling over we discovered that the bike rack had dropped nearly to the ground. We tried a quick fix and headed off again only to nearly lose DJ’s bike entirely. BH drove back to the house while I hopped on DJ’s bike and rode it, knees bobbling up and down under my chin the whole way home.

We re-rigged the entire unit using bungee cords, a corkscrew, some bubblegum and an old bra, and once again we set off into the (by this time) more-steamy-than-balmy late-morning haze.

Nearly seven hours later, after numerous stops for food and potty time, we arrived at the “vacation home” in one of the remotest parts of Maine that could possibly exist and discovered that the “house,” which had supposedly been “completely renovated,” was really more of a cozy little cottage than a house, per se.

We noted immediately, with some consternation, that there was no air conditioning.

“No matter,” BH said cheerily, “it’ll be like camping,” and we settled in. After an evening of gleeful reunioning and beverages all around, I opened the front door, sliced an aperture in the hazy atmospheric stew and made my way to the outhouse. The night shadows suddenly drew longer as the lazy beat of leathery wings above me heralded the arrival of the rarely-seen Maine Pterodactyl Mosquito.

I bravely fought them off and slammed the door shut behind me. I squatted over the open hole in the floor and made a mental note to limit my liquid intake for the next week. For those of you keeping score, that means no drinking and no book for this splendid vacation. Good times, I tell you. Good times.

Once back inside the snug little cottage, we discovered that there were only 2 bedrooms, both with double beds. So BH’s sister, baby and DH slept in one and BH and I were supposed to sleep in the other one.

Oh, what a good laugh I’m sure we’ll have over that one someday -- on DJ’s 21st birthday or something, if she survives that long.

She was afraid to sleep alone there and asked to sleep with one of us to make her feel better “just for one night” until she got used to it. So BH blissfully scrunched up on a futon while DJ slept on the pull-out and I took the bed, feet hanging off the end and all.

We tried that for two nights and then I took the pull-out while DJ slept with BH in the double upstairs. Next night BH kicked the squirming little rodent out and she attempted to sleep downstairs on the futon. For two straight hours, she pissed and moaned about the bugs and the humidity and everything else about the house and asked finally, tearfully, and absolutely seriously, to be driven back to Connecticut that very night.

You understand the “if she survives” comment now, right?

Thursday morning broke hot and hazy. I awoke to find the 2 year old fiercely pulling my 5 lb puppy’s ears in opposite directions as if they were taffy. The dogs, who by now were starting to fight back, were yelping and snipping at him anytime he came anywhere near them by this point. B&SIL said that if the boy gets bitten it’ll be his own fault and blah de blah blah blah. All I know is the scars on his face or arms or wherever one of the dogs would find purchase would serve as permanent, bitter reminders that my dogs bit him, and regardless of the fact that his parents felt it would be "a good learning lesson," I knew I would be the one to blame.

I extricated my poor puppy’s fur from the darling little cherub’s surprisingly strong grip and patiently awaited my turn in the shower. Forty-five minutes later I made the distressing discovery that the hot water tank was apparently on the fritz.

That was it. We attached the new bike rack we had ingeniously purchased during our LL Bean excursion the day before, loaded up the car and headed into a little town called Bath, where we found the most glorious little B&B. We had a king sized bed plus a day bed for DJ, air conditioning and hot water galore! AND they even said we could have the dogs in the room – how cool was that?

I bought some books and found an internet café in town. We chartered a windjammer and sailed for a few hours. DJ and BH went to the beach while I stayed in the deliciously cool room and read a book. Then I took the dogs to a nearby park and let them run off all their pent up aggression. We had a positively civilized dinner at a wonderful restaurant. The next few days were spent in different towns along the coast headed home. We found several gorgeous pieces of art for all that wall space we now have.

In the end, it was a wonderful few days. And a tough lesson learned: never let your crunchy granola relatives plan your vacation if you’re a spoiled, high-maintenance yuppy like I apparently am.

All in all, I think we rode those damn bikes once. huh.

Glad to be home kids. So freakin glad to be home.

Want a healthy child?

2005-08-02T11:06:00.000-05:00

Yet another reason to stop smoking:

"DALLAS - Exposure to cigarette smoke raises the risk among teens of metabolic syndrome, a disorder associated with excess belly fat that increases the chances of heart disease, stroke and diabetes, according to a study. " By JAMIE STENGLE, Associated Press Writer

Read the whole article here:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20050802/ap_on_he_me/fit_fat_teens_smoking

Niiiice Beaver

2005-07-31T09:39:00.000-05:00

I'm home again - thank the stars above.

After 3 days of meetings and climbing rope ladders and swinging like Tarzan through the jungle, I am SO happy to be back on my couch doing what I most love to do - blog.

[BIG CHEESY GRIN]

Anyway, this was quite an experience. My old boss, who was promoted and is now my boss' boss, decided to take us all on an outdoor adventure to do some "team building" exercises. We climbed, we hiked, we zipped (on a line strung between 2 trees that were so far apart I swear they were in different zip codes) - which was the BEST part of the whole trip!

Did I tell you I repelled down a 160 foot mountain face?

Well I did.

I climbed up the fucker too.

AND I played not one but TWO killer games of volleyball! I haven't done that for 15 years kiddies but I was on my game people! Not that my knees are thanking me. Looks like I'll have to have that surgery on them after all. I couldn't wait to get home again though. I really missed my house and the feeling of just being "at home."

And, oh how I missed my BH!!! (better half)

The other night, we stopped by a local place for some of the best burgers ever made. NUM NUM! I asked him:

"See that guy in the orange shirt?"

"Where?"

"Down there at the end of the bar?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Do you think if he looks this way, he'll be able to see under our table?"

"Uh, probably. Why?"

"Cause I'm not wearing any panties. Everything was just too tight with this dress. It made me look lumpy."

[big grin] "Well, honey. If he does, it'll probably be the most exciting thing that's happened to him in a long time. You'll make his day."

"Oh, so I'd be doing him a favor? Community service typa thing?"

"Yeah. Like buying your ticket into heaven one beaver shot at a time."

Oh, how I missed that man!

And I missed you guys too! Off for some really sincerely decadent breakfast right now because if this past week taught me anything it's to enjoy really good food while you can because you never know when your boss will make you eat chipped beef in ketchup.

Just joshing. This past week made me realize that I am the fattest person on my team and I'm sick of being embarrassed by my weight. So after today, I'm going to choose only healthy foods.

Of course, with our big vacation coming up next week, I don't suppose it'll last long but DAMNIT! I'm committed this time. For at least 6 days!

YEE HAW!

Unrelenting Sobriety

2005-07-26T22:42:00.000-05:00

Is there anyone else out there who sees the irony in the fact that tonight I had a ho-down of a dinner at a place called “The Flying W Ranch” and that it’s a Christian retreat type of thing?

A Christian Cameltoe? I’ll let you ponder that one while I take a moment to refresh my memory of the words to Kumbaya. I can just feel a group hug somewhere in my future.

Can you feel the excitement?

I thought everyone knew what a “Flying W” was until today. What has lately been coined a “camel toe” is what we’ve (my sister and I learned it from the neighborhood kids) always called that area of a woman’s crotch that forms a W when her pants are too tight or if she’s simply going commando.

You know, “commando” as in sans panties.

Jeez. Do I have to explain everything to you guys?

In any case, please let me state for the record that I’d rather fall face first into my own vomit before I sit and listen to Country Gospel and eat food this bad again.

How do you people live in red states?

I can’t tell you how relieved I was when 3 of the 5 groups of people here tonight stood up immediately after we cleared our own plates away and right before the hive-inducing music started. We beat feet outta there so fast, we left a dust trail.

Not an easy feat when it’s raining out by the way.

And once again, may I just point out that I come to the desert – and it’s raining?

Everyone was so down after that, I decided to liven the crowd up a bit on the ride back to the hotel by singing what I thought was a fairly country-ish tune: “’I was cutting a rug down at a place called The Jug with a girl named Linda Lou’ . . . sing it with me now! ‘When in walked a man with a gun in his hand and he was lookin for you know who…’ Y’all know you know the words now. Don't be shy!" -- only nobody in the car was singing with me.

Kind of like you guys.

Talk about your awkward silences. I asked what was up since this is usually a pretty lively crowd, and one of the guys answered softly from the back seat, “I don’t know about these guys but I’m suffering from unrelenting sobriety right now.”

You see people, not only did they serve us baked beans and “beef” drowning in BBQ sauce, but they refused us the dignity of getting drunk enough to handle such an abysmal situation.

The unfairness of it all still overwhelms me.

More upon my return. Until then, avoid Unrelenting Sobriety, people. And if you can’t do that, at least avoid the Christian Cameltoe.

Why do people fight for life?

2005-07-22T08:54:00.000-05:00

I watched my mother struggle to “live” for four years. Through countless rounds of chemo and too many surgeries to count, still she fought to keep breathing.

She wasn’t exactly “living” any more if you ask me though – she was merely existing. She was sleeping and waking, barely breathing at times and struggling to eat and keep anything down. Why? Why fight so hard to keep that going?

People living in abject poverty, in desert regions with way too little water to survive, let alone really thrive; people on the city streets, digging through garbage cans for food and something to keep them warm throughout the night just so they can get up the next day and start the struggle all over again.

Abuse, drug addiction, disease, physical hardships….through all of this people fight to live.

What’s so great about living?

I think about Christopher Reeves and what he went through. I simply would not want to exist that way. But I don’t have a family who needs me either. And I think that having children strengthens that will to live through almost any kind of adversity.

Some people, people like my mother or Mr. Reeves perhaps, struggle to stay alive solely for the sake of their children. I would have like the opportunity to tell my mother, “Please don’t. Don’t do this “for me” because you deserve so much better than this. We both do.”

It was horrific watching her die slowly over those four years. I remember coming home from school when I was 11 years old and routinely putting the ends of a few strands of my long hair under her nose to see if she was still breathing.

I remember helping her to the bathroom and trying to brush her teeth even though it was a struggle for her to just sit there and hold her head up long enough for me to do it. My sister and I took turns and it was such a draining experience we only did it once a week or so. I remember that before that, her teeth were so perfect that her dentist took a model of her mouth to use as an example in his office. But then she couldn’t even brush her teeth by herself.

And yet she still jumped at the chance to try any new drug they wanted her to try. I remember the night my grandmother explained to us that we would be moving from the house we lived in to a trailer because we didn’t have enough money to stay where we were.

I remember the months after my dad signed up for a program that would put my mom up for any type of experimental drug they wanted to test on her. He stopped coming home from work after that and went, instead, to his favorite bar, 45 miles away.

I remember my sister and I in a panic one night when we were home alone with mom and we thought for sure she had died this time. We called my father at work at 10:30 pm and were given a phone number where he could be reached. That phone number was familiar to us. It was my mother’s best friend’s number. Seems daddy-O had found a new diversion in addition to the bar.

I remember hating having to empty and clean out the bucket we kept next to the couch for her vomit, a constant reminder of what she was going through.

And worst of all, I remember hating her for making me go through all of that, too. I remember the day I realized that I was bigger and stronger than she was and had had enough. Her sisters and one of her brothers were at the house and I was 14. She asked me to do something I despised – empty out her ashtray. Because – oh yes – she may be dying but she would be damned if she stopped herself from enjoying her fucking smokes. I sat there in a room full of people who claimed to love her, watching them all smoke – her included – while she slowly died of cancer.

And I said no. I refused to help her or any of them smoke any more. I told them all how despicable they were for doing it around her when she could barely breathe as it was. How pathetic they all were. That they were all weak drug addicts who should be hiding in shame in some dark alley to get their drug fix instead of forcing it on the people around them . She stood up, trembling with rage and slapped me. Then she started slapping me with both hands. I grabbed both her forearms and yelled, “STOP!”

Time stood still for a few seconds, then I pushed her away from me. We had been standing at the end of the couch and when I shoved her, she fell backwards over the arm of the couch and then rolled off, hitting her head on the coffee table.

Her entire family came at me then and I ran to my room and locked myself in. They finally got her back on the couch and I heard her asking them to all just please leave.

As soon as they were gone I went out and apologized. I cried and she held me and she apologized too and we cried together.

I would give anything to have that day to do over.

Instead of begrudgingly taking care of my mother, I wish I had the chance to let her know that I would gladly carry her to the bathroom and brush her teeth if I had to do it all over again. That emptying that bucket was such a small inconvenience compared to what she was going through.

And I would like the chance to ask her exactly what about her life was so great that it was worth going through all of that for. Disease, pain, an abusive, cheating, alcoholic husband and two daughters who just wanted it all to be over . . . what about that made her life worth struggling that hard for it? Did she really think she was saving her children from something worse?

I can’t imagine what could be worse than those four years, honestly.

I just don’t get it.

Getupgrrl's Gefilte Baby IS COMING!!!

2005-07-21T21:36:00.000-05:00

http://chezmiscarriage.blogs.com/chezmiscarriage/2005/07/might_be_nigh_m.html

CEL

E

BRATE

GOOD

TIMES

COME

ON!!!!!

Congrats Grrl! WOOOOOO HOOOO!

Coat for Sale

2005-07-21T09:35:00.000-05:00

Every year my friend P gives a full costume Halloween Party. She’s recently done some construction to open up her kitchen and living room and we were discussing how the changes she’s made to her house this year will change the dynamics of the party. Instead of 2 separate groups in the 2 distinct rooms, everyone will gather in the larger space together.

Of course now I have to decide what I’m going to be this year.

I was Cruella DeVille last year. I happen to have a fur coat that looks amazingly like the one she wears in the original Disney cartoons. I know what you're thinking:

Oh horror of horrors WHY DO YOU WEAR FUR? THOSE POOR ANIMALS!!!!

Why, so I can be Cruella darling, why else?

Seriously though, I once dated a guy whose mother thought every woman should have a fur coat and she talked him into buying it for me one year. I’ve worn it maybe 4 times, 2 of which have been to be Cruella.

I just don’t like it that much. It makes me look fat.

“No, dear, it’s all that ice cream and chocolate you eat that makes you look fat,” you may be thinking but let’s try to stay focused, m’kay?

So, aside from the making me look fat thing, I also don’t wear it because I feel guilty. The whole societal “anti-fur” thing I guess. But let’s take a closer look at that, shall we?

I don’t go out of my way to avoid animal products like lanolin in the soaps or lotions I use. I wear leather shoes and belts and carry leather purses and briefcases with impunity.

I don’t suppose that the cows that died so I could have leather seats in my car died in any less agony than the mink or fox used for coats do. The cow got a bolt fired into his spinal column near his brain, the minx and fox are given a gas that knocks them out first.

I drink milk and love cheese, ice cream and many other dairy products. Num num, loves me some dairy. I also eat meat.

Have you ever seen the way those animals are treated? I attended a Green Peace meeting once in my wild and crazy youth. I saw a film that John Robbins (son of half the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream fame) made where he secretly taped animals in the food industry.

A few examples: A cow that had 3 of his legs broken by the heard being corralled onto the trucks to take to the slaughter house, being prodded with an electric poking stick and dragging himself with one leg to get away from the pain. He couldn’t be given any pain killers because that would 'contaminate' the meat.

Baby chickens stacked in 3 X3 cages in a warehouse (picture Costco or Home Depot) all the way to the ceiling with each successive bird shitting down on the one below it. The ones at the bottom were practically drowning in shit. Now this is significant for 2 reasons: 1) being in a cage all day like that makes them irritable so they peck at each other. As a result, when they’re still very young and their beaks are soft, their faces are put into a guillotine-like device and their beaks are chopped off so they can’t peck at each other. Because when they peck at each other, the open wounds become infected because the animal is swimming in shit.

Watching this in the film was especially distressing. Sometimes the beak is so soft though it pulls completely away from the face. The result is an open festering wound covering nearly their entire face which eventually gets soaked in chicken shit. Imagine how sad it was to watch these little guys try to eat with a face like that. Sickening.

2) This is why chickens are fed antibiotics people. Ever ask yourself why? And people wonder why Chicken Soup is good when you’re sick.

I became a vegetarian for 18 months after seeing this film. You can’t imagine the cruelty and horrors that face animals in the food industry.

Then I got to thinking about the life my little furry friend had before he was made into a coat. Furriers know that good food, sunshine, and exercise all make for a shinier coat. And the older and bigger the animal gets, the more skin and fur he’ll have. He got to run around outside all day, every day for most of his life – which was long into adulthood before he was killed for a coat.

Why is that worse than being kept in the dark (sunshine grows stong, tough muscles), caged in a pen that is just big enough for you to stand in but not move around because muscles make "meat" tougher, being fed nothing but milk and laxatives all day long?

Ever heard of “milk-fed veal” anyone?

What a strange phenomenon “society” is. Dogs and cats are our friends here but we are disgusted by tales of them being eaten in several Asian countries.

Cows are bred and raised solely for leather goods and food here and yet in India they are so sacred that if your taxi should hit one by accident (as happened to my friend Ted recently), you need to get out of the car and RUN FOR YOUR LIFE because the people who live there converge on the taxi and beat the driver and you with whatever is handy for hurting their sacred cows.

So why can I wear a leather coat out for a steak dinner with no problem, yet feel guilty wearing a fur coat, even if I eat a salad and skip the steak?

Cell me

2005-07-20T09:10:00.000-05:00

Sitting in a restaurant in NYC one day, I realized I could hear every word of many conversations that were going on around me. This led me to use it for a critical scene in one of my books. I liked the idea of using it to give info to the reader without simply narrating it.

Since then, I’ve discovered several blogs dedicated to eavesdropping, In Passing being my favorite. People not only can hear each others’ conversations (especially in restaurants), they also seem to enjoy occasionally listening in.

The other day I was in DC and overheard a woman at the table next to mine complaining about the person on her other side who had the audacity to be on a cell phone in a restaurant.

Her biggest complaint was that she could hear every word of that person’s conversation and how rude of him to be on the phone where other people were “trying to eat.”

??

First, if hearing another person’s conversation somehow suddenly diminishes one’s ability to eat, restaurants will soon be going the way of the party line (remember when telephones first came out and you could pick up the phone and hear your neighbor’s conversation?)

Second, what difference does it make whether you can hear every word the 2 people physically located next to you having a conversation say, or if it’s one person on a cell phone? Why does that irritate some people so much?

Maybe it’s because they can’t hear what the other person is saying too.

Maybe it’s because they’re too busy complaining just loud enough for everyone seated around them to hear to stop and think that they’re complaining about someone else who is having a conversation just loud enough for everyone seated around them to hear.

Aural Pleasures

2005-07-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

[Note: I wrote this one in January but finally found a way to link to the song. The video blows but the music is just so good, I had to share!]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is good, I tell you. The Shield season debut was on Tuesday after nearly a year off. Nothing like gratuitous violence to make me a happy girl.

The painter has been here all week and the colors we picked out are, dare I say it? Glorious! We have a friend of mine coming this weekend to stay over and enjoy the pulsating goodness of our tub built for two.

But, I have summer fever. I’m sick to death of snow and cold and rain and gray skies. I just picked up the new disc by The Killers, Hot Fuss. I gotta tell you, I LOVE it.

The two popular songs that are getting radio play (Mr. Brightside and Somebody Told Me) are both very good songs but my favorite is All These Things That I’ve done. (Click to hear - if you need to sign up to hear, go ahead - it's worth it!)

Picture yourself at an outdoor arena. I like Tommy Hilfiger Stadium in NY. It’s shaped like a half moon with the stage actually out on the water. The acoustics are amazing.

Anyway, it’s a warm summer day with a cool breeze blowing in from the water. You and a bunch of friends got great seats and they’ve just done 5 or 6 songs to get the crowd really revved up. The sun is starting to set and the sky is red and orange and purple streaks on the horizon.

Then they start this song, nice and easy. The voice of lead singer, Brandon Flowers, haunting, melodic and a bit echoing says, “When there’s nowhere else to run, is there room for one…more…sun?”

You’ve had a few cold drinks and you’re in a great mood. As the tempo hits the crowd stands. The singer says, “I wanna stand up, I wanna let go, You know, you know – No, you don’t, you don’t! and I’m shouting it right along with him.

By the time they stop the music and Brandon sings ominously, “I got soul but I’m not a soldier,” the entire crowd is singing. When the drums kick back in, everyone is raising their hands above their heads, clapping with the beat.

By the last note the crowd is screaming and night has fallen.

Here’s what Spin Magazine has to say about this particular song:

“On Top” celebrates where Brandon feels the band is at, while stalker’s tale “Andy You’re A Star" and “All These Things That I’ve Done,” a future smash hit if ever we heard one, saw Flowers realise his dream of using a gospel choir in their recordings. This choir – “Sweet Inspirations” - are best known for their work with Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, and Aretha Franklin."

Enjoy!

Something about Harry

2005-07-18T12:05:00.000-05:00

[NOTE: potential spoilers on the new Harry Potter book ahead. Don't say I didn't warn ya.]

I am not ashamed to admit that I LOVE LOVE LOVE Harry Potter. I wish I were JK Rowling and I count the days down to the release of each new book and movie and I watch the movies over and over again. Kind of like a Star Wars geek only without the costumes.

The latest book, if you don't know because you have been in a coma for the last 6 months, was released at 12:01 am around the world on 7/16. Even though I had reserved 2 copies here at the Borders near our house, we happened to be in Port Townsend at the time and had to buy the books out there. [For those of you who have never heard of it, to get to Port Townsend you take a plane to Seattle, a ferry across the water and drive Northwest until you fall off the edge of the Earth. Then you turn right.]

I discovered, much to my chagrin, that these people had no intentions of being open at 12:01 am on 7/16. No intentions whatsoever they said, condescendingly.

What was that?

No, they informed me. We don't do things like that here. We're normal.

NORMAL? I cried. NORMAL PEOPLE WILL BE READING HARRY POTTER UNTIL ALL HOURS OF THE MORNING ON SATURDAY. And you know why? Because they can! Because THEIR bookstores all stayed open so NORMAL people could get them some Har - rrry Pot - terrrr (the last bit trailing off in a mournful wail). You bastards (more softly) . . .

In any case, I finished it last night and now I'm in a funk.

First of all, I applaud Jo for having the audacity this time to actually kill off one of her main characters. The last time everyone said, "Oh have mercy. She kills off a main character," it was Sirius Black.

Um, this guy is so not "main character" that he would be wearing a red shirt on StarTrek, if you catch my drift.

In Book 6 however, you can't get much more "main character" than the one she kills off this time. Or Snape does. Whatever.

I sincerely hope that there is another memory ready to pour into the pensieve in Book 7 showing the argument between Snape and Dumbledore that makes this whole mess more understandable. I suspect Snape was trying to back out of killing off the main character who I will not name here just in case any readers had something better to do with their time than Read Harry Potter over the weekend (you losers) but your thanks are assumed in any case.

But I said I have a few questions:

1. Where are James Potter's parents (I assume there were no siblings since we've never heard of them, but it's quite impossible for there to have been no parents, no?) and why didn't Harry (or Hermione even) go looking to discover Harry's father's lineage, especially during the Chamber of Secrets? I mean, there was all this talk of Harry possibly being the heir of Slytherin. Wouldn't that have been a good time for Harry to try at least a little to find his dad's family?

I understand that being forced to live with the Dursleys gives Harry that Cinderella image that we all love, but c'mon. He has never even once questioned anyone about where his father's family are and why they haven't come forward to help him.

2. Near the end of the new book, it says that Ginny gets up, gives Harry a goodnight kiss and goes to bed. Ok, um, Ginny is at least 1 year behind Ron, Harry and Hermione in school, possibly 2 (I'm too lazy to look it up). And yet she suddenly is behaving like the most adult of all the "children" in this series. Harry just knows that when he tells Ginny what he has decided she won't ask him not to or beg him to stay, she'll just accept it with the strength and nobility she shows during Quidditch and blah blah blah. So, I'm paraphrasing. But - Ginny? Suddenly grown up? She's like 15. Do any of you KNOW a 15 year old girl right now? "Adult" is not the best word to describe their behavior. Shrieking, hormonal, insecure teenage harpie would be better, in my humble opinion.

But anyway, who didn't see this romance between them coming? And we all know that Hermione and Ron will end up together. But how did Ginny suddenly become so good at Quidditch? I mean, she wasn't even on the team last year. And she's never really talked "sports" talk with the boys. Yet she snaps at Hermione, "Don't even pretend you understand quidditch." ??

3. Is [main character] really dead or did he need to fake his death so that Voldemort would come out in full force? I really hope so but it would be so Lord of the Rings ish...

4. With dogs this smart in the world, why do we still have a monkey for president?

Eine Minute Bitte

2005-07-11T12:20:00.000-05:00

Please see the below link where you'll find a list of the top 10 fertility centers in the US.

http://www.child.com/moms_dads/parenthood_issues/fertility_centers.jsp?page=16

Please also note that there is a list of facilities who "either failed to supply data for 2002 (the most recent year for which data are required) or didn't provide enough proof that the information was accurate."

I dropped more cash at New England Fertility than Paris Hilton has put up her nose and the Sher Institute STILL has over $12k of ours sitting in their bank account while they process paperwork from my failed IVF in April.

Fuckers.

Lunchable vs Lunchmeat

2005-07-11T07:32:00.000-05:00

After watching several movies in the past few weeks, I've come to the conclusion that Hollywood needs some new leading men. Today's crop is just sub par.

They all seem like girly boys. They’re so skinny I could break them between my silky thighs, if any of them were lucky enough to ever find themselves there that is. And they smoke. I just can't fathom wanting to wake up next to someone whose breath reeks toxic fumes. And they seem so short . . . where have all the MANLY men gone?

The "Go See Your Mommy, Girly Boy" list

Brad Pitt: Too much of a pretty boy. That blond hair he's sporting today? Um, no. Somebody buy him a mirror - quick. And he smokes (can you IMAGINE how foul his breath is in the morning?) Rumor also has it that he does not bathe regularly and even if he does, either his soap or his deodorant is not working.

To George Clooney I say ptttthhh! but only because of his attitude. He’d be screaming for mercy though if I ever got my hands on him.

Tom Cruise, what’s up with the weird? Seriously boy. Pull yourself together. How did a guy who is so freakin short, and with horse teeth too, get to be a sex symbol? And what a joke because, all those rumors? True. You know what I mean.

Dear Toby Maguire, Carbs and sunshine are your friends. Love and kisses. Suz.

Same goes for Jude Law (though he does have nice eyes). I recently saw “Closer” – a very strange movie by the way – and in 2 scenes I realized that Natalie Portman’s shoulders were broader than Jude’s. And he’s a few inches taller than she is. That puts him around 100 lbs I’d wager. It would be like getting hugged by my little sister.

Though no one is as effeminate as Leonardo DiCaprio. What a squirelly little wuss. I don’t even think he’s that talented. He just picks good roles.

Ben Affleck – Bennifer ruined him forever. And that smoking thing – ugh. Plus he has popcorn teeth. Teeth that look like un-popped kernels of popcorn. Small and yellow.

Matt Damon is cute in a whitebread sort of way but must have really bad breath since every non agency photo shows him with a fag in hand or mouth.

Colin Farrell certainly is a yummy piece of eye candy, but he behaves like a high school punk. And he smokes like a fiend. Blech.

Antonio Banderas needs to be held down and scrubbed. Hard. That greasy hair has got to go. And those tiny little teeth, worse than Ben’s. Ugh! Plus, he smokes too. Tony, go get a facial or something and make sure you hit the showers on the way out, greaseball.

Same goes for Johnny Depp. Plus now that Johnny is getting him some French punanni, he's anti-American. Le Putz.

And from Bad News Hughes, my favorite line regarding anyone who still thinks moustaches are hip, “Burt Reynolds? Nope. Tom Selleck? Uh uh. Try Chile D. Molester. Shave that fucking mustache.” Enough said.

The "Getcher Candy Ass over here and give Momma some SUGAR" list:

Michael T Weiss, formerly of the Pretender fame, is just a full course meal anytime, any day, any way he wants it.

And I’ve recently discovered the oh-so-snackable Clive Owen (but, c’mon – Clive? Who names their kid that?)

And Mr. Jackman if you’re nasty is certainly delovely to look at, though he was a bit of an arsehole when I saw him in The Boy From Oz. (Points of the show were interactive with the audience and he while he was charming to one lady who screamed out, “You’re so HOT!” he totally dissed another one who asked, “Come sit with me!” He said, “Ouch! I’m afraid you’d sit ON me!” She was a bit overweight but c’mon now.)

Julian McMahon is a pretty boy but when he lets his guard down he’s kinda cute. Plus he was an A-1 hottie on Charmed. He’s better when he’s evil.

Will Smith has his moments. Those ears have got to be good for hanging on to for something. His personality is A+.

Goran Visnjic is yummy but I think he smokes. Slap a patch on him, a full pack of gum and well, no....but, damn.

Antonio Sabbato Jr is far and away one of the best looking men who ever pouted his way through a room full of party goers. NEVER to be confused with this repugnant little puke.

Tyson Beckford is all that and the whole potato farm ladies. Yuuu -uuuuum-MEE!

Harry Connick Jr is not good looking per se but he does have a thang. Plus, he can play piano in the dark for me –and oh, that voice.

Owen and Luke Wilson – now these boys seem like fun to me. Neither is classically good looking but I wouldn’t kick either one outta bed for eating crackers. Luke is cuter in my book.

Viggo Mortenson can go either way, depending on whether he’s bathed or not.

Looking over this list, I think I've discovered that I likes my men like I likes my coffee. Strong and dark. Blondes just do not do it for me. But a smouldering set of brown eyes, or light eyes and dark hair - full lips and broad shoulders . . . g'dang!

Who’d I miss? Submit your votes and tell us - Hottie or Nottie?

Asteroid or Hemorrhoid?

2005-07-08T17:55:00.000-05:00

A friend just sent me a curious email. Why do they call it an Asteroid when it's outside the hemisphere, but a hemmorhoid when it's coming out your ass?

In other world news, my buddy Ted just got back from Live 8. Check out the photos of him getting sound bites for his XM radio show UPop XM 29.

We're sitting on his back deck in DC right now drinking a vile concoction called ARAK.

You pour it slowly into water and, like Ouzo, it makes the water cloudy and smells and tastes like black licorice. The afterglow is quite pleasant though. Looking at photos of hot chicks on the beach in Dubai standing on the beach next to a guy on a camel makes me wonder if I shouldn't have cut back about 20 minutes ago. See it's the whole "cameltoe on the beach is not a fashion statement" thing....

In any case, I've logged on today to pose a question:

Why does every guy around the world lose his everloving mind when the song Lola comes on the radio?

Do they not realize that it's about a young kid leaving home and going out in a big city and getting hit on by a man who is dressed like a woman? I mean, "I'm not the world's most passionate man but I know what I am, I'm glad I'm a man and so was Lola." What does that say about these men who love this song? Do they all have a secret desire to kiss another man?

This and more, I'm sure, as the evening progresses. After all, I'm taking my nephew around to the nation's colleges to see where he wants to go next year. Yes, that's right. The little fucker had the gall to grow up and will be 18 in January.

Which makes me. . . really fucking old and still not a parent.

I need some more Arak, erm I mean medicine It's killing the pain of the huge cold sore on my face you know. You see, after all the stress from my job and getting a horific sunburn on the boat over the 4th of July, this pustule the size of - what? an asteroid - popped up on my top lip and took over the entire left side of my face.

Seriously, this kid on the tour asked me today:

"What happened?"

"I was abducted by aliens last week. The went for the ole anal probe thing but had me upside down. I tried to explain, they didn't believe me, a tussle ensued. They won. It's not pretty."

blank stare.

From now on I'm just going to tell people that I had a cancerous tumor removed. Maybe then I'll get some freakin pity.

Or some Arak at the very least.

I work therefore I sulk

2005-06-30T13:26:00.000-05:00

Why couldn’t I be one of those people who felt compelled at a young age to write songs or maybe paint? To know without a doubt that my future was singing a capella for the church choir or dancing me some ballet – soaring across the stage on tippy toes or in the arms of a bulging gay man in tights? Why, why, WHY?

Instead I floundered through 3 different majors and graduated with a degree that I will probably never use.

What must it feel like to be driving down the road and hear your own voice emanating from the radio, singing a song you remember writing at 2 am in a hotel room in Reno?

This morning I heard Elton John on 3 different stations at the same time (thanks to that handy scan button I have rolling at all times trying to find the best song on!). And then Rob Thomas was on 2 different stations. [And do you believe that Marisol caught Rob and Tomkat doing the nasty? (Google it!) Word is, she is threatening to go public with the info. Might explain Tom’s fevered pitch with the uber hetero publicity stunts, no?]

How does J.K. Rowling feel right now, knowing that her latest book has already become the highest selling book of all time, 16 days before it has even been released?

How did Van Gogh feel seeing the public reaction to what he had done? “Fucking ouch!” is what he was probably thinking but I’m talking about the painting people, the painting. Not the unfortunate ear incident of which we never speak.

Why am I 42 years old and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up?

Well, one thing’s for sure. I don’t want to be working like this. They just busted my ass about taking 7 full days of vacation in July. How dare I ask for 7 full days off in a month. Really, they act like the account will shrivel up and die if I’m not there holding their clammy little hands 24/7.

Why am I the only employee in my company who works until 10 pm on New Year’s Eve even though it’s A HOLIDAY for us? Why can I never take a long Memorial Day weekend even though it’s the Figawi weekend on Nantucket? One of my favorite events because everyone is all about getting their Tara Reid on.

I thought I wanted to write books. Only problem is I can barely write this blog often enough – and let’s just be honest – interesting enough – to get people inspired to read.

That Katie Holmes just had to go and get the job of Tom’s beard, didn’t she? The bitch. Why couldn’t I find a gay, middle-aged rich celebrity who just happened to be looking for a chick to marry and get pregnant just so he could pretend to be hetero?

I’ll tell you why. Cause I’m not a size zero, that’s why. My life would be perfect if only I were Hohan thin.

Oh, and that whole too old to have a baby thing might have something to do with it too.

Guess there’s no point in going on that diet afterall.

Blather.

What would you do for a living if you could do anything you wanted to?

Need some Ideas

2005-06-28T11:59:00.000-05:00

Ed's birthday is coming up and I want to do something that shows him that I don't take having such a special, wonderful man in my life for granted.

We decided a long time ago to not give each other "things" as gifts - we have enough "stuff."

So we give things like a massage or a nice trip somewhere. Or a round of IVF and afterward maybe a tummy tuck and lipo. (Well, ok, I'm hopeful.)

Anyway, I want to do something for him that is really out of the ordinary.

Any suggestions?

WANTED: ONE MAGIC GENIE (or 3 wishes)

2005-06-26T21:02:00.000-05:00

What would you wish for if you had 3 wishes? Over the years, I don’t think anyone would be surprised to learn that our choices change dramatically.

When I was 18, my wishes would have been:

1. to get away from erie, pa and my father forever
2. to meet a great guy to have fun with
3. to get into a good college

When I was 30, my goals changed (as I was ending a 7 year engagement):

1. true love with a man who wants a family (as my ex fiancée then did not)
2. a tub deep enough so that I wouldn’t have to turn over constantly to keep both sides warm
3. an attached, heated garage so I didn’t have to scrape ice off my windshield

By the time I was 35 they were:

1. to liveand make more than $50 k in Arizona (where there was NEVER any ice to scrape off anything but well-paying jobs are very scarce)
2. to find true love with a man who wants a family and was READY TO START ONE ASAP
3. that tub

At 40 they were (having met the man of my dreams and already making 6 figures myself):

1. To have a body that looks like Angelina Jolie’s regardless of how much I eat and how infrequently I exercise
2. To have every single book I write become an immediate international best-seller
3. a family with my true love

At 42 my wishes would be:

1. to have a safe, secure environment in which to raise my family with my one true love
2. Angelina's body without the starving, drugs and exercise
3. NO STRESS WHATSOEVER about money, job, family period ever again until I die at the ripe old age of 97 BEFORE the love of my life dies because I simply cannot imagine what it would be like to continue living without him.

Funny how things change. These days, I have the man, but not the family. I definitely have the tub and the garage. We have some money, but not nearly enough. What I value more than anything is a safe, secure home (which I feel I already have) but no stress over any of it, which I definitely do NOT have.

What would YOU wish for if you had 3 wishes?

The Sun'll Come Out . . . Tomorrow

2005-06-24T08:32:00.000-05:00

I never caught that midnight flight home.

The airline overbooked and was begging people to give up their seats. When they reached the part where they offered a $400 free ticket anywhere in the continental US, a paid hotel room for the night and an upgrade to first class for the first flight out the next morning, I caved.

My head felt like I had been beaten severely by that time anyway and the last thing I wanted to do was get on a plane and fly all night. So, I didn’t get home until after 8pm on Friday but at least I didn’t have to work all day. I bought 2 good books and read them both in the comfort of my plush, roomy first class seat by the time I landed.

Then I got busy networking.

A friend who works for a really great fortune 500 company said that they are hiring.

I checked her site and found a job I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to have. I applied online and sent my resume to my friend, who passed it along and called the hiring manager to recommend me. I have a second interview with him today. Starting salary is about $20k more than I make right now – plus bonuses twice a year if the company meets or exceeds Wallstreet expectations. Plus they have a very generous contributing 401K plan and offer even better medical benes than I currently have.

Not too shabby.

Monday afternoon I had an open and honest discussion with my boss (D) and his boss (C) about the situation. They both told me that they were on my side and, quite frankly, never liked the dickhead PM anyway.

I started feeling the pressure releasing.

On Tuesday, the dickhead’s boss called and asked for a meeting. She told me that she had received numerous third party complaints about dickhead and she wanted to hear my side of things.

I don’t know if it was because I was feeling so psyched about the prospect of starting a new job or if I had finally reached the “I really don’t give a shit” point, but I was able to clearly outline my experience with the dickhead without being emotional or nasty. I even defended some of his finer points (he does know more about the products my company sells than most people in my company after all). In the end, she thanked me, apologized on his behalf and hugged me. She also told me that she ran into C last week at one of our premiere events and he had told her that I wasn’t the problem – that she needed to do some checking up on the dickhead instead of blaming me.

Nothing like third party corroboration that a bigwig in your company has your back to lighten your mood, eh?

So, either way, whether I stay in this job or move on to something bigger and better, I’m going to be ok.

I was holding off on posting all of this because I hoped to be able to say that I was definitely taking the new job. It has been posted for nearly 4 months though and the hiring manager has already narrowed it down to one person and has done all the background checks, etc on her already. So I may be just a bit too late.

But either way, I know now that there is a migration plan in place to move the dickhead off my account eventually. And I have about 1200 more stock options that I was granted when I was hired, which won’t vest until November. My strike price is $12.00 and our stock is trading between $22 and $24 these days so that little chunk of money would pay for one donor egg cycle and I’d lose it if I quit today. So staying wouldn’t be a bad thing….

On the other hand, that’s also a good bargaining chip when interviewing for the new job. I’m asking them for a signing bonus to cover those shares. It’s nice to feel like I have choices again. I think the thing that bothered me most was that feeling that I had been backed into a corner. I started feeling like a caged animal.

What a difference a good night’s sleep makes. I’ve already started weaning myself off all anti-anxiety medications and I’m starting to feel quite normal again.

Thank you all for being here for me. Your support (and reading your blogs) kept me going through the last 6 weeks of hell.

I’m going to spend this weekend putting some finishing touches on the house in preparation for my father’s upcoming visit. And I’m going to do some fishing with the love of my life and the fabulous J.

Life is good again people.

Life is good.

I just want to go home

2005-06-16T11:05:00.000-05:00

I'm in a crisis.

Suddenly I hate the job I used to love.

I'm on anti anxiety pills that are not helping.

I cannot sleep without having dreams that I'm in an algebra final without having attended a single class all semester, or that I've "borrowed" a friend's huge sail boat and am trying to navigate it through a canal with high metal walls and other boats parked along the sides in the middle of a huge storm. I wake up clenching my teeth and my fingernails digging into my palms.

My head has been aching for 3 straight days.

I am in the middle of the worst period I've ever had. (Of course, not having had one since April due to my last ever IVF cycle might have something to do with that.) A constant reminder that I can't even accomplish what even the simplest cow can.

I'm in California for the last of these events that are poorly developed and a huge waste of time. That dickhead PM plays the game better than I do because last night I was forced to sit at dinner with him and 2 women who work for my company. These 2 women, who spent the last 18 months complaining about what an asshole this guy is, were positively fawning over him. I don't know how he did it but he won them over and, by the way their eyes all flickered at each other when 2 sticky topics came up, apparently I am the bad guy now.

I've always been the golden girl. I've always over achieved. Now, I'm fighting to keep a job I really hate so I can pay my mortgage.

I am 42 years old. Have no children. Have gained 50 lbs in the past 4 years. Hate my job and right now I have to force myself to take a shower and put on a happy face for the next 10 hours and smile for the public. And then I have to get on a plane at midnight, land at 9 am and start the day all over again doing the same shit but now with the knowledge that people I thought knew me better and knew what a dick this PM can really not be counted on.

I can fight the good fight on this uphill battle knowing that even if I stay in this job it means dealing with this prick, who is apparently not going anywhere since he's been in this same job for 11 years running (proving he's unpromotable and unemployable in any other capacity or company). Or I can quit.

He wins.

I lose.

I am so unhappy right now.

I just want to go home.

The Pain Olympics

2005-06-14T19:05:00.000-05:00

Ok, so can I just tell you how painful today was for me?

The letter "j" was beaten off my laptop, said with not a little irony here, by the beloved J in a fit of frustration at how slow this freaking computer is lately.

I woke up with the most painful period I have ever experienced. Seriously, it rivaled my miscarriage, oh, just about 1 year ago.

I drove to the doctor's office and told him of my nightmares and how much worse and often my anxiety attacks have become since I started taking Effexor for, you guessed it, anxiety.

He confessed that sometimes Effexor causes the opposite of what it's intended for and prescribed me the medicine I had originally asked for.

Sadly, I almost don't want to stop taking the Effexor because - and how sick is this - I have lost 10 lbs - on top of having the most godawful period ever in which case I have probably gained 4 or 5 lbs of bloating - so in all, I figure I've lost nearly 15 lbs due to the Effexor.

hmmmmm......heartwrenching, lungcrushing anxiety attacks or a jellybelly? Tough call.

I went to Starbucks to get a Decaf Mocha Chip Minty Delight Frappuccino thingamabob, which, if you haven't yet tried one, you simply must, and I put 2 quarters in the meter SPECIFICALLY because the last time I went to that shitassed town I got a parking ticket by a few minutes and then because I neglected to pay it, the $15 fine went up to $25 and because I LOST THAT FREAKIN notice, it went up to $50. So today I OVERPAID the time I knew I'd need to get my cool refreshing cup of frostiness only to return to my car and find a cop writing me a ticket......WITH 21 MINUTES STILL ON THE METER!!!!!

He told me I put the money in the wrong meter even though there were arrows on the meters CLEARLY POINTING TOWARD THE APPROPRIATE parking slots. After 10 minutes of arguing with me and having me ask 2 passers by which parking spots they thought the meters were pointing at and having them agree WITH ME! - he REALIZED HE WAS WRONG and changed his story to say: "Well I didn't see you put the money in the meter." ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME? When do you ever see who put the money in and what does it matter as long as there is time on the meter? He refused to admit he was wrong and still gave me the ticket. I promptly went to the government center and filed a complaint against him and refuted the ticket.

MOTHER FUCKER.

Then, I was told that I DO have to go to California tomorrow (leaving at 4 am thankyouverymuch) and I DO have to have a speaker all lined up and a presentation done for an event that I have been asking to be approved SINCE JANUARY and one which I was specifically told was officially NOT approved last week because, suddenly today, it's officially been approved.

And, and - AND that the marketing plan which wasn't supposed to be due until July 1 is suddenly due tomorrow as well.

Oh -and I almost forgot. Our central air does not work and they cannot get here until next THURSDAY. OH. MY. GAWD.

But - and here's the good part - the love of my life just walked in and has brought me a cool, refreshing not to mention FROSTY Mocha Chip MINTY THINGAMABOB.

God, I love that man. Even if he did say to me yesterday after enduring an especially acidic bout of my PMSing, "C'mon, Laci - let's go fishing."

Yes, he deserves to be punished. But I am so stealing that line the next time some bitch is getting on my last nerve.

An unexamined life is not worth living

2005-06-13T09:01:00.000-05:00

You know the saying “live without regrets?” What does that mean? I don’t understand it at all. Are “they” saying that you can’t change things now so don’t worry about things you’ve done in the past?

How would we really learn then, if we didn’t examine our past and change things that made our lives harder or hurt others?

Honestly, there’s not much I wouldn’t change about my life, if I could.

I’d try to get my mom to the doctor before it was too late to save her life.

I’d get more adults around me to help my dad stop drinking (and hopefully stop abusing my mom and me).

I’d save every penny I ever made so I could travel and stop working at 50 instead of having another 20 years of this crap to look forward to.

I’d have never quit college the first time around.

I’d still have moved to the NYC area but I’d have stuck with journalism as my major and would have suffered through the crappy ‘pay your dues’ salaries in my 20s like every other journalist in the world probably did.

I’d do everything in my power to help my sister and grandmother stop smoking before it was too late for them too.

I’d have had a leash on my best puppy ever that day in Maryland when a taxi cab stormed the courtyard of that hotel and hit her 3lb little body breaking it in 10 places.

I’d have put some serious effort into finding Mr. Right way before I turned 39 so that I might have a shot at having my own kids some day.

I would drive sensible, inexpensive cars.

I’d not muck my credit up by being too lazy to pay my bills on time.

I’d have bought a duplex type of house just as soon as I could afford it and let the renters help me out with my mortgage.

I’d have worked hard to keep my weight around 130 by exercising and eating right – not by doing blow and making myself throw up like all the other stupid model wannabes did.

I’d wear sunscreen every day.

I’d take better care of my knees.

I’d treat people better.

I’d floss my teeth daily from the time I was a teenager instead of waiting until I was in my 30’s to really start doing it every day.

I would learn as many languages as I could when I was young.

I’d travel as often as I could afford when I was younger so that I could experience other cultures on the cheap like you can do using youth hostels, etc.

I would have learned to ice skate, ski, swim, golf and ride a horse with proficiency as a young person instead of trying to learn it all in my 30s and 40s.

I’d have kept going with my pilot’s license lessons no matter how hard everyone said ground school was going to be.

I never would have had a parrot as a pet (they need and deserve so much more than that life).

I would never let myself become a hard-driven, type-A personality whose lifestyle is now dependent upon keeping a job that will allow me to live this way but also causes me so much anxiety that I can hardly breathe right now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Things I wouldn’t change even if I could:

Ed and J. Even if I sometimes think I wish I’d have met him sooner, that would change things about him and J and honestly, I love them so much just the way they are that I wouldn’t chance changing things for fear of losing who they are today.

My nephew. As much as I think he deserves a better life, he turned out to be a great kid.

What about you? What would you change if you could - what would you leave the same?

Nip Tuck

2005-06-08T08:27:00.000-05:00

Hello All!!!! God I missed you guys! You can’t imagine how stressful it was for me to have to curtail my blogging activity and try to focus only on work. Thanks to all of you for your encouragement and the lovely Thisgirl for trying to help me get back on track. I’ve decided that blogging is the only sanity I have for now and if anyone is monitoring how much time I spend on it these days, well, fuck it. If it distracts me from the crap I’m taking from this dickhead at work, they should consider it money well-spent. Think of all the money they’ll save from paying for me to see a shrink or worse – for re-hab if I start to pickle myself blind every night.

The G&D Tertia inspired me to write today about the fact that I had botox done. For the creases between my eyebrows and around the corners of my eyes. People used to tell me all the time to “cheer up” or “stop frowing.” Now they tell me I “look so relaxed.” It really was the best thing I could have done to perk myself back up.

I go to a place called Skinklinic, run by dermatologists with most of the procedures done by nurses. I’ve gone in before for laser removal of sunspots and for treatment of broken capillaries along the sides of my nose (all that yummy red wine I picked up in Napa last year – totally worth it!).

So, the nurse applied the botox in 3 small shots with the lowest starting between my brows and following an upward angle to the arch. This way, when I raise my eyebrows I have this beautiful arch but I don’t look perpetually surprised.

And she gave me 3 small shots around the corners of my eyes, which I can honestly say are completely smooth now. Not tight and shiny smooth, but relaxed. It’s very nice. It felt like a bee sting though. A little burn afterward and a little bruising but no big deal.

Next, I’m considering restalyn for my nasolabial folds – you know – those creases from your nostrils down to the corners of your mouth? Otherwise referred to as “jowls.”

Anyway, we’re going to do one round of donor eggs in September. If that doesn’t work then I’m done with the fertility game. Ed has said he’d pay for me to get a tummy tuck and I’m hoping to convince him that lipo of the hips and thighs would round out the procedure nicely. If I can’t have a baby then I’m going to have a BOOMIN BOD folks. I’ve finally made myself get my fat ass on the orbitrack a few times and one of the huge benefits of the effexor is that I’m rarely hungry. In fact, sometimes I get nauseated just thinking about eating, even if all I’ve had all day was a piece of fruit or some cottage cheese (not because I’m dieting – I just really love cottage cheese. Honest!)

Yesterday I wore a dress that I was unable to fit into 3 weeks ago. And it was baggy! Yay! I lost track of where the scale went when we moved, which is probably a good thing. This way, all I have to go by is how my clothes are fitting instead of weighing myself 4 times a day and getting depressed when it doesn’t change – or worse – goes up!

Ok, so – I’m back on track! And I want to ask you guys -- what do you do to relieve stress?

Top 5 reasons why I suck:

2005-06-06T15:38:00.000-05:00

1. I'm full of anxiety over my job right now. Spent some time online looking at what's available and am not impressed. Feel really pissed off at my dickhead PM right now. Can't focus on anything else.

2. I am boring these days. Other than complaining about work and my anxiety attacks, I don't have much else to say.

3. Effexor doesn't seem to be helping the anxiety attacks. Anyone had better experience with something better?

4. I am too freaking lazy to get out of bed half an hour earlier so I can do some cardio on our fancy schmancy new eliptiglider thingamabob.

5. Hey, a girl's got to have some skillz. And sucking is better than blowing. Ask any guy. ;o)

[honestly though, I'll be back. I'm just really feeling overwhelmed with work right now. SORRY!]

Very busy right now

2005-05-24T10:49:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the hiatus again. My account has it's end of quarter this week so I'm slammed at work. And the family is showing up on Saturday for the holiday weekend. Couple all of this with the fact that both of my bathrooms upstairs are completely disassembled still as of today and I haven't heard back from the plumber in 2 days and you've got yourself a frantic dame ovah heyah.

I'll be back as soon as things calm down.

An anti-cancer vaccine? Not if the Right-Wing gets its way.

2005-05-19T12:15:00.000-05:00

Dig this:

"Imagine a vaccine that would protect women from a serious gynecological cancer. Wouldn't that be great? Well, both Merck and GlaxoSmithKline recently announced that they have conducted successful trials of vaccines that protect against the human papilloma virus. HPV is not only an incredibly widespread sexually transmitted infection but is responsible for at least 70 percent of cases of cervical cancer, which is diagnosed in 10,000 American women a year and kills 4,000. Wonderful, you are probably thinking, all we need to do is vaccinate girls (and boys too for good measure) before they become sexually active, around puberty, and HPV--and, in thirty or forty years, seven in ten cases of cervical cancer--goes poof. Not so fast: We're living in God's country now. The Christian right doesn't like the sound of this vaccine at all. "Giving the HPV vaccine to young women could be potentially harmful," Bridget Maher of the Family Research Council told the British magazine New Scientist, "because they may see it as a license to engage in premarital sex." Raise your hand if you think that what is keeping girls virgins now is the threat of getting cervical cancer when they are 60 from a disease they've probably never heard of. "

and this . . .

"As they flex their political muscle, right-wing Christians increasingly reveal their condescending view of women as moral children who need to be kept in line sexually by fear. That's why antichoicers will never answer the call of prochoicers to join them in reducing abortions by making birth control more widely available: They want it to be less available. Their real interest goes way beyond protecting fetuses--it's in keeping sex tied to reproduction to keep women in their place. If preventing abortion was what they cared about, they'd be giving birth control and emergency contraception away on street corners instead of supporting pharmacists who refuse to fill prescriptions and hospitals that don't tell rape victims about the existence of EC. David Hager (see Ayelish McGarvey's stunning exposé, and keep in mind that unlike godless me she is a churchgoing evangelical Christian) would never use his position with the FDA to impose his personal views of sexual morality on women in crisis. Instead of blocking nonprescription status for emergency contraception on the specious grounds that it will encourage teen promiscuity, he would take note of the six studies, three including teens, that show no relation between sexual activity and access to EC. He would be calling the loudest for Plan B to be stocked with the toothpaste in every drugstore in the land. How sexist is denial of Plan B? Antichoicers may pooh-pooh the effectiveness of condoms, but they aren't calling to restrict their sale in order to keep boys chaste. "

Excerpt from "Virginity or Death!" by Katha Pollitt. Read the entire article here:

http://www.thenation.com/doc.mhtml?i=20050530&s=pollitt

Wanna talk about it?

Now look what you've done!

2005-05-18T12:08:00.000-05:00

I'm very sad to see that Jen at Vintage Uterus has given up blogging - especially because of the reason she's leaving. I don't know what to say except that I admire her courage and her strength and her ability to make me laugh at things that are soooo lowdown and dirty and I will miss her.

I missed the shit storm she refers to and I must be terribly out of the loop on what the hip IF blogs are now that Getupgrrl, Tertia, Julie, Jo and Danae have all started their families in one form or another (or are seriously on their way), because I haven't seen any snarky references to her. Pisses me off too because I would have liked the chance to at least defend her. Plus, as I've said before, all that snarking makes my nipples hard. I love a good controversy. Ms Mixit up, yeah, that's me.

In any case, she closed the comments on her last post but I felt cheated out of my chance to say so long to a good buddy. I really hope she peppers my blog with her fabulously witty comments!

So - Cheers to Jen! You will be missed sister. Come visit me sometime.

Bathroom Etiquette

2005-05-17T15:12:00.000-05:00

Nothing distresses me more than having to use a toilette urgently and not being able to find one that is clean. Well, that’s not true. Many things distress me more. I think we can all agree that the conception of Britney and Kfed’s spawn is quite distressing. Right up there with our unfinished business in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq. And I guess you could say that bathroom etiquette is a relatively small thing when you consider the fact that we have a monkey for president. But it’s a “small thing” that I have to deal with numerous times a day, and so it becomes a “big thing" very quickly. A “big small thing” if you will. You know you know what I’m saying. Please help me to understand:

1) Why do women pee on toilette seats? Do they hover because they think sitting on the toilette seat is unsanitary? Well, yes. It’s definitely unsanitary when I have to sit on a toilette seat covered in your piss! I suppose you could make the argument that a toilette seat is unsanitary just because someone else’s ass was there before yours. But no more so than sitting on a park bench, restaurant seat or bleachers at your nephew’s baseball game wearing shorts or a short skirt is. The same area of your body touches the same area that someone else’s body was – the back of your thighs. And if you’re wearing a thong under that skirt (you little slut!) then your ass cheeks are sharing plenty with your previous seat mate. So why you gotta make me clean your urine up off the seat before I can settle down for a well-deserved crap?

And why is your aim so lousy? Do you even stop to think that not only are your pantlegs covered with pee when you do this, but every other person to use that stall after you winds up with their cuffs dragging in your piss? You may not care that your urine is all over your pants, and you may not even care that your urine is all over my pants, but sweetie-darling, try and understand that having your urine soaking the cuffs of my pants is a very big deal to me. So knock it the fuck off. Okeydokey, okeydokey? Almost every public restroom today offers those nifty tissue seat covers. If we all use them instead of pissing on the seats, all toilette seats would be nice and clean. Wouldn't that be neat?

2) When you walk into the ladies room at work and proceed to brush your teeth, re-apply your entire face of makeup, set your hair in hot rollers, floss and paper the freaking walls while the rollers cool down, do you even care that behind one of those locked stall doors is a person with a nasty bout of diarrhea trying desperately not to explode into the toilette until you leave? Primp somewhere else! Or - if you absolutely must do this in the bathroom, at least have the courtesy to turn around and walk back out when you realize that someone else is in there trying their damndest to not make any noise while doing whatever the fuck a toilette is made for! Check back at a later time to primp for chrissakes. [**updated to add, please visit Floyd's brilliant post on just this subject (Thank you Molly!). SEE! It's NOT JUST ME!!!]

3) And finally, please don’t assume that just because we’re friends that I want you as an audience when I’m using the toilette. When we do the double date thing and have just finished a big dinner and I say I have to use the restroom, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIRL! don’t hop up and chirp, “I’ll join you!” because I may just have to hold your head in the toilette and flush if you do. I needs my alone time in the potty, especially after a big meal, so do us all a favor and grant me some privacy.

In summary, if we can all just agree to follow these 3 little courtesies the world would be a much better place.

· if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat
· be mindful of closed stall doors while primping or brushing/flossing in public places
· don’t travel in herds

Oh, we’ll still have a monkey for president mind you, but at least we won’t have to put up with you pouting about your dripping hair while we’re trying to enjoy our dessert.

Out of the Abyss

2005-05-16T12:10:00.000-05:00

Hi guys! I’m sorry for the unintentional hiatus. I’m feeling…well messed up lately. Out of sorts, down and out, positively pissy if you will. And not at all writey. I started about 10 different posts in my head but until Orange’s note, I just couldn’t make myself sit down and write anything out. Thanks for the helping hand out of the hole there Orange!

So, I’m wondering - can you be depressed and anxious at the same time? It seems like they would cancel each other out – you know, like alcohol and speed? (Ah, the good ole days. Remember college?)

I recognize that I’m feeling depressed to finally have come to the end of trying to have my own bio child. But it’s not a soul-wrenching depression. I’m just sad about it. About a 3 on a 10 scale.

On the other hand, I’m anxious to get the ball rolling on the DE front -- while at the same time wanting to enjoy the summer and relax (thanks to all of you, we have a consensus!). I’m also anxious about work but can’t post too much about it for fear of being Dooced. The short story is that my liaison at the account, our product manager (PM) wanted his best friend to get this job but I got it instead. PM has gone out of his way to be a royal pain in the ass from day one, making everything much harder than it needs to be, but I never thought he was a bad guy until last week. After my performance review (for which I scored a majority of 4’s on a 5 scale), D mentioned that PM had been actively poisoning my reputation with the execs of both his company and mine. So now, I’m on the defensive trying to fix the damage he’s done and it’s not easy.

Anyway, perhaps I’m just overwhelmed. Between getting the house ready for company (my extended family, very few of whom have ever bothered to come visit me since I moved away 25 years ago, have suddenly decided to accept my invitations and are showing up en masse for Memorial day. That’ll teach me to keep my big mouth shut!), work stress, the baby issue and the constant feelings of guilt and self-loathing every time I take a bite of something not green or leafy, I’m starting to shut down. Literally, I go to bed around 9 or 9:30 every night and can barely drag myself out of bed by 8:30 or 9 the next morning. Unless I have an anxiety attack at 5 am, in which case I wake Ed up to “chat” about nothing in general until the feeling goes away. It’s taking every ounce of my strength to make myself get out of bed when all I want to do spend my days sleeping or reading Harry Potter-type books that will carry me away to someplace fantastic. Someplace where electricians don’t charge me $200 for 20 minutes of work. Bastards.

Since we moved into our new house on January 28th, we have had the entire downstairs and the master bedroom re-painted, the hardwood floors re-sanded and coated (and the cocksuckers fucked the floors up so badly that I feel sick to my stomach every time I step into the dining room, where the biggest flaws are glaringly apparent), and both the master and guest bathrooms are in the process of being completely re-done.

Do I actually do the painting, plumbing or electrical? Well, no. But I have to coordinate all the deliveries of furniture and appliances, and contractors around my work schedule on top of running to the paint store 5 times to pick up those little paint sample jars and supplies, paint the test spots on, decide against those colors, go get another 8, try them, prime the walls to cover the hideous blueberry and terracotta spots I’ve created on the walls and – well, you get the picture.

And I have to go to home depot and 4 other tile stores to find just the right tile to complete the master bath floor since the numbnuts who built this house tiled up to the bathroom cabinet but not under it. So Ed and I spent 2 weekends searching for those damn tiles but because these people don’t seem to realize that most home improvement work is done on the weekends, their warehouses are closed until Monday, people, MONDAY when I have to go to work and face the DICKHEAD PM! So I go back to the tile stores by myself during the week to pick up the tiles we think match the sample we took to the store, get the adhesive, get the grout, etc. only to get home and drag all this crap upstairs and find out that the motherfucking tiles are either too light or too dark or too tan or too pink. 4 sets of tile and not one of them is right. On top of all of this, Ed had surgery on his shoulder last Friday. Poor guy got so fed up with hearing me whining about it all that he spent Saturday night (immediately following his surgery mind you) helping me chip out the half pieces of tile and old adhesive so we could lay the new, non-matching tile down. And to round out the really bad luck, the damn tiles are a fraction of an inch smaller than the old ones even though they all claim to be 13X13 so the grout spaces became increasingly bigger as I laid them in place – nearly half an inch in one spot. BLAH! All that hard work and it looks like crap. Most of it will be covered by the new vanity and tall cabinetry we got to replace the crappy white particle board that was in there, but still. We just don’t have the time to get a contractor in here and rip up the entire old floor and lay down a new one before everyone gets here so I’ll just have to live with it.

Then, freaking Ethan Allen tells me they’ll be delivering my new vanity on 5/9 but, here it is, 5/16 and they still haven’t even received it at their warehouse. Why is this such a big deal when I have 10 days or so before company arrives? Well, because we bought one of those uber cool bowl sinks that sit on top of the counter, we had to order the top separately from a specialty marble and granite place because we can’t find a single furniture company that will send you the top piece without the sink and faucet holes pre-cut into it. The granite place will only guarantee the work if they come out and measure the template for the cuts themselves. They squeezed us in for this past Saturday but since the damn thing didn’t arrive yet, I had to cancel them and now I don’t know when I can get on their calendar again and, and, AND even then, once they do the measuring, it will take 2 weeks to cut the piece and get it installed! 2 weeks – do you HEAR THAT PEOPLE? TWO FREAKING WEEKS!!!

Ok, breathe. Deep breaths. It’s OK. It’s just a sink. It’s not like your entire family has been waiting to see you fall on your face since you left home and feel that you only come back there to show off your new Lexus or to brag about how you graduated from Yale and all. It’s not like that at all.

And well, shit, the painter has just informed me that she’s a quart short of being able to finish the upstairs hallway and could I just nip out to the paint store and pick some up.

So, there you have it. I’m just going to post this, run to the paint store, run to the grocery store so we can have a decent meal not made up of 70% fat in a restaurant for the 20th day in a row, then I’ll come back here and do my 1:30 conference call with my boss and try to squeeze in a review of the new product training so that I can do a presentation on it tomorrow first thing in the morning.

What’s that you say? You all have similar stuff going on? I should stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with it? This is what is known as life and JUST IMAGINE trying to raise an infant while pulling this all off? Or – gasp! TWINS EVEN?!?!?!?

LA LA LA LA! I can’t hear you! LA LA LA LA! No idea what you’re talking about! LA LA LA LA!

HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO AND 2 GIFTS FOR ME!

2005-05-05T16:52:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here writing a post about the week I had last week; meeting the fabulous Ollie, who is neither an Olivia nor Drab by the way (She is charming, vibrant and funny but more about her later!), attending a crappy seminar, my thoughts about my cancelled cycle and all the wonderful feedback I've gotten from you teriffic people and what happens?

J (Ed's 9 yr. old daughter) called to make sure I was going to be home for dinner tonight.

Why?

Because she made a Mother's Day gift for me.

For me, people.

A Mother's Day gift for me.

I'm a blubbering mess right now.

Bawling my eyes out.

I must get cleaned up before she gets here though. Don't want to spoil the innocent sweetness of this moment.

Gawd, this is so hard. . . but so incredibly wonderful.

********************************
Amended to add: It is a memory book from our trip to Disney last year. She made it all by hand - even the cover. And put all these great photos of us together in it with little notes like, "The Fun is Everlasting!" in it.

I'm so touched. What a great feeling. But so bittersweet. Makes me wish (not for the first time) that she were mine.

[sigh] I feel so incredibly lucky right now.

And all those crappy feelings I was having about cancelling my cycle? Gone.

I know I've made the right decision. Because if I can love this child that much, with no physical bond between us whatsoever, I know that whatever child I carry inside my body will also have my heart, regardless of where the egg cells come from. THAT is my second Mother's Day gift. The gift of knowing that I'm absolutely ready for this next step.

I'm going out for Margarita's on this lovely Cinco de Mayo and I'm going to celebrate my good fortune and happiness! I wish I could bottle this feeling and give it away!

What a great day.

Enough already!

2005-05-02T12:10:00.000-05:00

So, believe it or not I cancelled this cycle.

All I wanted was a chance, you know? And now I’ve had that chance. I took all the meds, did all the shots, stopped exercising hard enough to raise my core temperature, stopped taking hot baths and all that jazz. And yet, all I could manage to squeak out was one lonely little follicle that STILL was not big enough to work with on Sunday.

The little bastard.

Oh, the doctor was quite happy to continue with the program, letting me do stims for three more days. This, of course, after continuing the course for three more days last week and then another three more days at the end of the week. Oh, yes. He'd have happily taken my money even though, when pressed for an answer, he finally admitted that the chances of me ending up with a live birth from this cycle were so slim he wouldn't even put a number on it. But he'd have been happy to take my money so he could tell me what was wrong with the egg. Probably chromasomal issues due to advanced maternal age. No shit, Sherlock. Really?

The big bastard.

So. Fuck it. This tells me all I need to know. No matter what there may be left in the world that I didn’t try, I’ve tried enough. Between several IUIs and short cycles and long protocols and different clinics and acupuncture and herbs and massage therapy and chiropractic, I am done with this shit. From cutting out caffeine and alcohol and my quarterly opium binges on the Orient Express, I’ve tried it all. And none of that shit works.

For me at least.

I’m moving on to donor eggs. I want a happy, healthy baby and I’m in a goddamn hurry at this point. I’ve been robbed of my life long enough. I’m tired of planning my business trips around medications and doctor’s appointments. I’m tired of planning my vacations around long weekends so I can save my vacation time in case I need it.

I’m just plain tired.

And guess what? We bought a boat. Ordered it with all the bells and whistles we could find. It should be here May 14th.

I’m really looking forward to starting to work out really hard again, without worrying that I’m raising my core temperature too much. I'm sick to death of being a fat piece of shit. I feel guilty every time I stand in front of the mirror naked and I hate myself every time I shovel just one more brownie or an entire sleeve of oreos into my mouth. I'm sick of being so tired at 10 pm that I can't keep my eyes open. I'm tired of covering my body in baggy clothing because I'm ashamed of how lumpy and jiggly I've gotten.

And I’m looking forward to taking a really HOT bath again.

BUT -- It’s incredibly hard for me to not just jump into the first available DE cycle they're offering. I know that this would be my last summer as a single entity, assuming all goes well with the DE. And when I get pregnant, I throw up every 20 minutes for the first 3 months. Since I’ve never been pregnant longer than about 11 weeks, I don’t know if it actually continues beyond that either.

If I wait until after all the summer activities we have planned, I’ll be 43 by the time I have this kid. Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to deliver that kid with this old body? Let alone get back into any kind of decent shape at forty freakin three!

But I’m SOOOOO anxious to move things along. It’s so incredibly hard for me to not just jump into the June cycle because I really, really want to have this baby.

What to do, what to do.

hmmm....

Did I mention that I REALLY want to get pregnant already?

Oh.

Well, did I mention that I’m really looking forward to spending a relaxing summer with Ed and J on the boat, eating good food, exercising enough to actually lose this extra weight I’ve gained and living my life again, without thinking about infertility treatments or doctors appointments or how much caffeine I’ve had today?

Oh.

What the fuck!?!?!?

Help me make this decision. Send me your words of wisdom and hopefully we’ll have a consensus or a majority at the very least.

What would you do?

I think I'll have another

2005-04-28T19:53:00.000-05:00

First, I want to thank all of you for your kind thoughts. I think it may be working. The 2 small follies have all but disappeared. But that one little guy, you know? who was just a 4? Well, he's now a 10. They have me stewing him for 3 more days and going back in for another cooterwand ride on Sunday. Doc is already prepping me for yet another DE speech. He said this “wasn’t the best scenario but even if no baby results from it, at least we’ll get a lot of info from the process.”

Next, is it just me or are dentists assigned a quota these days a la Glengarry Glen Ross?

COFFEE IS FOR CLOSERS!!

I'm not kidding when I tell you this new guy somehow managed to come up with a quote for $30,000 of stuff I 'need' done. Let me just preface that (too late) by saying that people in general and even the dentists I know socially tell me how nice my teeth are. Especially when I admit that I never had to wear braces or a retainer. When I told this new guy that I already have the bleaching trays at home but just needed more of the whitening solution, he said that he'd have to take a look at the trays to see if they were "made right." Yeah, ok. Maybe cause that’s where the money is? Shyster. (so I spelled that sheister and Word changed it to this…is that right?)

Anyway, more random thoughts. Tonight there was a double rainbow over the water as we sat and ate dinner. You could see it all the way from one side to the other -the complete arc. That's been a rare occurrence in my life. Very cool.

If you appreciate Monty Python and live anywhere near NYC, you absolutely MUST go see Spamalot! David Hyde-Pearce, Hank Azario and Tim Curry in real life and up close right there for you. Spectacular! Notice I’m not mentioning the 6 months along friend I had to see it with -- on my birthday no less. That’d be because she’s a really great person who doesn’t deserve my jealousy or wrath. I feel like a shithead for even saying that I didn’t want to go see the show because I didn’t think I could handle seeing her burgeoning belly. I still felt awkward a lot and really, REALLY don't want to go through that again. I'm done spending time with other pregnant women for now.

Cain't dew it. Would nt be pru-dent. [in my best Dana Carvey imitation of Bush Sr]

Speaking of burgeoning bellies, my fat rolls now have fat rolls of their own and still I cannot stop shoveling shit into my gaping maw. My cousin, who was nearly 300 lbs and had gastric bypass surgery last year, now weighs less than I do. Gah.

The only thing I can say in my defense is that I’m not the type to let myself get all depressed and cry (at least not for more than a few hours), crawling to bed and staying there for days on end. Nor am I the type to drown myself in gin or other mind-altering beverages. The hangover is just too brutal to pull that every freakin month. And I haven’t touched the hookah pipe since that last trip to the Orient.

Instead, I make brownies. Sans hashish. Yeah, I know. How boring am I?

And proceed to eat nearly every single one of them by myself. And then I go out and get a Snickers, a Twix and a Take5, you know, for “emergencies.” The only one left at this point is the Twix. It just doesn’t taste the same these days. I think it’s because they stopped using real vanilla in the caramel since all those storms hit Madagascar a few years ago and killed all the orchids that bear the vanilla bean. That cheap shit really mucks up a good caramel.

Blather.

I have to travel to 4 cities in just about that many weeks for work. Too bad they’re not places I’d really ever pick to visit. Went to Wakefield, MA yesterday. “Why not Boston?” I ask forlornly, to no avail. Next is Atlanta. It’s ok but I’ve been there before. It’s like one big strip mall. Since I really hate shopping, whatever will I do with myself? I mean, it’s not like I’m your typical IT geek guy traveling where the obvious answer would be “rent a porn flick and jerk off.”

Next is St. Louis. What the hell is there to do in St. Louis? I’m not into going to a live Jazz bar alone, nor am I the type to rent a Harley. Please help me out here folks. There’s got to be something to do there….

Then is Las Pintas or something like that near San Jose. There’s got to be something good to do there, right? SoCal? Help me out folks! I’m desperate!

I got nuthin

2005-04-25T16:19:00.000-05:00

I have one follie measuring under 2 cm on the left side and 2 follies on the right. One is under 2 and one is about a 4.

As I'm sure you all know already, they need to be 18 or 19 before they're ripe enough to pick. Today, he expected to see them around 14 or 15.

Still, they want me to continue with the poking and firehoop jumping for 3 more nights and go see them on Thursday for another ride on the cooterwand express.

Then I'm going to hit a sweet little Mexican place I know on 7th Avenue that offers over 100 different flavors of margaritas.

I will endeavor to try at least one of every flavor over the next 10 hours or so.

If I make it home this weekend and can manage to lift my head off the pillow, I will post again.

Otherwise, it's been nice knowin allayall. Cause I do believe I'm done with this game.

I went to Camp Follitism and all I got was a Jammy Yammy

2005-04-24T17:05:00.000-05:00

So, after roughly 16 days of jumping through hoops of fire, I’m beginning to think this is not working for me.

Seriously. I started with Lupron 5 days before my period started, then switched over to Cetrotide (which I still have to take a shot of every morning), added E2V shots, then 10 vials of gonal F every night (in 2 separate injections mind you. You know you’re jealous right now.), dexamethasone every day and a shot of Repronex thrown in every other day for good measure, PLUS various other things (like prenatal vitamins and extra folic acid), I don’t feel significantly different than I normally feel.

Ovaries that feel like they’re full of marbles? Nope. They twitch a bit from time to time but that’s about it. I’m starting to call the right one “Tweak” after that kid on South Park whose parents own the coffee shop, and who never gets a full night’s sleep because the underwear gnomes come after him.

Feeling hormonal and bitchy? Well, yeah, but that’s pretty much my standard MO. Seriously, I may be a little bit on edge but not significantly more than this TYPE A girl usually is.

Feeling a little extra hot 'n horny for my man? No more than usual, which is a pity, ‘cause he is an exceptionally tasty piece of lunchmeat if I do say so myself.

My joints all ache though. My shoulders to my knees excluding my fingers ache like I’ve put a really big strain on them for the past week.

And I have heartburn so severe I’ve gone through nearly 2 full bottles of Rolaids in the past month, but they told me the dexamethasone would do that.

The shot sites for the Repronex have large red rings around them the size of silver dollars and they feel sore like someone punched me there for 2 days after each shot.

Other than that, about all I’m getting out of this whole experience is the pleasure of waking up every morning with a yammy full of sticky E2V from the suppository I have to insert every night.

I’ll know more tomorrow afternoon. I have my first ultrasound (after the baseline that is). We’ll see if I have miraculously managed to grow more than the 2 follicles I’ve gotten on every other cycle I’ve done (which were all turned into IUIs instead because of the low response).

This clinic says they won’t cancel the cycle even if I do only get a few follicles. And they do PGD first so, at least we’ll have a good idea of where we stand at transfer. And who knows? I may get lucky.

If I’m totally honest with myself though, here’s how I see this going down:

I’ll get 4 or 5 follies (I’m hoping at least, since I’m on more than double the stims I’ve ever done plus acupuncture twice a week). They’ll ICSI them all and 1 or 2 will reach acceptable blast stages but the doctor will warn me that they're not really "good" eggs, they're just barely sufficient. They’ll implant just fine (since I had no problem getting pregnant on my own last July) and I’ll have a miserable 2 week wait that eventually shows a very low beta and slow doubling times. About a week later I'll start throwing up every 20 minutes (like the last time) and within days, I'll miscarry due to chromosome problems.

We’ll do this again after a month off with pretty much the same results. Then I’ll finally feel OK about moving on to donor eggs and that will be that.

Follitism. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

What's it all about Alfie?

2005-04-15T17:06:00.000-05:00

PLEASE DONATE

We need your help.

Please join us for the annual pee drive at Camp Menopause!

All women past child-bearing age are invited to come eat, drink and urinate into special gold plated bowls for an entire fun-filled weekend.

Yes, that’s right! We need YOU – or more specifically – your urine!

Cause what you got in there is worth a fortune.

So come on down and bring your friends!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Seriously, ever wonder where they get the stuff they use to make follitism drugs? The package insert says it’s derived from the urine of menopausal women.

??

Have you ever seen an advertisement asking for such women to come donate? Or do you suppose they steal it? Hmmm…

I imagine dark corners shrouding clandestine pay offs to people who work in nursing homes. Furtive glances around when they exchange cups of pee for envelopes of cold, hard cash.

I mean, really. Where do they get it?

This and many other questions lurking in my head as I commence injecting 10 vials of this stuff into my body every day for the next 10 days…

A Little Addition to Yesterday's Rant

2005-04-13T20:40:00.000-05:00

FUCKING BRITNEY SPEARS

Do I make you RANTY?

2005-04-11T13:26:00.000-05:00

I haven’t slept well since last Wednesday and I’m not sure why. I have so much tension between my shoulder blades it feels like someone stuck a knife in there and every 20 minutes or so gives it a good twist. So, I’m a bit grouchy today and need to vent. Here’s my big list of things that are pissing me off. For today that is.

Cashiers who are TOO FUCKING NICE in the grocery store and other retail venues. You may think you’re being sweet by complimenting every freakin person in your line but TRUST ME, it’s a blue fucking T-shirt dear. Not the next Versace J-Lo Grammy dress. And Oh By The Way. It takes a special type of person to pull off wearing hotpants. She is not one of them. Simply “lacking in atrocity” is not a fashion statement. Stop talking and ring up the damn groceries (since you obviously cannot do both at the same time). YOU may have nothing better to do with your time but I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE.

Drivers who are TOO FUCKING NICE on the road. When you stop suddenly and without warning to let someone walk across the street in the MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, do you even stop to think for a second that every car behind you has to slam on their brakes and spin out into the other lane in order to avoid hitting you and/or the car in front of them? And when you have the right of way to turn right and I’m sitting across from you waiting to turn left, JUST MAKE THE FUCKING TURN. Don’t sit there and wave me through, smiling like an idiot the entire time, then start to go at the same time I do, then stop again and wave me through again and repeat the entire process three times. If you had just made the damn turn, we’d both be through by now. There is this handy list of rules for driving CALLED LAWS that have been developed for a purpose people – to keep everyone on the same page! When you’re driving, surprises usually = accidents. If we all simply follow the damn rules, everyone will know what to expect and there’ll be no “surprises.” Okeydokey? Okeydokey?

Dumb Cunts. Yeah, I said it. It needed to be said. This is the type of woman who gives the rest of us a bad name. You know the type. The ones who either play dumb or wallow in self-pity looking for everyone else to tell them how wonderful they are while they demure. For the love of God, please, just shut the fuck up.

People who “just can’t eat” when they’re stressed. Fuckers. I hate ‘em.

Nicole Kidman for being an ugly, no-talent bitch who married well and whose face is now everywhere I turn. That is all.

So, tell me… What pisses you off enough to want to slap someone?

Where's my Gold Medal?

2005-03-31T16:14:00.000-05:00

You’ll all be happy to know that I have the heart of an Olympic athlete. You’d never know it to look at me though. A soft and chewey middle not unlike the Pillsbury Doughboy shrewdly disguises my superior athletic conditioning. But that’s probably just because of the McDonald’s fillet o’ fish I ate last night, or the oatmeal and raisin cookies I stuffed into my face this past weekend.

Shut up. Thighs like this don’t just happen you know. You have to work at eating just the right amount of sugar and fat to achieve such succulent, rippling sweetness.

So, I have sinus bradycardia. Dr. Google has conflicting info on just how serious this is though, so anyone who knows more than the basics about it please let me know. So far, I’ve cleverly discerned that it’s when you have a resting heart rate below 60. Mine is 55. Apparently at 50, serious fun ensues (like syncope and dizziness). Outside the athletic example, most people are this low only while sleeping.

Which confirms my father’s lifelong contention that I’ve been walking around in a coma my entire life.

It’d be just my luck to die of a heart attack delivering this kid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is it just me or is this new doctor going a little overboard with the tests he ordered for my first IVF? To date, I’ve had the basic 732 blood and hormone tests plus:

Rubella Titer (I get this one. Measles during pregnancy=bad)
Hep BSAg and Hep Cab (thanks to Getupgrrl, I know about this one now)
Chest X-Ray ?
EKG ?!
Mammogram
Pap Smear
Ureaplasma
A medical clearance note from my doctor
A prostrate exam
just seeing if you're paying attention

I was happy to see that my blood pressure is still nice and low (108/62) considering the anxiety attacks I have nearly every night lately.

I also went in for a sonohysterogram yesterday. Got there and they didn’t seem to know what it was. Despite my patient tutelage, they showed no signs of wanting to learn either.

I had called several places to find one who actually performed these things last week. I had qualified this lead people. They assured me they did the procedure and made an appt for me. Got there and they started to prep me and I heard one of the nurses say I was there for a vaginal ultrasound. I asked her why they told me to drink 32 ounces of fluids 1.5 hours before this procedure if it was vaginal.

Nurse #1: You’re here for a pregnancy ultrasound?

Me: [thinking] Tchyeah. I wish. Hey, could ya pull that knife out of my gut? I’m sure you’ll be needing it in the near future. You’ll have to stop twisting it first though...

Me: [out loud] Uh, no. A sonohysterogram. See the doctor’s order there?

She studied the form, consulted with the technician, then they both left the room. Another nurse came in.

New Nurse: You’re here for a hysterosalpingogram? You need to go to Radiology then.

Me: Not a hysterosalpingogram. A sonohysterogram. See the doctor’s orders there?

New Nurse: Is that an ultrasound?

Me: blink.

Her: Blink

A full hour later, Nurse #1 came back in and informed me that they don’t do this procedure but was kind enough to offer me the phone number of a hospital in the ghetto that performs them if I really wanted it done.

I thanked her, wrote the number down, calmly dressed and poked her in the eye with my pen as I sashayed gracefully past her.

Then I hit Micky D’s for my fillet o’ salmonella.

Because nothing beats salty, deep-fried fish when you feel that primitive, homicidal urge to strangle someone.

Who Pissed in my Wheaties?

2005-03-30T10:53:00.000-05:00

So my due date was March 27th. We had company this weekend in the form of Ed's sister, BIL and their gorgeous baby boy who will be 2 in July. I picked him up a few times thinking, why not me? But I did not cry once this weekend. I just refused to let myself go there.

On another cheery note, a friend who knows of my infertility struggles has invited a group of people to see Spamalot on B-way on the same day that happens to be my 42nd birthday.

One of those friends is a woman who miscarried the same time I did last summer. She'll be 6 months pregnant by then.

The friend who invited us all knows all about my struggles but it doesn't seem to register with her as she tells me how sorry she feels for her other friend who just went through 2 IUIs and finally got pregnant (this would be the one who starved herself down to a size zero by replacing meals with cigarrettes). Poor H and Poor A - they suffered so much with their miscarriages last summer.

What the fuck?

Just because I didn't whine about it constantly, it wasn't just as painful for me?

I don't even want to celebrate this birthday let alone be in NYC with a pregnant woman who miscarried the same time I did.

I just don't.

It's absolutely gorgeous weather today for the first time in months and yet I'm feeling pretty pissy about this upcoming birthday.

I start Lupron on Saturday.

Goodie for me.

The End is Nigh....

2005-03-28T13:41:00.000-05:00

So . . . how was your Easter? I for one am happy to have learned that Jesus, who died for my sins, was resurrected because HE WANTS me to be happy. JEEZUS WANTS me to have that MER – SAY- DEEZ Benzah! He gave me and the rest of mankind the Earth to do with whatever we want because he WANTS US TO BE HAP-PEE!

That’s right. He wants me to go forth and procreate but he’s not gonna make it easy.

No no NOO.

He’s gonna make me work for it. And then he’s going to destroy the Earth anyway because we’re all doomed. Does the word “Rapture” mean anything to you?

Dig this:

" . . . Welcome to the Rapture!

There are millions of Christians who believe the Bible is literally true, word for word. Some of them—we'll come back to the question of how many— subscribe to a fantastical theology concocted in the nineteenth century by two immigrant preachers who took disparate passages from the Bible and wove them with their own hallucinations into a narrative foretelling the return of Jesus and the end of the world. Google the "Rapture Index" and you will see just how the notion has seized the imagination of many a good and sincere believer (you will also see just where we stand right now in the ticking of the clock toward the culmination of history in the apocalypse). It is the inspiration for the best-selling books in America today—the twelve novels in the Left Behind series by Christian fundamentalist and religious- right warrior Tim LaHaye, a co- founder with Jerry Falwell of the Moral Majority.

The plot of the Rapture—the word never appears in the Bible although some fantasists insist it is the hidden code to the Book of Revelation—is rather simple, if bizarre. (The British writer George Monbiot recently did a brilliant dissection of it and I am indebted to him for refreshing my own insights.) Once Israel has occupied the rest of its "biblical lands," legions of the Antichrist will attack it, triggering a final showdown in the valley of Armageddon. As the Jews who have not been converted are burned the Messiah will return for the Rapture. True believers will be transported to heaven where, seated at the right hand of God, they will watch their political and religious opponents writhe in the misery of plagues—boils, sores, locusts, and frogs—during the several years of tribulation that follow.

I'm not making this up. Like Monbiot, I read the literature, including The Rapture Exposed, a recent book by Barbara Rossing, who teaches the New Testament at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and America Right or Wrong, by Anatol Lieven, senior associate at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. On my weekly broadcast for PBS, we reported on these true believers, following some of them from Texas to the West Bank. They are sincere, serious, and polite as they tell you they feel called to help bring the Rapture on as fulfillment of biblical prophecy. To this end they have declared solidarity with Israel and the Jewish settlements and backed up their support with money and volunteers. [italics added]

For them the invasion of Iraq was a warm-up act, predicted in the Book of Revelation, where four angels "bound in the great river Euphrates" will be released "to slay the third part of man." A war with Islam in the Middle East is not something to be feared but welcomed—an essential conflagration on the road to redemption. The last time I Googled it, the Rapture Index stood at 144—approaching the critical threshold when the prophecy is fulfilled, the whole thing blows, the Son of God returns, and the righteous enter paradise while sinners will be condemned to eternal hellfire. [emphasis added – got your attention yet?]

What does this mean for public policy and the environment? Listen to John Hagee, pastor of the 17,000- member Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, who is quoted in Rossing's book as saying: "Mark it down, take it to heart, and comfort one another with these words. Doomsday is coming for the earth, for the nations, and for individuals, but those who have trusted in Jesus will not be present on earth to witness the dire time of tribulation." Rossing sums up the message in five words that she says are basic Rapture credo: "The world cannot be saved." It leads to "appalling ethics," she reasons, because the faithful are relieved of concern for the environment, violence, and everything else except their personal salvation. The earth suffers the same fate as the unsaved. All are destroyed.

How many true believers are there? It's impossible to pin down. But there is a constituency for the End Times. A Newsweek poll found that 36 percent of respondents held the Book of Revelation to be "true prophecy." (A Time/ CNN poll reported that one quarter think the Bible predicted the 9/11 attacks.) Drive across the country with your radio tuned to some of the 1,600 Christian radio stations or turn to some of the 250 Christian TV stations and you can hear the Gospel of the Apocalypse in sermon and song. Or go, as The Toronto Star's Tom Harpur did, to the Florida Panhandle where he came across an all-day conference "at one of the largest Protestant churches I have ever been in," the Village Baptist Church in Destin. The theme of the day was "Left Behind: A Conference on Biblical Prophecy about End Times" and among the speakers were none other than Tim LaHaye and two other leading voices in the religious right today, Gary Frazier and Ed Hindson. Here is what Harpur wrote for his newspaper:I have never heard so much venom and dangerous ignorance spouted before an utterly unquestioning, otherwise normal-looking crowd in my life.... There were stunning statements about humans having been only 6,000 years on Earth and other denials of contemporary geology and biology. And we learned that the Rapture, which could happen any second now, but certainly within the next 40 years, will instantly sweep all the "saved" Americans (perhaps one-half the population) to heaven....

But these fantasies were harmless compared with the hatred against Islam that followed. Here are some direct quotes: "Islam is an intolerant religion—and it's clear whose side we should be on in the Middle East." Applause greeted these words: "Allah and Jehovah are not the same God.... Islam is a Satanic religion.... They're going to attack Israel for certain...." Gary Frazier shouted at the top of his lungs: "Wake Up! Wake Up!" And roughly eight hundred heads (at $25.00 per) nodded approval as he added that the left-wing, anti-Israel media—"for example, CNN"—will never tell the world the truth about Islam. According to these three, and the millions of Americans they lead, Muslims intend ultimately "to impose their religion on us all." It was clear, Harpur wrote: "A terrible, final war in the region is inevitable."

You can understand why people in the grip of such fantasies cannot be expected to worry about the environment. As Glenn Scherer writes in his report for the on-line environmental magazine Grist, why care about the earth when the droughts, floods, famine, and pestilence brought by ecological collapse are signs of the apocalypse foretold in the Bible? Why care about global climate change when you and yours will be rescued in the Rapture? Why bother to convert to alternative sources of energy and reduce dependence on oil from the volatile Middle East? Anyway, until Christ does return, the Lord will provide.

Scherer came upon a high school history book, America's Providential History, which is used in fundamentalist circles. Students are told that "the secular or socialist has a limited resource mentality and views the world as a pie…that needs to be cut up so everyone can get a piece." The Christian, however, "knows that the potential in God is unlimited and that there is no shortage of resources in God's Earth.... While many secularists view the world as overpopulated, Christians know that God has made the earth sufficiently large with plenty of resources to accommodate all of the people."

While it is impossible to know how many people hold these views, we do know that fundamentalists constitute a large and powerful proportion of the Republican base, and, as Anatol Lieven writes, "fundamentalist religiosity has become an integral part of the radicalization of the right in the US and of the tendency to demonize political opponents as traitors and enemies of God and America"—including, one must note, environmentalists, who are routinely castigated as villains and worse by the right. No wonder Karl Rove wandered the White House whistling "Onward Christian Soldiers" as he prepared for the 2004 elections. I am not suggesting that fundamentalists are running the government, but they constitute a significant force in the coalition that now holds a monopoly of power in Washington under a Republican Party that for a generation has been moved steadily to the right by its more extreme variants even as it has become more and more beholden to the corporations that finance it. One is foolish to think that their bizarre ideas do not matter. I have no idea what President Bush thinks of the fundamentalists' fantastical theology, but he would not be president without them. He suffuses his language with images and metaphors they appreciate, and they were bound to say amen when Bob Woodward reported that the President "was casting his vision, and that of the country, in the grand vision of God's master plan."

That will mean one thing to Dick Cheney and another to Tim LaHaye, but it will confirm their fraternity in a regime whose chief characteristics are ideological disdain for evidence and theological distrust of science. Many of the constituencies who make up this alliance don't see eye to eye on many things, but for President Bush's master plan for rolling back environmental protections they are united. A powerful current connects the administration's multinational corporate cronies who regard the environment as ripe for the picking and a hard-core constituency of fundamentalists who regard the environment as fuel for the fire that is coming. Once again, populist religion winds up serving the interests of economic elites.

The corporate, political, and religious right's hammerlock on environmental policy extends to the US Congress. Nearly half of its members before the election—231 legislators in all (more since the election)—are backed by the religious right, which includes several powerful fundamentalist leaders like LaHaye. Forty-five senators and 186 members of the 108th Congress earned 80 to 100 percent approval ratings from the most influential Christian Right advocacy groups. Not one includes the environment as one of their celebrated "moral values."

When I talk about this before a live audience I can see from the look on the faces before me just how hard it is for a journalist to report on such things with any credibility. So let me put on a personal level what sends the shiver down my spine.

I myself don't know how to be in this world without expecting a confident future and getting up every morning to do what I can to bring it about. I confess to having always been an optimist. Now, however, I remember my friend on Wall Street whom I once asked: "What do you think of the market?" "I'm optimistic," he answered. "Then why do you look so worried?" And he answered, "Because I am not sure my optimism is justified."

I'm not, either. Once upon a time I believed that people will protect the natural environment when they realize its importance to their health and to the health and lives of their children. Now I am not so sure. It's not that I don't want to believe this—it's just that as a journalist I have been trained to read the news and connect the dots.

I read that the administrator of the US Environmental Protection Agency has declared the election a mandate for President Bush on the environment. This for an administration:
· that wants to rewrite the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and the Endangered Species Act protecting rare plant and animal species and their habitats, as well as the national Environmental Policy Act that requires the government to judge beforehand if actions might damage natural resources;
· that wants to relax pollution limits for ozone, eliminate vehicle tailpipe inspections, and ease pollution standards for cars, sport utility vehicles, and diesel-powered big trucks and heavy equipment;
· that wants a new international audit law to allow corporations to keep certain information about environmental problems secret from the public;
· that wants to drop all its New-Source Review suits against polluting coal-fired power plans and weaken consent decrees reached earlier with coal companies;
· that wants to open the Arctic Wildlife Refuge to drilling and increase drilling in Padre Island National Seashore, the longest stretch of undeveloped barrier island in the world and the last great coastal wild land in America;
· that is radically changing the management of our national forests to eliminate critical environmental reviews, open them to new roads, and give the timber companies a green light to slash and cut as they please.

I read the news and learned how the Environmental Protection Agency plotted to spend $9 million—$2 million of it from the President's friends at the American Chemistry Council—to pay poor families to continue the use of pesticides in their homes. These pesticides have been linked to neurological damage in children, but instead of ordering an end to their use, the government and the industry concocted a scheme to offer the families $970 each, as well as a camcorder and children's clothing, to serve as guinea pigs for the study.

I read that President Bush has more than one hundred high-level officials in his administration overseeing industries they once represented as lobbyists, lawyers, or corporate advocates—company insiders waved through the revolving door of government to assure that drug laws, food policies, land use, and the regulation of air pollution are industry-friendly. Among the "advocates-turned-regulators" are a former meat industry lobbyist who helps decide how meat is labeled; a former drug company lobbyist who influences prescription drug policies; a former energy lobbyist who, while accepting payments for bringing clients into his old lobbying firm, helps to determine how much of our public lands those former clients can use for oil and gas drilling.

I read that civil penalties imposed by the Environmental Protection Agency against polluters in 2004 hit a fifteen-year low, in what amounts to an extended holiday for industry from effective compliance with environmental laws.

I read that the administration's allies at the International Policy Network, which is supported by Exxon-Mobil and others of like mind and interest, have issued a report describing global warming as "a myth" at practically the same time the President, who earlier rejected the international treaty outlining limits on greenhouse gases, wants to prevent any "written or oral report" from being issued by any international meetings on the issue.

I read not only the news but the fine print of a recent appropriations bill passed by Congress, with obscure amendments removing all endangered species protections from pesticides, prohibiting judicial review for a forest in Oregon, waiving environmental review for grazing permits on public lands, and weakening protection against development for crucial habitats in California.

I read all this and look up at the pictures on my desk, next to the computer —pictures of my grandchildren: Henry, age twelve; Thomas, ten; Nancy, eight; Jassie, three; SaraJane, one. I see the future looking back at me from those photographs and I say, "Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do." And then the shiver runs down my spine and I am seized by the realization: "That's not right. We do know what we are doing. We are stealing their future. Betraying their trust. Despoiling their world."

And I ask myself: Why? Is it because we don't care? Because we are greedy? Because we have lost our capacity for outrage, our ability to sustain indignation at injustice?

What has happened to our moral imagination?

On the heath Lear asks Gloucester: "How do you see the world?" And Gloucester, who is blind, answers: "I see it feelingly.'"

I see it feelingly.

Why don't we feel the world enough to save it—for our kin to come?

The news is not good these days. But as a journalist I know the news is never the end of the story. The news can be the truth that sets us free not only to feel but to fight for the future we want. The will to fight is the antidote to despair, the cure for cynicism, and the answer to those faces looking back at me from those photographs on my desk. We must match the science of human health to what the ancient Israelites called hochma—the science of the heart, the capacity to see and feel and then to act as if the future depended on us.

Believe me, it does.”

Excerpt from “Welcome to Doomsday” by Bill Moyer
Read the complete article here http://www.nybooks.com/articles/17852

What do you think?

The “Everything Happens for a Reason” Discussion

2005-03-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

In deference to blogland’s latest flurry of hurt feelings and flaming drive-by comments, I’d like to insert this caveat here: This post deals with highly-controversial topics. The intention here is to open a meaningful discussion, not to start a nasty, self-righteous blogwar. If you are a person for whom religion plays a huge part in your life, be advised that you will probably find me highly offensive. If you choose to stick around and join in any discussion that ensues, please remember that it’s ok to have different opinions here – it’s just not ok to attack another commenter personally. Defend your position thoughtfully and you’ll always be welcome here no matter how different your opinion is from mine or the general population of commenters.

Please don’t quote “the Bible” here. I’ve actually had the opportunity to read the oldest Bible in existence and I can tell you with assurance that it makes no mention of Heaven, Hell, Jesus or Satan or any so-called grand master plan, and unless you have also taken the time and effort to study “the Bible” in its purest, unadulterated form, that’s a door better left unopened here.

Other than that, I’d like to invite all commenters to speak your mind and take up as much space as you want with your comments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear God,

I don’t know if you noticed the state of affairs down here lately, but in case you’ve missed it, we’re in a world of poo and we desperately need your help. We sure could use another Joan of Arc or Buffy type of chick to help us sort through things. The Middle East is a mess, the President of the world’s only Superpower is a bit of a nutter and it seems like all the wrong people are in power across the globe. Oh, and by the way, while you’re at it, could you please explain to me why it is that, in your grand design of things, I’m simply “not meant” to have my own child, while crack whores and pedophiles and Andrea Yates are allowed to? I know that Andrea is psychologically ill and all but . . . that’s exactly my point. What makes someone like her more deserving than I? Did you really think she’d be a better parent that I? Were her children really better off being placed in that environment rather than maybe being spread around to those of us here in Infertile Hell, where they’d be loved and well-educated, taken care of and well, still alive?

In other words, what the fuck are you thinking?

Thanks very much,
Susan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stopped praying to God to let me have a baby a long, long time ago. In fact, I’ve stopped praying to God in general because, while I’m sure some sort of higher being exists, I’m just as convinced that this entity, while probably highly amused at our antics here on Earth, is largely unconcerned with the average every-day goings on in most of our individual lives. At least I hope It is. If whether or not I (indeed, any of us) can conceive is truly the consequence of a grand scheme involving scales of justice that measure punishment or being deserving, then, well, no wonder the world is in such an utter state of chaos today.

Over the years I’ve had discussions with people about all the supposedly “taboo” topics: sex, politics and religion, just because that’s the kinda chick I am. Miss Mixitup. My general conclusion regarding religion usually is that most “intellectuals” today have decided to take what they perceive to be ‘the best’ of many religions or beliefs and combine them into something that works for each of them.

[By “intellectuals” I mean people who routinely take the time and effort to really study more than one side of an issue and to form their own autonomous thoughts about it, not those who have merely adopted a certain mindset because it’s what their parents believe or because it’s what they’ve always been taught; people who in general don’t accept things at face value but who look for the deeper meaning in what they see and hear and who then go out and explore other facets of such topics for the pure academic challenge and enjoyment of it all.]

I’ve always been intrigued, and truth be told, a little put off by the vehement support for or denouncement of religions by people who became whatever religion they were based purely on how their parents raised them. How you can be so sure that your way is the right way, regardless of the fact that you never took the time to seriously even consider any other way, is astonishing to me. Just look at the Middle East and tell me if that is really the way you want to live your life. Religious fanaticism and passionate defense of the same doesn’t seem to have worked well for them over the last few centuries. With the internet and advent of very time-efficient travel methods, the world seems a much smaller place today and therefore what used to be an interesting (if horrifying) thing to watch happen “over there” has suddenly been brought to our own front doors. That’s not the only thing that makes me question religion for religion’s sake.

This whole Terry Schiavo ordeal for example really makes me wonder how her parents sleep at night. Self-described devout Catholics, these people feel that removal of the feeding tube is playing God. I submit for your consideration that putting the tube in in the first place was playing God. How can they not see that?

The Catholic church released a statement today that there was a moral obligation to re-insert her feeding tube and that “removal of the tube is essentially euthanasia by omission.” If one really believes in God and all the precepts of Catholicism, then wouldn’t pulling the tube out and letting God decide if she lives or dies be the more “moral” way to decide her fate? Exactly what is wrong with letting God truly make the decision? And what, if not this example, does it take to make people understand that there is a major difference between prolonging life and prolonging death?

And what about Terry herself? Has she no voice in this matter? Her husband insists that she stated many times that she would not want to be kept “alive” in this manner. Patricia Heaton (Everybody Loves Raymond) weighed in on the debate last night on TV stating that starvation is a cruel and unusually punishing way to “force” this woman to die. Ironically, it is apparently through self-starvation that Terry arrived in the state that she is in today.

Yep. She was bulimic.

She consciously chose to starve herself to the point where her potassium levels were so low that she was in a state of hypokalemia. Once that happened, she suffered a seizure, then respiratory failure, fell down and went into a coma. There is some debate whether it was the fall, prior broken bones (the abuse allegations were found to be completely unsubordinated; anyone with severe bulimia or anorexia is at risk for persistent broken bones due to the fact that such poor nutrition destroys your bones and all your other support systems) or the respiratory failure that caused her subsequent brain damage. However it occurred, starving the brain of oxygen for very specific lengths of time results in severe brain damage. The doctors have repeatedly stated that Terry is in a persistent vegetative state. Her parents contend that all she needs is to “come home and get some therapy.”

Really? I understand not wanting to give up on your child but this marginalization of Terry’s condition seems more like denial and not rational consideration of the facts.

In any case, their contention begs the question: if “some therapy” is all that was required, why hasn’t it been tried already? The sad answer is, I suspect, that it has been tried and failed.

To further complicate matters, in what appears to be a severely hypocritical move, President Bush stepped in and signed a federal law that would effectively prolong this poor woman’s death on Monday.

“In 1999, then-Gov. Bush signed the Advance Directives Act , which lets a patient's surrogate make life-ending decisions on his or her behalf. The measure also allows Texas hospitals to disconnect patients from life-sustaining systems if a physician, in consultation with a hospital bioethics committee, concludes that the patient's condition is hopeless…

“While Congress and the White House were considering legislation recently in the Schiavo case, Bush's Texas law faced its first high-profile test. With the permission of a judge, a Houston hospital disconnected a critically ill infant from his breathing tube last week against his mother's wishes after doctors determined that continuing life support would be futile. [italics mine]

"The mother down in Texas must be reading the Schiavo case and scratching her head," said Dr. Howard Brody, the director of Michigan State University's Center for Ethics and Humanities in the Life Sciences. "This does appear to be a contradiction."

Brody said that, in taking up the Schiavo case, Bush and Congress had shattered a body of bioethics law and practice.” [William Douglas, Knight Ridder Newspapers 3/22/05]

Hmmmm. . . this isn’t the first time W has been contradictory in his mandates though.

“President Bush,” states Dennis Miller, “against abortion but for the death penalty. Guess it’s all in the timing, eh George?” I guess so.

Another thing about religion that bothers me (please visit thisgirl for her insightful post that started the ramblings of this one in my head) is how celebrities get up on stage and thank God for letting them be the winner of whatever award they’re accepting. Do they really think God gives a rat’s ass who wins some self-aggrandizing award?

And what about the whole Joan of Arc story? Are we really of such simple minds and principles that we truly believe that God gave a teenage girl special powers and information so that the French would win the war? Really?

The idea that God would condone such an act of war, let alone choose sides, is just so preposterous…

In any case, I have to wonder why people feel that God has nothing better to do than to be wrapped up in their day-to-day petty bullshit, like winning an award for example or granting me the man of my dreams on a timely basis, a promotion, a longer life for ourselves or for someone we love, or even a baby, with all that is happening in the world today. If he/she/it really has nothing better to worry about then we truly are all doomed.

Prepare for Armageddon people.

Post-Coital Babble, harbingers of doom for, oh at least an hour today.

Looks like we're a go

2005-03-18T12:01:00.000-05:00

So, I got my period today. That means I need to find some place that does 3rd bloods on a Sunday. In Connecticut. They don’t even let you buy liquor here on Sundays. You think they let you suck blood for chrissakes?

If all goes well, I’ll be taking birth control pills until April 1st, when I’ll be starting my shots. They’re aiming for a retrieval date of 4/25.

They say they won’t cancel a cycle because low responding (only 1 or 2 follies) or because of high FSH. They may have to cancel if E2 is way too high. Those are the 3 reasons I’ve had every single cycle canceled to an IUI in the past. Knowing that only the E2 could be a problem, this looks like I will finally, after 2 years, be experiencing my first retrieval.

Anyone who has been through it and feels like sharing – now’s the time to talk. I don’t like surprises so I’ll appreciate as much detail as you want to share. They do it under general anesthesia so I’ll be out for about 15 minutes they said. Will I be able to function the rest of that day or should I plan for a day off?

Details women!

Did you hear the latest?

2005-03-11T14:38:00.000-05:00

I heard a friend say the other day that in the South, there’s an unwritten rule that women can say just about any awful thing they want about another person (usually another woman, natch) and as long as you follow it with, “the poor dear” you’re not really being a nasty bitch. This concept appeals to me on several fronts, not the least of which is that it allows me to engage in salacious gossip without actually admitting to myself just what a wretched gossipmonger I really am. Unfortunately, I’m much better known for getting “Manhattan” on your ass than I am for the genteel Southern approach.

Speaking of juicy gossip, yesterday I touched on a little blog war that’s spiraling around lately. Seems some folks feel others are getting “cliquey” and others seem to not understand what a serious breech of proper conduct it is to impersonate another blogger.

The clique stuff has been beaten into the ground, I think. I am so sad that I missed it though because such bickering always makes my nipples hard. Very exciting.

I get my own share of bickering on a weekly basis though so I still manage to keep my spirits high. I seem to have a unique way of writing that apparently makes people think I’m being snarky when I think I’m being cute. Maybe this says more about my pathetic sense of humor than my writing style….or vice versa. In any case, I usually manage to piss someone, somewhere off with something that I never intended to be malicious.

But I’m such a “life is good”* type of person that anyone who knows me in real life (or “meatspace” courtesy of a commenter at TNO. Love it. Stealing it!) understands how to ‘read’ me. It’s those poor, unfortunate folks who don’t know the divine me in real life who take me the wrong way. Pitiful souls. Which is why starting my own blog was such a good idea you see.

Elsewhere, a woman who has a child was caught impersonating Getupgrrl a few months ago – a matter which Grrl expeditiously cleared up on her blog and thought the matter settled. However, someone who apparently missed the ‘clearing it up’ post was recently badmouthing Grrl on another site, calling her a fraud, etc. (I’m giving this person the benefit of the doubt here that she missed the post because the alternate explanation clearly is that she is a cognitively impaired, self-absorbed, interpersonally vacuous ninny.**) I sincerely hope that any of you who see anyone saying such things about Grrl sets this person straight. She really needs some help in seeing the error of her ways, the stupid bitch, er I mean the poor dear.

And as for the original impersonator, what type of person feels the need to do such a thing anyway? The idea of someone stealing your words and passing your clever sense of style off as their own is enough to piss anyone off. Some bloggers (like me, clearly) just post entries off the top of their heads, like a daily journal. Others, however, take time out of their lives to develop posts that define their identities to their readers. Getupgrrl is a well-known and highly-respected persona. She performs some serious research into her subjects and makes even the most complex or sensitive topics hilarious, even to those of us who aren’t nearly as smart as she is. To have that hijacked is an affront to all that is good about blogging. Dooce experienced a similar phenomenon.

Imitation, it has been said, is the sincerest a form of flattery. Heck, I’ve been known to knock off Grrls’ style a time or two myself. She’s just too good to resist sometimes (case in point). But I try to give credit where credit is due.

And though I didn’t get to read what this bitch had the nerve to say on Karen’s blog, I’d like to think that when her comments were deleted and she was notified to knock it the fuck off, Karen and Grrl (both the sweet, genteel sort I'm sure) got just a little Manhattan on her ass.

*You know that stick figure who is usually in a boat or something on a T-shirt with “life is good” written below it? Yeah, that’s me. Or was before I gained 30 freaking pounds living the life is good motto through food and lounging but that is another story. These days, me – a stick figure? – eh, not so much.

** Stolen directly from Chez Mis, complete with brisk foot tapping.

Hey, Jealousy

2005-03-09T17:12:00.000-05:00

A good song from the 80's. Apparently also a new sentiment circulating among infertile bloggers regarding the Vagina Posse.

Well, so I've asked before how one goes about asking to meet other bloggers in real life without seeming creepy.

No one responded.

Thanks for nothing, you punks.

Anyway, these chicks started off on the same page - all infertile bloggers. Then some of them met in real life and now they're really good friends. They're not all in the same boat anymore - some actually have been lucky enough to procreate, others are on their way to happy families in one form or another. Good for them!, I say.

I could use some friends like that. Especially the type of friends that Tertia and Julie seem to be. You can call me asshole or you can caaaall meeee Al.

So, in the interest of starting my own little posse:

Hear ye, hear ye! Calling all infertile and or otherwise cooler than your average chick bloggers in the NY metro area!

I would like to start my own "Vagina Posse" only call it something else. Unfortunately Dykes on Bikes and Chicks with Dicks are both already taken. Plus is it just me or do they seem exclusionary to men? Anyway...

Can we come up with a name and list each other on our websites? Not to compete with the VP, but in celebration of the sisterhood they created. Of course, it doesn't have to be chicks only but I wouldn't want Eddie to think that I was soliciting emails from other men - know what I mean?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a side note:

Ed and I just moved to a new area and we don't know any other couples who might be interested in the same things as we are. Even if you don't have your own blog or want to start a VP, if you are a couple who is looking to expand your friendship circles, and you live in the NYC metro area, drop me a line. We would love to meet people like us. Mostly because we're so freakin likable. (Is that like-able or lick-able? Just kidding you wiseguys!)

Anyway, herein is our ad then:

Ubercool couple into boating along the NY/CT coast (and possibly as far as Block Island or Nantucket depending on how big the boat we end up getting is), red wine and Cranium looking to spend some quality time with like-minded couple. Non-smokers preferred. No swingers thanks; we don't share. Just looking for good fun with upbeat, generally open-minded people of substance. Sense of humor and tolerance of occasional potty mouth a must. Weekend barbques, walks on the beach, arm wrestling and conversations about Nietzsche. Ok, so I'm just kidding about that last bit. Who walks on the beach these days anyway? Oh, somebody stop me!

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2005-03-07T10:23:00.000-05:00

THE GOOD

No work

65 degrees vs 25

Being with the love of my life and his absolutely divine daughter

The Venitian Hotel in Las Vegas (if you stay in one of the towers, which I highly recommend, you skip the really, really long check in/out line and you get a huge suite and private garden and pool area)

No snow

Wearing sandals (yay! Ihate socks and shoes let a lone freakin boots!)

Fabulous food. If you’re ever in LV, I recommend Olive’s at the Bellagio. The water show there is cool! Skip Michael Mina’s though. The food was good, but the prices were outrageous and that’s coming from someone who is used to NYC prices. They charged $48.00 for 3 sushi-sized pieces of fish and had the nerve to call it an entrée.

O. Cirque del Soleil always puts on a good show and I’ve certainly seen my share of on- and off-broadway shows but this was beyond spectacular. I would even go so far as to say if you’ve never been to LV, do try to get there and see this show before it’s done.

The Grand Canyon. We took a helicopter ride down to it and had lunch in there. What a marvelous way to see the Canyon. It was worth every penny.

Did I mention - NO SNOW!!?

Learning to trot and then canter on a horse

Coming home again

Seeing my puppies again

Being alone again (even for only an hour while Ed was dropping J off)

THE BAD

United Airlines. Boycott them! They will ruin your vacation.*

Spending the first night of our vacation in the shit hole otherwise known as New Jersey instead of a luxurious hotel in Las Vegas.

RAIN. No kidding. I go to the DESERT people, and it rained the entire time, except for about 2 days.

David Copperfield. Paid over $300 for tickets to see him and he only did about 7 tricks, one of which involved a video tape of him supposedly in the Caribbean. We’re supposed to believe that he was there because he had SA written on his arm by some “random” lady in the audience.

Everyone in Vegas apparently smokes.

The Ugly

Me on a red-eye flight. No sleep, no shower and bitchy.

Getting my period on vacation. Not only for the obvious reasons but because I’ve finally decided to go with the Sher Institute for one cycle with my own eggs and now that I’ve missed getting my 3rd day bloods done, I have to wait an entire freaking month.

Boogers. Hard, dry, bloody snot. Like someone spent the night shoving glue up my nose that hardened into little stalactites and stalagmites inside my cavernous sinuses. I’m still digging that shit out.

*Why United Airlines SUCK ASS. They overbooked our first flight and refused to ask anyone else if they would give up their seat (we only needed 1) for us. They suggested we drive over 100 mph to Newark, NJ to catch the last flight of the day there. We missed that flight by 30 seconds. Even though they knew we were coming and had been checked in and had our tickets in hand, they still closed those doors. So we had to take an alternate flight the next morning. They told us we were in first class to make up for all the trouble they caused us. WE WERE SEATED IN ECONOMY INSTEAD.

Then the fuckers had the nerve to almost leave without us again. Our flight arrived in San Francisco and we SAT ON THE RUNWAY for over half an hour. We only had 40 minutes to catch our connection and they didn’t have a gate ready for this flight. We watched as several other planes landed near us and pulled up to gates though. The stewardess kept telling us not to worry. That it was someone’s job to know that we were sitting on that plane and to hold the other one for us. We got off that plane and literally RAN THE ENTIRE WAY to catch the connecting flight to Vegas and the steward had the nerve to act like he was doing us a favor by holding the door open as we ran down the hallway. I was spitting blood and hyperventilating into a barf bag for the first 20 minutes of that flight.

ROFLMAO

2005-03-01T14:01:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I hate those stupid acronyms, especially LOL because it means laughing out loud and people tend to put it at the end of a sentence which, while clearly deserving a wink, would not be funny enough to make one laugh out loud.

Jeesh. Get with the emoticom program people. How we ever managed to write books for centuries without them is a mystery to me.

Anyway, I'm working on a vaction post but in the meantime wandered over to Dooce and found this little tidbit of a story that has me crying. No really. If I wasn't so self-possessed, I really would be rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.

;o)

You gotta love a grandpa who speaks his mind:

A priest I know had been a priest for, oh, maybe a year, and he was going to do a baptism. He was talking to the family while he was getting ready, and in the course of the conversation he found out that the new parents were first cousins. So he jokingly said, “I hope she doesn’t have six fingers!”

Sure enough, she DID have six fingers on each hand. They were all quiet for a little bit. Finally the grandfather slapped the priest on the back and said, “Well, let’s go baptize the little mutant!”

Out of the oFfice

2005-02-19T09:09:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I have to be out of town for about 10 days but I WILL be checking my comments.

This is the most important decision I have to make right now so please continue to leave comments on the Sher Institute for me.

I really appreciate all of your help!

Susan

A little help please

2005-02-16T16:15:00.000-05:00

I'm about to pull out all the stops and go for an IVF cycle with my own eggs at the Sher Institute in NYC.

I'm in need of assistance. Anyone who has ever worked with them or knows someone who has worked with them, please tell me what the experience was like.

I really, really cannot afford to find out the hard way that these guys are all hype.

And I mean that literally and figuratively. I'm almost 42. I've been trying to just get to do one IVF for 2 years. Countless cycles were cancelled due to my high FSH though so I've never gotten to try IVF even once in the entire 2 years.

I NEED to know the honest to God truth here, be brutal please. Or be ecstatic. But tell me honestly how things went at Sher.

Thanks!

Back to Reality and the Miraculous Run On Sentence

2005-02-16T11:07:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here, almost but not quite doubled over with cramps heralding the arrival of yet another period - a week early even! At least I'll get it over with before we leave for vacation on Saturday. Of course with my luck, I'll just have the cramps now and won't start bleeding like a stuck pig until I'm straddling a horse somewhere in the Arizona desert, miles upon miles away from the nearest bathroom or anything even resembling a form of shelter to hide behind while I tend to the crime scene between my legs.

In other World News, I'm also bundled up in a blanket while the Heating technician tries, for the third time in as many days, to fix our damn heat.

The tank is full, the burner has been reset - several times, everything has been cleaned and vacuumed and tickled and talked dirty to even and yet it still refuses to warm the fuck up. Our heater and I, going through menopause together.

Goodie for me.

Susie and the Lucky Stone

2005-02-15T16:51:00.000-05:00

"There’s that crazy woman again. She’s certainly an odd duck.”

That’s what I imagine the people next door were thinking this morning. The “child-free” couple who have a pair of Airedale dogs and, if last night’s conversation is anything to go by, apparently plan their lives around said pooches.

Me: Ooh! Doggie – you’re nose is cold!” as the dog runs up behind me and snuffs his snout up my crotch. I turn and see Phil holding the other end of the leash. You’d think he could train these dogs just a teensie bit, no?

Him: We’re out for our walk now.
Me: …Okay. Well have a good one.
Him: The Westminster is on tonight.
Me: ?
Him: The dog show. And Airedale starts with A.
Me: uhh…
Him: So we can’t stick around. Got to get back or we’ll miss the best part.
Me: Alrighty then. Don’t let me hold you up! Have a good walk.

But it was morning time now and I could see them peering at me from their window.

“Kinda cold to be out there undressed and all,” they continue on in my imaginary conversation. “What do you s'pose she's up to?”

I was, after all, out there in my plush, new, cashmere, sage green bathrobe running frantically around our house checking every door.

You see, I had stepped outside to lift up my littlest snuffie, Pebbles, because she had hurt her back leg roughhousing on the hardwood floors the night before. She’s used to wall-to-wall carpeting you see. Considering that she was hit by a car when she was 5 months old and barely 3 pounds, this is one tough little doggie. So if she occasionally complains that her back legs hurt her (now at 5 years old), I try to do whatever I can to help her out.

Problem is, when I stepped out to lift her up, the door shut behind me. Until that moment I had not realized that, in addition to the dead bolt on that door, there was also a lock on the handle.

After cursing like a sailor and running around the entire house and checking every single door, I had returned to the back deck and was looking up at the house trying to decide which window was for the bathroom. Why I was looking at the back of the house is a mystery to me since the master bathroom faces the golf course but anyway….

Ed was in there getting ready for work and I thought, if I could just throw something light up there to get his attention without breaking anything, he’d come let me in.

See, I know now how crazy that must sound. But trust me, it was a good plan. Having discovered the day before that the doorbell does not work, this seemed like the best course of action.

So I looked down, scouring the landscape for a suitably small, light object to toss at the window and what did I see? This funky looking rock about the size of my palm but not quite the right color or shape to be a real rock. I went over and kicked it.

It jingled!

I picked it up and what do you think it was?

Yes indeedie. One of those fake rocks to “hide” keys in. The people we bought the house from had 2 kids - they must have forgotten they put that “rock” out there. What a delightful surprise for me though!

I confidently slipped the first key into the door knob, then the second. Neither worked. So I went to the next set of doors. The key appeared to have a bump in the top while the keyhole had a bump in the bottom, so I skipped that door and ran to the front.

Again, I raced frantically around the entire house trying to fit those damn keys into any freaking hole that would work.

Did I mention that I was carrying my shivering little Yorkie the entire time? And that our other dog was following us, yapping and nipping at my feet (she thinks my slippers are toys), enjoying the sport of it all?

Oh, the site I must have made. Which is why the neighbors think I’m crazy of course.

I finally found myself back at that backwards handled door, the one I went to second but didn’t think the keys would work because of the odd bump. Well, they worked. I ran upstairs to find Ed still in the shower (that man takes the longest showers ever! – I’m talking 20 minutes or more sometimes. I’m maximum 10 minutes and that’s IF I shave!) and told him all about our morning adventure.

Anyway, I have to go now. I must go buy a lottery ticket.

Because that was just too lucky to not be a sign.

It’s 8:00 PM. Do you know where you kid is?

2005-02-14T12:15:00.002-05:00

Last night I took Ed out to dinner for Valentines Day. We were in the city shopping for rugs anyway (fat lot of good it did us. We ended up with what appears to be a rug with astonishingly varied shades of clown vomit in the end but that’s another story.)

We went to a place called Tamarind and I ate Indian food for the first time in my life. Yes, I know it’s hard to believe that I have reached the ripe old age of nearly 39 plus three without having ever eaten meat stewed in spices whose original purpose was to cover up the high probability that said meat was in fact rancid, but I digress.

I ordered an award-winning halibut with coconut cream and curry leaves dish while Ed ordered goat. As in the billy type of goat.

I’m not kid-ding.

Ahem.

After suspiciously eyeballing his meal for about 10 minutes I finally screwed up my courage and took a bite.

I’d like to tell you it tasted like chicken.

It did not.

It did however remind me of my grandmother’s pot roast. If gram had ever discovered curry and cordamom and somehow managed to spill an entire cup of it into the pan that is.

No, this time I am kidding.

It was delicious. And so was my meal, which says a lot. I, as a rule, do not like fish. It’s just too….fishy, you know? I mean, I can force down a really light, flaky fish – as long as it’s properly covered with bread crumbs, lemon, butter, white wine and capers or something. But then again, I can eat almost any meat cooked like that.

In fact, Ed had whipped us up some sole cooked like that on Saturday, right before a strange vehicle pulled into our driveway and the Coastal Chordsmen Barbershop Quartet got out, dressed elegantly in tuxedos no less. They handed me a dozen red roses and sang the most wonderful song, the lyrics to which were also written in the card from Ed:

Heart of my heart,
I love you.
Life would be naught without you.
Light of my life, my darling, I love you.
I can forget you never,
From you I ne’er can sever.
Say you’ll be mine forever,
I love you.

You see now why I had to cough up dinner on Sunday night, don’t you?

Last year it was a simple card exchange for us, having met only a year before (yes, on Valentine’s day no less. Another post is in the works on that one.) Suddenly this year he goes and gets all lovey dovey and creative on me and now I’m the baddie because all I did was get him a card.

Well, two cards. The first one was light and funny. I gave it to him last night and let him believe that was all I had actually done. The second one really said the perfect things about us as a couple, but I waited to give him that one until the time was right if you know what I mean. [This morning just as he hopped out of the shower all wet and smelling like shaving cream. Yummy!]

In any case, after dinner last night we were both pleasantly stuffed and reasonably content as we finished up our meal with a little darjiling for him and violet and mint tea for me and a delightful pistachio ice cream and sweetened cheese curd dessert. Until the bill came that is. I looked at it and saw to my horror that Ed’s dinner goat had a name. Rogan Josh. I found myself suddenly wondering if we were on Fear Factor and that guy Joe was gonna pop up and tell us the frightening list of things we just ate.

Luckily he did not. But poor Josh. He was such a good kid.

We returned home safe and sound to discover that the choice we had made in paint colors from the myriad of 2 x 2 swatches of Benjamin Moore test jars we had painted all over our dining room looked as good at night as it had in the morning sunlight. Viola! I give you Hemlock and Twilight Gold with crisp, white trim. Looks pretty beach housey to me (but naturally I cannot get the photos to load.)

Oh, and Ed? If you’re reading this today, you know how I feel but just in case, let me reiterate the words from my card:

I love you.
When?
When I hear you laugh.
When we share a secret.
When your eyes sparkle.
When we’re just us.
When we don’t have to talk.
When I watch you sleeping.
When you remember.
When I don’t have to explain.
When you walk into the room
When we are in a crowd.
When I’m by myself.
When you’re just being you.
When you make me giggle.
When I hear your heart beat.
When you reach for me.
Even when you’re not looking…
that’s when I love you.

Happy Valentine’s Day

And to everyone in blogland, here’s hoping that you share tonight with the love of your life, apple of your eye, center of your universe and that your dining arrangements do not include Fear Factor food.

When Clowns Go Bad

2005-02-11T11:05:00.000-05:00

Ed and I have very different decorating styles. If I could get this muthereffing website to accept any photos, I would show you what I mean.

I think we summed it up best one day when we were talking to the “colorist” who came to the house shortly after we moved in (as in about 12 hours after).

And, oh by the way, look who now has a colorist. (That’s me, feeling all hoity toity about such an absurd notion.)

Anyway, Ed said that I was a “study in beige” to which I replied that his place looked like a clown threw up on it. That pretty much sums us up.

He had the most godawful oriental rug on the floor of his place. I kid you not, it has EVERY SHADE KNOWN TO MAN on it. There’s fuchsia, bubble gum pink, sky blue, sunset orange, razzle dazzle raspberry, coral, desert rose, ravishing red, burnt peanut red, eggplant and bright violet in addition to all of the primary colors. Oh yes, and it only gets better from there. He had 3 tiffany lamps in jewel colors in the same room PLUS 2 of those hideous brushed chrome lamps that have Doc Ock arms and brightly colored glass shades at the end. And can we just talk about the 22 different photos or paintings he had on the walls too?

My place was more Country French; burgundy floral print on a gold background overstuffed fat chair and sofa, natural wood pine coffee table and armoire/entertainment center. If not for the bright peacock painting I got at a starving artist sale, there would have been minimal mixing of colors in that apartment, but I like it that way.

So we spent a weekend looking at oriental rugs. I was supposed to be “learning.”

Have you ever gone to a country fair and seen a glass display case with bees and their honeycomb inside it? From far away it looks like a simple brown block but as you get closer, you realize that the bees are all moving – crawling around, wings buzzing frantically, chewing, spitting, pooing or however the hell they actually make the honey. They’re creepy.

That’s how I feel about oriental rugs. Like they’re covered in bees. From far away, the colors can be kind of pretty and I think they can add a lot to a room. But up close, oh God! Up close, they look like they’re covered in colored bees all buzzing around frantically. Ugh.

I just don’t know how we’re going to work this out.

Our walls, which are a perfect study in beige right now (save the master bedroom, which is a lovely sage green), are fixing to be painted by the colorist. Turquoise and gold. Or as Benjamin Moore calls them, Nantucket Blue and Twilight Gold.

Fear for me, people.

Taking Aim

2005-02-09T08:33:00.000-05:00

To all of you lovely ladies who kindly use a handy dandy tissue toilette seat cover whenever one is available – Thank You!

To those of you who do not – please aim better!

Misery Loves Company

2005-02-08T14:14:00.000-05:00

I’m feeling snarky today and I’m not sure why.

This morning, while I was standing naked in front of the mirror getting ready to put my bra on, I looked at my sagging tummy and cottage cheese thighs and thought, “I hope B (my best friend) gets really, really fat someday.”

Well, that’s not entirely true. What I actually thought was, “Oh, MY GOD! Who stole my body and replaced it with Jabba the Hut’s? You’d never see a jellybelly like that on B – I hope someday she sees what it’s like to get really, really fat.”

What a bitch I am!

Where did that come from? Do you think it’s because she’s 10 years younger than I am and has what it takes to make herself work out every day – sometimes more than once a day (when she teaches a class on her lunch hour)?

I’m sad to say I think that’s it.

Yes, people, I really am this bitter and small. It’s beyond me why anyone talks to me at all.

Anyone who works out that hard deserves a perfect body, no? So why can’t I be nice about it and give props where props are due?

And why would I be wishing ill on my best friend of all people? Surely there are other people more deserving of my wrath. Cindy Margolis for example. Or Tara Reid for being, well, an oxygen thief? Or Paris Hilton just for being.

And why do I suddenly think, “Good, let them see what it’s like,” when I hear that someone else might have infertility issues? Uncharitable to say the least.

What’s next? Thinking, “Who didn’t see that one coming?” when I hear that J Lo is divorced yet again? Well, Ok. I think anyone would give me that one. Except for maybe the “Poriqua! Morena!” crowd.

[Oh, shut up already. If it’s PC you’re looking for you definitely made a wrong turn at Jersey. And you can’t say I didn’t warn you up front about the snarkiness today.]

With all this malevolence inside me, I wouldn’t be surprised to find festering boils of pus oozing from open sores all over my body, but no – still smooth and silky as ever. Rippling like Jello but no seeping pus.

Hmmm….

Oh, wait! Maybe it’s because I’ll be FORTYFREAKINTWO in 74 days and I’m STILL NOT PREGNANT! And cursing the universe because yesterday was day 12 of my cycle and I’m an early ovulator and Ed had a fever so high that he was prancing around like one of those famous Lipizzaner Dancing Horses during one of his hallucinations and whatever little spermies did survive that heat of volcanic proportions are probably chromosomically damaged to the point that even if I did manage to get pregnant this month, I’d have 2 headed babies. (Sorry for not telling you about that before, honey. But if it’s any consolation you looked really special in that pink tutu and rhinestone bit. I’ll show you the video when you’re feeling better.)

Even Courtney Love, strung out on smack and shacked up with a suicidal manic depressive managed to pop one out, but I am being denied this opportunity by - who? the God of fertility who apparently has better things to do than throw me a frickin bone? WTF?

So, let’s re-cap shall we? I won’t be pregnant next month, B will still be a hardbody, Cindy and Paris will still be vapid sperm receptacles and J Lo will probably announce her pregnancy any day now, what with her direct line to God and all.

At least Ed’s fever will have gone by then and we can sweep the hay off the bedroom floor.

Snarky, snarky, snarky

Yeah, It's Like That

2005-02-01T14:18:00.000-05:00

“Not too many properties can boast views of a golf course as well as water,” begins the article in the CT Post that came out the weekend after we put in an offer on our dream house…“This Neo-Victorian with today’s open floor plan built in 2002 located on a quiet cul de sac in -- does. Directly across the street from the -- Golf Course, the Housatonic River and Long Island Sound fill in the panorama, the sands of -- Beach only a short walk away.”

Yes, it is our dream house. We came, we saw, we offered and we closed. We moved and we lifted and we cleaned and we ached; then we soaked. The master bathroom has whirlpool tub built for two and after 2 days of trudging boxes up and down way too many freakin flights of stairs, it started calling to us as we walked by:

“Hey - you guys! Come on in! The water’s lovely! Really!”

And it wasn’t lying.

We filled the tub, added bath salts for our screaming muscles, some aromatherapy bubbles, popped the bottle of iced bubbly our RE Agent gave us and set out the oh-so-plush cashmere bathrobes she also gave as a thank you, and we hopped in.

Then we called her. Yup. We called our agent from the tub to thank her for helping us find the house of our dreams. Well, sort of. I mean – she didn’t actually help us find this particular house – we found it ourselves on one of our marathon open house days. But regardless, she took us to see over 200 houses; spent weekends and evenings and entire days with us just looking at houses. Yes, I know that’s her job but still – you have no idea how stressful it must have been for her to put up with an increasingly-surly me for over 7 months; for us to have put in offers on 3 places and either be out bid or just have the sellers be unreasonably demanding - [Case in point: they asked X, we offered Y, they countered with a mere X-$5k. Yes that’s five thousand dollars. We increased our offer by $150,000 and they came down another $45k. We walked away when they asked us to come up another $50k, not because they really needed the money or because they had already bought their next house – but because the guy worked on wall street and felt he could hold out for the price he wanted. Greedy fuckers. I hope their house sits on the market until pork bellies are traded in Pesos.]

Anyway, just when we decided to buy some piece of crap house (for nearly a million bucks mind you – welcome to Connecticut) and knock it down and build exactly what we wanted, we found this little gem of a beach house.

“The mahogany porch, which is underlined by a border of white lattice, rises above the street level like the observation deck of a ship, thanks to the gentle rise of the land. A slate walkway and stairs lead from the driveway to the porch, which is just the place for appreciating the house’s beautifully-landscaped front bed, the manicured greens of the golf course and the tranquil ribbons of water nearby.”

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

I feel like the luckiest woman alive today. Despite the fact that my period arrived on closing day heralding the news that I am yet another month closer to my 42nd birthday and still not pregnant.

Still. . . . it’s hard for me to be sad about that these days. Life is so good right now, I can’t even complain about the “nursery” that’s filled with J’s stuff until we can expand the garage and her bedroom out another 10 feet or so. Kind of like my heart….filled with J stuff and love for the man o my dreams and the life we’re building in this lovely house and no longer feeling like an empty room just waiting for a baby to fill it.

Yeah. It’s like that.

A new reality show?

2005-01-26T14:13:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting in my office eating lunch and listening to the music playing from the office next door. Sweet little Italian Guy who has got to be 3 days older than Jesus at this point and he puts on those groovy easy listening tunes.

Bobby Vinton’s "Blue Velvet" is playing. And before that it was Neil Sedaka’s "Laughter in the Rain."

People please. Why make the rest of us suffer through your demented 60s?

And, yes, for those of you wondering….I really can name that tune (and singer) in 2 notes. No one was more sad than I when Jeff Probst left VH-1’s Music Jeopardy for that shitty show, what’s it again?

Oh yeah, Survivor. Music Jeopardy went down the shitter after that.

You’d never catch me on a show like Survivor. Of course I’d win. But only because I’d have to kill every other person on that freakin island in the first 24 hours for pissing me off with their stupid shit.

My idea for a reality series is called Hunter! The idea is to take these smug assholes who enjoy killing an animal for “sport” and drop them by parachute into the water about 20 miles away from MY island. If they can get on, kill something and get back off without getting their pathetic asses shot to pieces by my own special ops guys who only win the million if they manage to protect everything on that island, well ok then, that’s what I call a sport.

You take the smartest living animal on Earth (man), arm him with a 12 gauge and pit him against, what -- a deer -- and that’s a sport? My neighbor’s cat is smarter than a freakin deer for chrissakes. At least he knows enough to run away when crazy Uncle Joey shows up with a shot gun.

Wildfire’s playing now - by Michael Murphy. I actually like that one.

And besides, all those special ops guys are going to need someplace to take out all their aggressions once the war is over not to mention the goodwill they’ll earn from PETA and vegans around the world by doing the show. It’ll do wonders to clear up their reputations as cold blooded killers and all.

And once everyone starts purchasing oil in Euros and the American Dollar shits the bed and our stock market collapses we’ll all be scrambling for a quick buck.

I’ll see you guys there. They’re going to need women to run things and be the judges after all. Otherwise it’ll be yet another sausage fest of testosterone. Course if enough of us are PMSing or on stims everyone will be dead. But that’s a different show altogether.

Oh and by the way, "It’s My Turn," Diana Ross.

Yeah. Maybe that’s what I’ll call the new show. MY TURN MOTHERFUCKERS only it’ll be about being infertile.

Oh, but that skinny fucking Cindy Margolis has already got herself a show about that, doesn’t she? It’s called "Inside Out" and it’s on VH-1. (And no, for those of you who are wondering, I really have no life and do nothing but watch VH-1 all night.) I tell you what - I’ve never seen a whinier bitch than this bitch. Cries like a baby when her husband gives her the stim shots. PUHFUCKINGLEEZE! What a baby. At least have the dignity to do your own shots, bitch.

I have to go now. Leo Sayer is serenading me now. Dos puntos for anyone who can name this drivel from Feb, 1977.

So, um, call me sometime

2005-01-20T02:39:00.000-05:00

What is the appropriate blogger etiquette for getting to know someone in the "real" world? There are 3 or 4 people I'd like to talk to in person, maybe even meet out for the occasional drink - just to commiserate on the tie that binds us together. Yet, I fear asking for it outright in case I'm viewed as a stalker or some creepy shit that the internet seems to gestate.

Every freaking bitch at this - our one big sales kick off, mandatory meeting of the motherfucking year - is pregnant or just had a baby.

Please, God, either kill me swiftly or give me a fucking baby because I can't take much more of this shit.

Life sucks right now and that says a lot coming from a "life is good" person.

I'm not asking for it to be me INSTEAD of these women. But why the fuck not ME TOO???

WHY!!!!!!!!!??????

The Big Book Of boyfreinds and Career Paths

2005-01-17T16:01:00.000-05:00

This post is probably far too long and boring for general consumption, but it springs from Ed’s befuddled bemusement every time I say to him or someone else, “I used to train dogs for the police force,” or “When I was modeling,” or “The Union Carbide Building is the largest concrete structure in the entire US, next to the Pentagon.”

I’ve begun to sound like Little Miss Know It All and wanted together put a timeline complete with caveats and asides so it all makes sense to him. Feel free to browse or skip entirely – I’m not kidding when I say it’s b-o-r-i-n-g.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the story of how you can get a degree in computer science and end up selling paint for Sherwin Williams, or as I affectionately call it:

How I started out studying Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry

at Yale and ended up selling IT security software

Listening to sweet J assert at the ripe old age of 9 that she wants to be an author and to illustrate here own books, I think back and wonder - at 9 years old, did I even know I had to eventually pick a career? I can’t remember having a cognizant thought about any one thing in particular that I’d like to spend 2/3 of my life doing but one thing is for sure, selling computer security products wouldn’t have made the short list.

My first real job (aside from my usual gig babysitting) was working in the bakery section of our local supermarket. My mom had just died the year before after a heartbreaking 4 year struggle with cancer and my dad married her best friend about 7 months later but that, in the first of many, is another post in itself. I was 16 but since my dad was very strict with me (another post as well) I wasn’t allowed to drive or date yet, so I bicycled to work 4 days a week. I worked very hard to put all the weight I would have lost in that commute back on by eating as many éclairs as I could stuff into my gaping maw during every shift.

To this day, I can’t even think about eating another éclair.

I did that until I graduated from a crappy little high school in a crappy little suburb of Dreary Erie, the mistake on the lake.

My first major was English/Pre-law at a crappy little University in Indiana, PA, succinctly enough called Indiana University of PA. I used to delight in strangers’ impressed confusion when they asked where I went to school and I said Indiana University, conveniently leaving off the “of PA” bit. I took English as the base versus Poli-Sci because I couldn’t stand Poli-Sci. Hmmm…should have been a big red flag on the whole wanting to be a lawyer thing, no?

That lasted 3 semesters. I changed schools and majors. After determining that it was really the writing part of being an English major that I enjoyed I became a journalism major. In retrospect, I should have stuck with that one. This transpired at a crappy little University in the crappy little town of Edinboro, PA called, ordinarily enough, Edinboro University, famous today for being where Sharon Stone was homecoming queen. I used to take delight in strangers’ impressed confusion when I’d answer ‘Edinboro’ and let them think of that other one in, where is it again? Oh yeah, Scotland.

Anyway, I had run off to Ocean City, Maryland to sell T-shirts on the boardwalk for a summer and had met a great Israeli family there who invited me to their house in NYC for Christmastime. Unfortunately, when I got there, I got mugged and lost all my money. When I called my dad to ask for some cash, he suggested I get myself a job. So I started working at Saks Fifth Ave selling Clinique makeup, then switched over to Lancome. I sold Linda Ronstadt a gold lip gloss from Estee Lauder while working there. It was a bit of fun.

In any case, that lasted about 3 semesters until I met a guy named Joe who was a computer science major and I spent more time helping him on his homework than I did on my own because learning to program something in BASIC language was, by this time, infinitely more interesting than doing yet another literary analysis on something written by the abysmally dull F. Scott Fitzgerald. (As far as I am concerned, The Great Gatsby is one of the most poorly-written and boring stories ever told. I know many of you will disagree, however I won’t be dissuaded. He was a pedantic old sot who not only ends sentences with prepositions, but his run-on sentences are far worse than even my own, if you can believe that one). Click on link and start reading at "The abnormal mind..." if you don't believe me.

During summer vacations these couple of years, I stayed at my uncle’s house and helped him train dogs for the local police force. It all began with a pit bull named Gonzo, but that again is another post.

So, that lasted, what? 3 semesters. Hmmm… If only I could have identified a pattern in all of this so I could have broken free from it all.

During this time, I had taken a job working part-time as a sales person in a men’s clothing store called Merry Go Round. You remember this stuff, don’t you? Members Only jackets, skinny ties, White Stag and Izod. Oh yeah! It was, after all, the eighties. I was quickly promoted to assistant manager, then manager, overachiever that I was. Heh.

In any case, Joe graduated (he was 2 years ahead of me, especially since I lost a shit load of credits every time I switched majors and schools). He got a job managing a Sherwin Williams Paint Store in Danbury, CT and asked me to marry him. Desperately wanting to get away from my dead-end job and controlling father, I said, “HELL YEAH!” and off we went.

I took a job as assistant marketing manager at a small firm that an ex IRS agent had started, designing charitable donation campaigns on behalf of a few religious organizations. After working there for 6 months I had developed a bond with one of the women who was a rather large contributor and who, through her volunteer work, procured pretty large donations from the community. She was always complaining that she needed help managing her time and money and wished she could find someone like me to help her. I suggested to my boss that we start such a service with this woman and asked her if she could give us a few names of other people who might also like our help managing their contributions, bill paying, etc. Within a few months, it was obvious that it would be a huge success.

The marketing manager was promptly fired and I took her place. I felt guilty about that until I started working 16 hour days trying to put some organization into the mess she had made of things. I started entering the donor lists on the snazzy new DEC computer system I had talked them into buying. As I sat there one night, wishing my boss was smart enough to let me hire the 2 data entry people I had asked for at about 6 bucks an hour to help me enter this stuff so I could get back to having a normal life, I realized that we were capturing a lot of really good information about people from their contribution sheets.

I came up with the basics of a program that helped us organize the lists of donors and once again approached my boss about starting another branch of the company managing and selling the lists of names and info generated with each campaign. He was skeptical about the whole idea but it was 1984 and telemarketing and list services had yet to become the industry behemoths they are today. Nevertheless, he let me run with it and I was once again the star – promoted to official “Office Manager,” which in retrospect seems like a demotion but since I got a Peugeot as a company car and he increased my salary to, like, a whole $28k (let’s keep in mind that I was barely 23 at this point), I thought it was a great deal!

So, this guy was now making over $2 million a year more with my two ideas than he was before I came on board and he gave me a shitty little $4k bonus. Still, for a girl who grew up in Erie, PA who was used to making minimum wage, that was a whole lotta money, lemme just tell you.

Are we keeping track here?

Babysitter, bakery girl, sales clerk, retail sales clerk, assistant manager, then manager men’s clothing stork, training dogs for the police force, assistant marketing manager, marketing manager, office manager. 11 jobs from 16-23. It only gets better.

It seems Mr. Ex-IRS Agent had pulled a few fast ones with the money from both the Sisters of Our Lady of Charity and the Sisters of Our Lady of Peace. They pulled their business, his reputation was shot and not only did the charitable donations portion of the biz fall apart, once the big donators heard what he had done, they pulled their biz and the money management part went south too. All that was left was the list management part. Unfortunately, I had done such a great job setting it up that all he needed to keep it going was a person to manage the computer system and software and a data entry person to keep the lists clean.

In short order, I became the most expensive person on his payroll and in a flash of astonishing short-sightedness I was let go.

In the interest of keeping this already way too long post short, I’ll summarize the next 10 years:

Broke up with Joe.

Was stalked by the brother of a friend of mine, who blew up my car and eventually broke into my place one New Year’s Eve, knocked me out with the butt of a sawed-off shotgun breaking 3 of my back teeth, carved his name in my arm with a razor blade and got away with it because his Aunt Martha was married to the chief of police in this crappy little town. (Again, another post altogether if I can even stand the thought of writing all that crap down, blech!)

Met Richard, a chiropractor. Traveled a lot with him, learned to SCUBA in Grand Cayman, drove nice cars (he's the one who got me the Porsche for Valentine's day), took a few lessons towards getting my pilot's license, but was basically bored.

Became a model in NYC. Lived briefly with the chick in the Robert Palmer Addicted to Love video who licks her lips; but I never was quite thin enough, tall enough or striking enough (because you don’t really have to be pretty – you just need to have a “thang” as we used to call it. Think Frederique, who in real life is so cross-eyed you'd think she was deformed or Claudia Schiffer, those buck teeth are hideous when not airbrushed out to a minimum) to make a living at it and crawled back to CT, tail between my legs, feeling like a failure.

I joined a temporary secretary firm and in a short time was making $20 an hour and had some cool experiences at places like Pepsi Co (talked to Michael J Fox in 1988 on the phone when we were putting together the first commercial ever to be seen in a movie theater for Bright Lights Big City, what a piece of crap that one turned out to be).

Worked as an office manager for 3 partners at KMG Main Hurdman (which later combined with Peat Marwick and Maine and is now KPMG) while they were the external auditors at the Union Carbide Facility during the infamous Bhopal Incident. Met people from around the world on that job. Very cool.

Became a Prudential Agent. Got my Series 7 certification so I could sell securities as well as insurance.

Real Estate Investor (haha –not really an “investor” - Richard would buy old houses and let me go in and completely renovate them and we’d sell them 6-8 months later for huge profits – Oh, do I long for the 80s. The music, the money, the big hair and spandex leggings with big sweaters and a fat belt – oh, wait.)

Richard also purchased several places as rental properties, one of which had a supermarket below, which I also rented out. So, add Landlord to the list.

Worked as a legal assistant to 4 women lawyers at another specialty chemical company called Olin corp.

Decided to finish degree and get PhD. in nutrition. Met with woman at Columbia U (one of only 2 Universities at the time on the East coast who offered a PhD. in nutrition). She laughed at me and told me to (1) get some experience in the health field and (2) go to a real school. When asked what constituted "real" to her she said one that was not run by the moonies and suggested Yale.

Started working in Richard's chiropractic office as his assistant and helping his mother, the nutritionist, develop plans for their patients. Noticed that the high protein/low carb selection at the deli I went to for lunch every day would always sell out too quickly leaving a long line of disgruntled patrons. Decided to start own restaurant targeting that niche. Didn't know what a trend setter I was becoming.

Beginning to feel like Forest Gump here…you remember how every trend seemed to be started by him from the smiley face to the just do it running thing, and how his face was in photos with everyone from the president to - whatever...and, well, you know what I mean.

Owning the restaurant allowed me to set my own schedule so I could accommodate the time changes that happened with every new semester and new set of classes. Major this time? A very ambitious Molecular Bio-Physics and Biochemistry (MB&B). Do you have any idea how much time you have to put in on a half credit lab to get a passing grade in this subject? I nearly killed myself with this schedule and hated every motherflubbing second of it.

In any case, arrogant doctor boyfriend told me he never wanted kids (I was now 30 folks and we had been together for 7 years, engaged for 4 with an 8 month break up in between, where I dated a guy named Paul who bought me a parrot. Yes, a parrot. But guess what? That too is another post AAAAHHHH!) and that if we ever had children I was to never ask him to help out with them in any way. He also told me that I was developing my own opinions (which I did not really have my own of apparently when I met him) and that he did not like that. I figured that I was going to keep having those pesky opinions and told him to fuck off.

About a year later he broke in and destroyed my restaurant. His best friend from High School happened to be the deputy chief of police in that crappy little town and he got away with it, from a criminal law perspective. I sued him personally and spent 5 years and $50,000 on it before his lawyer told me that even if I won, he was just going to claim bankruptcy on it anyway and I’d never see a dime. True to his word, he did just that.

And I now had huge debt, bad credit, no job, no school because I couldn’t afford it. Life sucked big, hairy donkey balls that year, let me tell you that. Started temping again and eventually started paying off my bills, getting offers for permanent jobs but couldn’t accept any of them because this time I was determined to graduate from school. The 11 freaking interviews I had to go through just to get accepted and all the essays I’d had to write – all the hard work on those labs in the summer – I just couldn’t let it all be for nothing. Plus I was beginning to see that if I wanted to start a family of my own, it may just end up being as a single mom. So I needed to get this degree. So I started bartending too.

Let me just tell you – that is some serious cash – bartending in NYC in 1995! Sometimes I made $1200 a week working just 4 nights. Woohoo!

I needed a better way to pay my rent so I became a live-in nanny to a woman who worked in Mexico. Her 2 daughters were 17 and 14 at the time. Desiree, the oldest, became a Prima Ballerina in NYC, I was so proud of her. The younger one became a bit of a brat so I won't put her name here. I took another nanny position to two small girls once the brat turned 18. Turned sour when I saw behavior bordering on abuse from the father and simply could not stay there. Nor did I feel right reporting him because then his ex wife would get the kids and let me just say here that there was apparently a very good reason why this dickhead was granted custody of those beautiful little girls and his ex wife was not.

So, I went back to temping a bit and was still bartending and began dating a new guy, also named Richard, but who went by Rick. (Years later when I realized that the last 4 guys I had dated, albeit very briefly, were all also named Richard in one form or another – Ryan Richards, Rich Bessle, etc) it became the big joke between my best friend and I. Whenever the guy would introduce himself as Rick, Richard, whatever, we’d say in unison – “Just another dick!” Sad but true).

I started working as a temp again and eventually became the nanny for one of the female pilot for Pepsi Corporation after her husband died suddenly of a heart attack.

That only lasted one year because, quite frankly, little boys are demons.

Started temping again and ended up eventually at Hewlett-Packard and was offered a permanent job so often with so much pressure that I eventually caved in and accepted. But not until they agreed to allow me to continue going to school during the work day (Yale doesn’t offer night classes, or at least they didn’t in 1996) and change my schedule every semester. Oh, and they had to pay for it too. They agreed. To everything. It would have just been crass of me to turn them down yet again.

Ok, still with me? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? We can now add model, office manager for one of the big 8 accounting firms, insurance sales, securities and investment sales, Real Estate whatever, landlord, legal asistant, chiropractic assistant, restaurant owner, nanny and many levels of marketing assistant for a fortune 10 company. That's 11 more jobs. And there's still more to come! Yesindeedie.

Got promoted several times within the marketing dept of HP, but then they went and split their medical business away and formed Agilent.

They decided that they would not continue to pay for me to get what was essentially a pre-med undergrad degree unless I worked for Agilent. I tried but couldn’t find a job there that would let me finish school on my terms. So I stayed with HP and switched my major. Much to my chagrin, the only thing I could switch to without losing nearly all of my MB&B credits was Women’s Studies because under this major they allow you to develop your own minor. I chose Bio-Medical Ethics as my minor and transferred all my MB&B credits in to cover that. Liked the Women’s Studies portion enough that I thought once again about becoming a free lance author, writing great cutting edge stuff about women’s issues at some very esoteric magazine in NYC. Should have stuck it out.

Unfortunately, took a series of sales jobs so that I could make some serious money and ended up here, today, addicted to the great money but bored out of my mind for the most part, spending a full day writing this post instead of doing my damn job.

(For the record, Ed, those other misc jobs were director of marketing for ISmart and Enterprise Sales for Government Technology Solutions in DC, then Assistant Director of Marketing for Instinet.com – where Marie (my old boss from HP) created the position specifically for me so that I would move back to NYC and they paid me $85k to basically work 20 days, Trend Micro, Finjan and finally where I am now. Oh, and during this time, I had been dating Garrett but we broke up for good after the third time he told me he had to give his marriage one more chance, even though his ex wife was living with another man.

For any bloggers who had whatever it takes to sit through and read this entire freakin thing – I’ll be in Sunny San Francisco for the rest of the week with little opportunity to blog. I’ll be back next weekend though!

Have a good week!

Tipping is not a city in China

2005-01-13T17:39:00.000-05:00

So, is it just me or does it seem like everybody on Earth expects a tip these days - just to do their freakin job?

The guys who hand wash and dry my car? They deserve a tip. Hard, thankless work and probably for very low hourly wages. I'm happy to drop a few extra dollars into their bin, even though I just forked over $25 bucks for a car wash. And they still leave my windows streaky. But anyway...

I go to Starbuck's and there's a tip jar on the counter. Ok, so the person who actually has to stand over that hot machine in the summertime making me a Grande Decaf Carmel Machiatto deserves a little something extra. But the schmoe at the counter is already making nearly $10 bucks plus bennies (yes, I asked) to take my money. I think this person is already adequately compensated for the level of service provided.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not grousing about tipping in general. When service is outstanding, I think it deserves to be rewarded. And when it is not, I think it needs to be addressed, in the form of a lower tip and perhaps a conversation with the person to let them know why.

I just don't see how doing the bare minimum required by your job entitles you to a tip.

I used to be in the restaurant business so I tend to be a high tipper up front. There are times when I'll tip 30% or better if a waiter or bartender gives me great advice on some really nice wine or even if he/she just has a certain flair in presenting of the bottle for opening.

I always start the tip meter at 20% and it can go up or down depending on service.

Service being the key word there.

Why am I being asked to tip someone at Dunkin Donuts for example? What level of service is involved in pouring me a cup of coffee or handing me a muffin? Or at a bagel shop? I'm already overpaying for the coffee there and I'm supposed to tip someone for tossing my pre-cut bagel into a toaster and spreading some butter on it? Really?

The other day, the woman who owns the bagel shop by me actually had the nerve to make a comment about it. She was making idle chitchat with the guy in front of me who handed her the exact change for his purchase. She said, "Bless you. You know, God is so good for answering my prayers. Just yesterday I was praying that the girls would start making more money in tips so they could have better lives. And today everyone is tipping at least a dollar." The guy sheepishly pulled another dollar out of his wallet and dropped it into the jar. WTF?

I nearly choked. How dare she suggest (in such a manipulative manner no less) that we should feel compelled to tip an extra dollar for a $3.00 purchase?

I was so peeved, I didn't even drop the 23 cents change I usually have into the tip jar. See you in church, honey.

You know, I used to think it was kind of amusing when you waded into the bathroom of a nightclub, tiptoeing in the 1/2 an inch of water overflowing from the toilettes and found a person sitting at the counter, stoned out of his or her mind (yes folks, in NYC the chances of it being a trannie who was better looking that 98% of the women in there were higher than it being a real chick) offering you a papertowel or a stick of gum and expecting a dollar in return.

I said kind of amusing.

Last week I saw a tip jar in one of those gas stations along the highway. You know the ones - where you pump the gas yourself, then go inside and help yourself to a drink and walk up to hand your money over to a guy who inevitably can't even speak English? Even he had a tip jar! How was he going to provide me with any kind of service at all when he could barely understand what I was asking him?

I just think this whole thing has gotten really out of hand. What's next? A tip jar at the vending machine that sells stamps in the lobby of the post office?

I mentioned this to the lady in line behind me at the bank and she agreed with me. We had a nice little chat about her cute shoes. Then we got up to the front of the line after having waited for 20 minutes of our lunch hour for the one teller who was still working to help us - and there was a tip jar!

Ok, so no, I'm exaggerating. But just you wait.

Never a borrower or lender be

2005-01-12T21:49:00.000-05:00

Now I know what that ubiquitous "they" mean.

So, I only have a few minutes to get this down. Afterall, Nanny 911 is on and I've been packing oh so diligently for 10 freakin hours.

I am so pissed at my best friend for stealing my idea for opening a "Bed and Biscuit" (doggie day care). She moved to West Palm Beach 2 years ago, found the first guy who would marry her and did so within 7 months of ever setting eyes on this guy. So, whatever, that marriage will last about as long as my hopes of having my own bio child did. Fuck it. But she stole my goddamn idea and I'm pissed about it.

On another note, I also hate BM. A "friend" who borrowed $1400 about 5 years ago when she was out of work so she could pay her rent. Her parents were in a bad state, dad diagnosed with lung cancer from years of smoking, mom trying to pay the bills on a million dollar house in Cape Cod just because they needed to say they lived there and she couldn't borrow another red cent from them.

So I stepped up to the plate, though in a manner that suggests being tied down and roped like a bucking bronko whose balls had just been tied tightly into a rubberband and stuck with a hot poker. She called me while I was on a business trip, from my home office where I was paying the little bitch $20.00 per hour to "get me organized" and asked me if she could write herself a check for the $1400 and sign my name. Ok, so I had already offered to loan her the money before, and she had always said no. Might as well loan her the money, however it needed to happen. After all, $1400 wouldn't make or break me and it would make a HUGE difference in her life.

So, I loaned her the money and she proceeded to go on 2 vacations a year for the past 5 years without paying me back. She had given me a check for $180.00 once but it bounced. Then she stopped speaking to me. She stopped speaking to me!

As if I were the one who had done something wrong. Fucking bitch!

In any case, she's moving to Florida to live with her parolie boyfriend who has been to jail not once but twice for embezzlement.

Oh yeah, he's a catch.

So, she paid me off last month. Finafuckingally paid me off. And suddenly she wants to be my friend again. Left a vm saying she wanted to get together for drinks.

Well, she can kiss my fat white ass.

More later.

Follow up to the Circumcision Debate

2005-01-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

As some of you may have seen over at A little Pregnant, there was a heated debate raging over circumcision. I had stated that in my personal opinion, the strongest reason to circumsize was because of the high association between not circumsizing and HPV and Cervical cancer (which I contracted, probably from my uncircumsized fiancee at the time). A few of the anti-circ crowd became very emotional and cited something supposedly posted on the American Cancer Society's website from 1996. Needless to say, that data, if it existed, would be quite outdated. It does not, however, exist. Instead of continuing the argument there, I promised that I would take the argument over to my own blog so as to stop the viciousness on Julie's site.

I had asked Dr. G to help me find some empirical data on sites that could be accessed without subscriptions and he finally posted something over on Julie's site.

I doubt that many will actually see his comments though since I assume that people rarely go back and look at a comments section after several new posts have been added.

Ed, thank you for this. I know you didn't feel well this week and it was late when you got it done but the effort is so appreciated - even more so in light of all the info you have so diligently pulled together.

Below are the comments he posted on Julie's site:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cautiously I wade into the shallow end of this topic of male circumcision, leery of the treacherous currents waiting to suck the unwary down the slippery slope of blogdom into the whirlpool of online opinion-mongers... Hmmm, the water seems rather hot.

As the foregoing posts show, opinions abound about the justification or lack thereof for circumcision. Unfortunately, some people seem so heavily invested in their position that half-facts and innuendo seem to be ruling the day. I don’t mean this as a slam, just an observation that while everyone is entitled to an opinion there should be a dividing line between one’s personal feelings on the topic, and the reasons for that opinion. So, I will cite my data for you and show you why I think that it is better to circumcise than not from a medical perspective. If you care about credentials (which you really shouldn’t in this case), I am a Ph.D. at Yale doing research on cervical cancer cell lines containing the human papillomavirus so I do have a passing knowledge of cancer, HPV and the medical literature. Susan asked me to weigh in this topic and I’m sorry that it has taken me this long. Before I post the info, I want to impress upon you that no scientific study is perfect and that a critic can always find something wrong. The issue is, is it wrong enough to invalidate the conclusion or just a cautionary note?

1). As larissa posted before there is a recent study in the New England Journal of Medicine showing that circumcision provides protection against HPV infection in general and protection of the monogamous female partner from cervical cancer. HPV comes in over 100 types and only a few types are actually associated with cancer (cervical, vulvar, penile, anal and some head and neck tumors). HPV is very different than HIV (which causes AIDS). Here is the link:

http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/abstract/346/15/1105

[Editor's note: here's the conclusion of the study for those who don't have the time to read the whole thing: Conclusions Male circumcision is associated with a reduced risk of penile HPV infection and, in the case of men with a history of multiple sexual partners, a reduced risk of cervical cancer in their current female partners.]

And here’s a good synopsis:

http://www.cancer.org/docroot/NWS/content/NWS_1_1x_New_Study_Shows_Benefit_of_Male_Circumcision.asp
According to this large study, being circumcised reduces HPV infection some 63% in the man and cervical cancer some 68% in the woman. If I told you that having your kids' tonsils out would reduce their own infection rate and cancer in their lifepartner would you even hesitate to have the procedure done? The NEJM is an excellent medical journal and every article is peer-reviewed before publication. In fact, most uncircumcised scientists would happily get circumcised if it helped to get their papers accepted...

2). Elizabeth asserts, the American Cancer Society position in 1996 was that "Research suggesting a pattern in the circumcision status of partners of women with cervical cancer is methodologically flawed, outdated, and has not been taken seriously in the medical community for decades."

First, this statement does NOT appear on the ACS website NOW and googling this phrase only pulls up vitriolic anti-circumcision websites that are apparently quoting each other. Hmm... Even if the ACS actually wrote this letter, 1996 is just too long ago in this rapidly advancing field to place much merit on those dated opinions, especially when hard evidence to the contrary exists.

If you look at the Current ACS site and search for “circumcision” you will find the above link favorably reviewing the 2002 study showing a link between cervical cancer and circumcision and also describing the benefits of reducing male infant urinary tract infections. Now the ACS does say “Whether circumcision is a risk factor [for penile cancer] is a controversial issue.” in another section of their website but see the following study which clearly evidences a major effect for invasive penile cancer:

http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/full/105/3/e36

3). The National Cancer Institute is probably the gold standard for any discussion concerning the accepted state of the art in cancer research and treatment and they show a likely inverse association between circumcision and penile cancer.

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/pdq/treatment/penile/HealthProfessional

4). Male urinary tract infections are also about 9 times higher in uncircumcised males:

http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/full/105/4/789

5). Circumcision reduces the chance of getting HIV (yeah, that’s right, AIDS) some 8 fold, at least in India

http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(04)15840-6

Admittedly, the chances of getting penile cancer or a serious UTI as an infant are pretty low so you have to ask yourself if performing 900 circumcisions to prevent one invasive tumor or hospital visit with a UTI is worth the downside for you and your son. Personally, I see few negatives with circumcision and a number of possible benefits that may or may not ever matter for me or any boys I might make (but then again my parents made that same decision for me so maybe I’m biased?). While we might want to believe that our children will always be responsible with their sexual decisions wouldn’t you be willing to inoculate your child with some magic vaccine that had the above properties JUST IN CASE? So why the fuss over snipping off some unnecessary skin? Would you be as concerned over someone piercing their infant daughter’s ears?

Apparently It Does NOT Make a Difference

2005-01-06T01:17:00.000-05:00

In case you were wondering, it did not work. None of it makes a difference.

Not the drinking of the NasTea (thanks to Em for that endearing term)
Not the acupuncture for 4 months now
Not the "relaxing"
Not the going on vacation
Not the 10 day abstinence (or obstinence as Ed calls it)
Not the doing it every other day
Not the doing it in the morning
Not the "being positive" because let me tell you that after having 4 follicles last month and an FSH of only 6 this month, I was fucking positive that this was my month.

I was wrong.

Oh, who am I kidding? None of this shit is going to work.

I'm done.

I'm going to spend the next few months losing some freakin weight and getting skippy with the idea of a donor egg cycle for my big 4-2.

Fuck this shit.

New Year’s Resolutions

2005-01-05T20:39:00.000-05:00

I’ve never been able to keep a single resolution I’ve ever made even though I typically set my goals rather low. This year, I thought I’d go for some really lofty achievements in the hopes that by fulfilling even one of them, I’ll feel a sense of accomplishment. Wish me luck people, I’m going to need it.

1. I will not log on to Chez Miscarriage until I have done at least 2 hours of work (otherwise I get sucked into reading every comment and checking every blog linked to them and end up having to stay late to actually do my work).

2. I will not go on a single diet.

3. I will however do a minimum of 30 minutes of cardio 3 times a week [beginning in February once we’re moved in and have actually purchased said equipment].

4. I will not use #3 as an excuse to eat double-sized portions.

5. I will no longer return George Clooney’s phone calls. He only calls for self-affirmation anyway. Besides, I’m taken. He’s just going to have to get over me.

6. I will try not to detest people who play the victim, nor will I preach to them about how much more fulfilling it is to recognize that it’s how we react to life’s challenges that makes us who we are, not the challenges themselves.

7. I will stop watching reality TV.

8. I will stop kidding myself about my ability to do #7.

9. I will no longer buy paintings of flowers or peacocks at starving artist sales.

10. I will set aside one 4 hour period every week to write my books.

11. I will screw up the courage to tell Ed that we need a new comforter set; one that doesn’t scream to the rest of the world that Laura Ashley has made him her bitch.

12. I will get my television news exclusively from Jon Stewart.

13. I will start a vacation fund so that every few years I can take an absolutely spectacular vacation.

14. I will dare my friends and family to learn, to love, to live like they just found out they have only 1 year left to make the most of their lives.

15. I will try to do the same.

Keep your hands off my nuts!

2004-12-29T22:52:00.000-05:00

Riiiiing....

Me: Hello?
Him: Hi. I'm doing laundry. I'm not wearing any pants.
Me: Oh, wait - I have to get to the bedroom for this.
Him: So how was your day?
Me: blah, blah, blah
Him: But you're so great. They don't really appreciate you, etc, etc.
Me: Well, there's no point in denying it, I am a goddess. So anyway, have fun this weekend [thinking, "...in Maine. With your sister and her sick 15 month old child. And your 9 year old daughter. On New Year's Eve yet." Heh heh. Now you know why I'm not going]
Him: Yeah, somehow I don't think the $150 per "couple" first night will be appropriate for J (the 9 year old).
Me: No? She's not into Champagne?
Him: Uh, no. . . what are you doing?
Me: I'll be in NYC. . .
Him: Oh really?
Me: . . .with my cousins. . .
Him: WHICH cousins?
Me: Uh, S and A.
Him: Oh? . . . Oh! [knowingly] . . . going after that Chinese girl in the dream cousins?
Me: Yeah - THOSE cousins.
Him: hmmm...Wanna trade? [slyly]
Me: Yeah, like you'd have fun in a lesbian bar. Oh. Wait.
Him: Ha...ha....hey....What's that?
Me: ..... ummm, nothing [crackle, crackle]
Him: - that - what are you up to?
Me: [caught so red-handed at this point it's futile to deny] Uh, those would be your nuts honey.
Him: My nuts? My NUTS? You're eating my cashews and macadamia--
Me: They're not macadamias. They're called something else...
Him: They're macadamias and my father could be dead next year and you're eating the last Christmas gift he ever gave me? [not quite incredulous, just sooooo busting my chops]
Me: Um, yeah. [crunch, crunch...munch] that would be those...them...er, I was dead then (thank you Eddie Izzard).
Him: Is this what you really need right now--
Me: Yep. [thinking, "heh so much for the diet"]
Him: --macadamia nuts?
Me: They're not macadamias, they're something else...
Him: Does it say on the bottom, "One handful = cottage cheese thighs?"
Me: HAHAHAHAH!!! Oh, baby. I am SOO far beyond that by now -
Him: Eating my macadamias --
Me: They're not macadamias -they're called something else....
Him: ....They're not brazilian nuts. . .
Me: YES! THAT'S what they're called - Brazilian nuts. Macadamias are small and round.
Him: Those are Hazelnuts -
Me: NO! YES! Hazelnuts are small and round too but these are decidedly not. They're long and skinny and brown like toes (editor's note - deleting really bad name for what someone I used to know called them)
Him: They're macadamias, and you're eating my nuts.
Me: They're not. And I'm not.
Him: You are.
Me: I'm not eating your brazilian nuts....I'm eating your cashews and really enjoying them too....mmm, mmmm, mmmm [crunch CRUNCH] Do you hear that?
Him: [incredulous gasp]
Me: Munch, crunch.
Him: Stop.
Me: What's it worth to ya?
Him: You're a nut whore, that's what you are.
Me: Yeah, I'm a nut whore.
Him: Keep your hands off my nuts, you nut whore!
Me: BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Have fun this weekend. Wish I could be there....heh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And for the record folks - macadamia nuts versus brazil nuts.

Enough said.

Keeping up the front entrance for company...

2004-12-28T17:39:00.000-05:00

I went away without telling you that I was going on vacation. I abandoned you, left you hanging, in the lurch really, dumped and deserted you. Forsaken you for another. Or is it forsook?

In any case, muffins, I’m back. Sorry to leave you hanging with nary a word about being gone for so long but I simply ran out of time before we left. Went to a little peninsula an hour or so North of West Buttfuck, to visit Ed’s familyfor the holidays. Oh, what a delightful time we did have.

His sister and BIL have a 15 month old boy who has to be the most beautiful kid on the face of the Earth, even when he’s blowing snot bubbles out his nose and bleating non stop for 10 days straight (well, he was sick after all). No, seriously. I’m not joking. As soon as I figure out how to get this FREAKING blog to accept my photos without giving me an error half way through, I’ll post them and you will then be believers too. Makes me want to have this man’s genes more than ever I tell ya. Not only is he smart, but his family makes delicious kiddies.

In any case, Cricket, I never meant to shirk my duties, evade my responsibilities, dodge my chores or shun my obligations. And I’m dying to tell you about our frolicking, cavorting, gamboling even. I’m delighted that you are even intrigued by it all.

So, the entire time we’re there, we’re still on East Coast time and waking up around 4 am. Nothing much to do there on normal hours, let alone at 4 am. We’d talk for a few hours and then end up getting busy, makin bacon, boffing yet. Thumping, hooking up, knocking boots, bumping uglies, playing doctor, churning butter, sliding, or my personal favorite, making copies.

But only every other day per my ACM doctor’s orders. He’d be so happy to know that we were doing it all in the morning too. The last 3 months, he’s suggested that I just try it. Claims it really does make a difference.

But, please. Knocking on the door of my girlie parts while they’re half asleep, hair still in curlers, not even had their morning coffee…well, let’s just say that it takes them a long time to wake up. You’d have better luck talking Tammy Faye down to just one coat of mascara than you would getting the girls up and party-ready before noon.

Ladies – admit it – you know what I mean. Morning sex just sucks. Or blows.

[Funny how both those terms have come to mean that something is really bad…especially when men really seem to love getting both.]

In any case, on the very day that I finally adjusted to the 3 hour time change, we were of course up bright and early and heading to the airport. I pulled down the visor to block the blinding sun and caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. Ever the humble one, I said:

Hey! Check me out. I’m looking cute today. All bright eyed and bushy tailed.
Him: You might consider waxing for that bushy tail.
Me: Oh, I am so blogging that one.
Him: Uunhh! You always make me sound mean.

Anyway, it made me think of Laura Knightlinger, a very funny lady who is now dating Jack Black (why? I’m afraid we’ll never know. Let's just say that the generosity of women never ceases to amaze me. Look at Britney and Cletus afterall. Go fug yourself keeps me up to date on her latest.)

So, Laura, yeees. She has a routine about back door sex that I like to quote whenever I’m feeling sassy.

“I’ve never been much into it myself," she says. "Frankly, it’s all I can do to keep the front entrance up for company…” something about leaving Christmas lights up all year round.

Stop and watch her if you’re ever flipping through the channels and hit comedy central after 10 pm when they let all the big kids come out and play. She’s full of sass, spirit, fun, delight, hilarity, glee if you will.

Okay, I’ll stop now.

Glad to be back. We found a house and they accepted our offer. I’ll give all details soon! Can’t jinx it, you know. Cast a curse, the plague, throw the evil eye…

Menage a Moi

2004-12-16T14:50:00.000-05:00

So, my ancient chinese medicine doctor (ACMD) has us on strict instructions this month: Acupuncture every week, drink the NasTea every night and no lovin for the first 10 days of my cycle. No lovin of any kind that is. Even self love.

Upon hearing this news, Ed's reaction:

Ed: [jaw drops. Blinks. Blinks again. Closes mouth.] Not possible.
Me: Really? (looking very skeptical)
Ed: Yeah, I mean, it's been . . . decades!
Me: You're kidding, right?
Ed: I'm serious as a heart attack. Things are going to start backing up in there.
Me: You're telling me, with a straight face, that you cannot go 10 lousy days without . . . tossing one off?
Ed: [smirk] Is that what you call it?
Me: Yeah, you know - mugging the midget, milking the me, roughing up the suspect, picking on the little guy...
Ed: Hey! Who you calling "little?"

I think it's been just as hard on me as it has on him (hard on him, heh, me funny).

Thank G-d the 10 days are almost over. I had the strangest dream last night. I was at a sporting event (which I never attend), I think it was a basket ball game of all things (bad food, a crowded floor with a bunch of Freaks of Nature running back and forth for hours. puhleeze!). Anyway, I was with one of my engineers from work - a young kid, smart but pasty and skinny. He had zeroed in on a beautiful Chinese girl and was chatting her up. (Why Chinese, I have no clue. He's actually into Hispanic chicks). At the end of the game, we all walked out together and, much to my surprise, she leaned over and gave me the softest, most sensuous kiss. It seemed to go on forever. Then she pulled me in close and put her knee in between my legs with just enough upward pressure.

Now, I've had many opportunities to try that game out with another woman. And some days I regret that I settled down before trying it back when experimental lesbianism was all the rage among my friends. But by and large, I'm a big fan of men, and not typically (at least not consciously) attracted to women...so this is very confusing to me.

Needless to say, I woke up sweating and wiping my mouth, yet curiously tingling all over. And I can't stop thinking about s.e.x. I can't WAIT to nail him tomorrow night. I might even put on one of those outfits - you know the ones that men love with all the tight corsette things and thigh high nylons that clip to the teddy - even if it makes me feel like a sausage. At least I won't have to wear it for more than 7 minutes....

heh.

And I'm thinking naughty thoughts about calling him up and talking dirty to him.

I'm all, "Hi big guy. I been thinking about you. What're you wearing?"
and he's all, " . . . ?"

Ok, no, I'm kidding. Obviously, I have no idea what people say during phone sex because, really, what a waste of time. If I'm going to have to do all the work myself, I want it to be my fantasy that gets me there.

So he's all, "So what interesting names do you have for that?"
Me: For what?
Ed: You know, when a woman does her own "laundry."
Me: Heh. You mean dialing 'O' on my little pink phone?
Ed: HA! Yeah that.
Me: 5 Digit Disco, Buzzing the honey hole, Backslappin' Betty, Buttering up the whisker biscuit,
Diddling miss daisy, Menage a'moi, Romancing thy own, Spanking Lucy, and Ticklin' the taco.

Oh, how I do amuse myself.

Why you gotta be like that?

2004-12-14T08:50:00.000-05:00

Oh, kiddies! I am so amused this morning. I just read Karen's post about the "child-free" folks.

And these people call us crazy? Oh this is too good to let pass.

Some nut job actually thinks it's OK to post something saying, "Three cheers to this woman for nailing the brats!" about a woman in Florida who intentionally ran over a couple of kids who had accidently bounced a golf ball into her SUV.

Let's just take a closer look at this one, shall we?

1. The woman drives an SUV. She lives in Florida. Hmmm...no snow so I guess it's all those mountains in Florida that she needs the SUV for. Oh, uh - wait....?

2. She lives in Florida. If you add up the average IQ of all FL residents, and divide it by the average age, you get the square root of 2. No really. It's a mathematical formula commonly used in determining the number of seconds you should waste speaking to someone. Or reading their inane prattle when they comment on a blog dedicated toward hating anyone who is interested in trying to have children against the odds. Now there's a worthy pursuit.

3. How sad that they have nothing else in their pathetic little lives to pay attention to. Realize people that they need to actively go out and search infertility blogs just to stoke the fires of their hatred.

3. The woman in the article told the judge she has mental problems. THIS is their hero? Oh, Child-free people of the world - please reconsider this choice! It makes you look, um, how shall I say it - crazy?

4. And yet, you call us crazy? Crazy (adj) kra- zee: Idiotic, senseless, bizarre, peculiar, mad, extreme. Enough said.

5. But I couldn't help myself and read the post after that one where the woman actually went nuts on her friend because there were children at a party where the party-giver had already told the attendee that there would be many children. Ah, but her true intellect comes shining through at the end when she signs, (Hoping I don't screw up my new "fancy" sig this time!) . I can just see her now, tongue out, brow furrowed in concentration, trying to get just the right rainbow of colors on her biblical moniker.

Pathetic.

Baby Quest: the Tri State Strain

2004-12-13T15:15:00.000-05:00

When I started this little incubation project, I had just turned 39 a month before.

“Dr. Stamford” told me that I had good stats and it should be no problem. That month my FSH was 1.8. Anything under 3 was supposedly phenomenal, under 8 was good, under 10 was supposedly still acceptable.

Over the next 8 months, my FSH levels bounced around between 11, 12.8. and 15. We decided that the 1.8 was an anomaly. I think I'll name my first daughter Anomaly Jane after that experience.

I had done 3 IUIs during this time. There were times when my other hormone levels made them cancel a cycle here and there. I had a cyst on one ovary that was throwing off estrogen for a few months, etc. So, anyway, after 8 months and an FSH level of 15, they advised me that it was time to move directly to IVF. They had had success at that level but 15 was the very top end of acceptable.

I was discouraged to say the least. I think they should have skipped me straight to IVF when I hit 11; before I hit eleven actually. Over the next 10 months or so, I had cycle after cycle cancelled because my FSH is too high – a few times it’s been up around 23 – and they won’t do it if it’s over 17.5.

So I went to a few other doctors. “Dr. Philly” said that he would put me on birth control pills for one month and that would bring my FSH level down low enough that my insurance would still pay for whatever parts of the process they cover. Unfortunately, while that may be true, it would be masking the symptom (high FSH) but not really fixing the problem (bad eggs). Looks to me like he just wanted to take my money. Maybe his name should be Dr. Greedy instead.

“Dr. Norwalk” is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met on the face of the Earth. His name should really be Dr. Dickhead. Yes, that works.

Dr. Dickhead was rude and condescending and kept saying over and over again that I was foolish to believe that even IVF would help me, with an FSH of 23.

“You always hear about the successes;” he said smugly, “those are the ones who stand up and shout it out to the world. It’s the multitude of failures who you don’t hear about,” he continued, “the ones who crawl under the covers and never come out again. I’m afraid that’s the pool you’re in.”

He told me I had less than a 1% chance of ever having my own biological child. He told me that he had a reputation for making people cry and asked me if anyone had ever been so blunt before. He told me that he wouldn’t even consider letting me into his program because he was such a small lab and it would skew his numbers. He told me that morally he wouldn’t even consider letting me do an IFV cycle because I am not married to my mate. As if it’s any of his FUCKING BUSINESS. And he told me that he’d never cycle with me because I was using my best friend’s eggs if I chose to go to donor eggs. It was his opinion that I would abandon the frozen blasts because I wasn’t "related" to them. ?! This after speaking with me for roughly 20 minutes.

At the time, I had only ever been on the highest number of vials of the strongest stims available and had never gotten more than 2 follicles. I didn’t know that some women end up with 30 eggs or so and that once they’re fertilized (since you can’t really freeze eggs alone; they have a better success rate on the thaw if they’re already fertilized), they’re “a human life.” So the notion of abandoning them was quite ridiculous to me. I thought he meant that I would pay all that money and then not do the cycle. I figured the odds of me getting 4 eggs and implanting 2 this time and 2 the next time were all I needed and there wouldn’t be any need to worry about me abandoning them. It wasn’t until about 6 months later that I learned about women getting so many eggs on the stims. He didn't bother explaining any of this though. I had to figure it out on my own. So never assume your doctor knows what the hell he's talking about. They apparently expect you to know everything they do when you walk in the door.

Anyway, after him, I was discouraged but determined to do one IVF cycle with my own eggs. I felt that I'd always wonder if I didn't. I asked Dr. Stamford if he would consider helping me out. He said yes and put me on a “rest down” for the month. In the one month where I wasn't supposed to even ovulate, I ended up pregnant. On my own. No intervention involved. Of course, I miscarried at 6.5 weeks. Today I still wonder if I miscarried because of them telling me to take the wrong dose of estrogen to begin with and then telling me on day 14 of my cycle to bump it up to 800 mg per day. I think that may have just cooked my eggs.

But then, what can I do about it?

Then I find this out: I have an FSH of 6 outta the blue here. After 2 years of testing every month and never – I mean NEVER – having one below 11, suddenly today it’s 6.

Estrogen is 80, progesterone is 2.4, LH is 4. Nice levels. Last month, I had 4 juicy follicles, remember.

Now, I know that one month don’t mean a thing, Alfie. But I find it extremely interesting.

I think this Chinese medicine/acupuncture is helping out. Not sure how, but it seems to be working. I’ll be in Seattle with Ed’s family during my “fertile” days. Won’t that be fun? Bumping uglies with the guy who was almost too shy to ask his mom if we could sleep in the same bedroom while we stayed there for the holidays. Jeesh. Oh the stories I’ll have to tell this child if she ever gets her candy ass made and born.

shhh! I think this was written by a liberal.

2004-12-10T14:52:00.000-05:00

Thirty four things to do before the Jan 20 Inauguration
1. Get that abortion you've always wanted.
2. Drink a nice clean glass of water.
3. Cash your social security check.
4. See a doctor of your own choosing.
5. Spend quality time with your draft age child/grandchild.
6. Visit Syria, or any foreign country for that matter.
7. Get that gas mask you've been putting off buying.
8. Hoard gasoline.
9. Buy all the porn you can carry.
10. Borrow books from library before they're banned – Constitutional law books, Catcher in the Rye, Harry Potter, Tropic of Cancer, etc.
11. If you have an idea for an art piece involving a crucifix – do it now.
12. Come out - then go back in - HURRY!
13. Jam in all the Alzheimer's stem cell research you can.
14. Stay out late before the curfews start.
15. Get within 6 feet of a stripper in a state where it's still allowed.
16. Go see Bruce Springsteen before he has his "accident".
17. Go see Mount Rushmore before the Reagan addition.
18. Use the phrase - "you can't do that - this is America".
19. Marry a person of a different race.
20. If you're gay, learn to butch it up so people will think you are straight.
21. Take a walk in Yosemite, without being hit by a snowmobile or a base-jumper.
22. Enroll your kid in an accelerated art or music class.
23. Start your school day without a prayer.
24. Pass on the secrets of evolution to future generations.
25. Stockpile hard liquor.
26. Learn French before it's illegal.
27. Two words - Doggy Style.
28. Attend a commitment ceremony with your gay friends.
29. Take a factory tour anywhere in the US.
30. Try to take photographs of animals on the endangered species list.
31. Visit Florida before the polar ice caps melt.
32. Visit Nevada before it becomes radioactive.
33. Visit Alaska before "The Big Spill".
34. Visit Massachusetts while it is still a State

Complicated Joy

2004-12-09T13:29:00.000-05:00

Is there such a thing as feeling simple joy for a formerly infertile friend who finds herself suddenly and inexplicably pregnant, when you are still infertile?

I’d like to think that there was a moment of simple joy in my heart when I heard a friend who has struggled with infertility for so many years, and was elatedly pursuing adoption, discovered that she was pregnant and her betas were doubling nicely. But I know that whatever pleasure I found in hearing her news was not simple in any way. It was a very complicated joy, twisted by fear for her that this pregnancy may end badly as so many others had, and twisted by feelings of sorrow and despair for my own situation.

Yet I was delighted for her, cautiously delighted, that her days of pain and sorrow and wondering, “Why me?” may very well be over. And I wanted so badly to be able to offer the same non-committal “congratulations” that I had said to countless other friends upon hearing that they were pregnant, long before I found out that I was infertile. Back then, before all the drama of FSH, IUI, HCG and IVF, before the pain of miscarriage, before the emotional damage had been done, back then it was easy to simply say, “Congratulations,” and go back to whatever I had been doing before without a second thought.

Now when I hear those words, “I’m pregnant,”I somehow manage to say, “Congratulations,” with a polite smile pasted on my face. But inside I feel everything constrict into a tight ball so taut that I can’t breathe and I struggle to keep that smile firmly in place until I can get somewhere that’s private so no one catches me doubled over trying not to cry and struggling to breathe.

I allow myself a good healthy (albeit irrational) resentment of pregnant strangers who I pass on the street or in the mall, and I feel absolutely no guilt about it. But knowing all the struggles and pain this woman went through to get where she is today, I can’t even allow myself that moment of resentment that her number came up and not mine. I know I shouldn’t feel resentment, especially towards her since she has struggled through much more heartache than I have on her infertility journey; I shouldn’t, but I do. I do resent it and I hate myself for feeling this way. She deserves this as much as I do. She deserves it more in fact. And I wouldn’t take it away from her for anything in the world. But, God forgive me, I can’t help myself.

I guess my feeling is more, “Why not me, too?” instead of, “Why not me instead?”

So, for today, I’m contemplating this very complicated joy I feel for her.

But I'm also trying to understand because I also feel cheated and angry, weak and selfish, guilty and sad, but mostly I feel ashamed.

And lonely. There used to be a lot of us riding the same roller coaster and suddenly I feel like I’m the only one left

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

2004-12-08T08:26:00.000-05:00

Ever see those "Holiday Eating Tips" in all the women's (read torture/diet/shite) magazines this time of year? Well screw them!

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

Here forthwith are PCB's tips for enjoying the holidays. Enjoy!

1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-aholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!

3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the centre of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake?

10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention.Reread tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner.

The Cruise Ship Double Liner has set sail. . .

2004-12-07T13:33:00.000-05:00

. . . and once again, I'm left standing here on shore, holding a ticket for which I have paid dearly, without being permitted to board.

Stopped the prometrium today. Cramps hit hard about an hour ago. Rainy and cold here and all I want to do is curl up on my bed and cry.

So disappointed.

At least I have my delicious puppies to keep me company. Pebbles, or "Puddles" as Ed calls her, is my best little girl. I've been trying to post photos but keep getting an error message.

Set up an account over at type pad, but even though it says it successfully imported 20 messages from this board, nothing ever shows up. And today when I try to go in, it tells me I'm putting in the wrong ID or password.

What a crappy day. What a rainy cold shit assed mother fucking day .

“If there's a bustle in your hedgerow . . .

2004-12-05T23:01:00.000-05:00

. . . don't be alarmed now. It's just a spring clean for the May queen.”

Well, it’s not Spring and I’m no May queen, but it’s time for a little mental spring cleaning.

I think it’s time once and for all to let go of my dreams of having my own biological child and begin to pursue donor eggs. I had signed up for a seminar on it that was held this past Friday night. But because it was also the night of my company holiday party (which I was “strongly encouraged” not to miss) and because I had those 4 juicy follicles hanging there, I thought maybe, just maybe this might be a sign. I called up and cancelled my reservation. Now, I’m wondering if that was the smartest thing to do.

I’m not giving up 100% yet because dear Auntie Flo has not yet arrived. And the cramps are gone. But I’m no longer consumed by wanting to do HPTs. I can wait until Tuesday, which is what the clinic told me to do anyway. And really, I knew better than to try so early. But the box says you can do it up to 5 days before your missed period and Saturday night was only 4 days out.

But after Tuesday, I will begin to make other plans.

I think it’s time to face the music.

Might as well be good music.

“Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run There's still time to change the road you're on.

And it makes me wonder.” (Page/Plant)

What the hell is a hedgerow anyway?

Ho hum

2004-12-02T18:05:00.000-05:00

Hmm…so, no period today. Still doesn’t mean a thing. Technically, if anything were normal about me at all and I had a 28 day cycle, I wouldn’t supposed to be starting it until next Tuesday. I wonder - when HPTs say you can test as soon as a day after you miss your period, does that mean after the normal 28 days or after your own average cycle? Although, this month, I had not yet ovulated on day 14 so they gave me that HCG shot to force it on that day…technically they say you ovulate 14 days before the start of your next period. So, I guess I’ll just keep a waiting…

dum de dum.

La la la.

Gosh this is just so much fun but I really have to leave now and go buy those damn sticks because I just cannot wait another minute.

So there you have it

2004-12-01T13:08:00.000-05:00

So if I were pregnant (and though I can talk myself into believing almost anything, I doubt it), I’d be about 7 days along right now. That would mean that so far we have been through a lot together (all taken from the book From Conception to Birth; A Life Unfolds):

Days 1.5 -3: The cells are “cleaving” regularly. “To watch cells divide, or “cleave,” is to witness a monumental improbability. One minute there is a spherical mass of protoplasm. The next, the ball pancakes on one side, surface tension gathers, a pinched line appears in the middle, and suddenly the mass parts as if pulled by a drawstring into two equal halves, each within its own membrane and with it’s own nucleus…. By 2 days after conception the cells cleave again; by the third day after splitting once or twice more, 16 to 32 cells huddle inside the zona pellucida, like tiny soccer balls jammed in a clear sack.” p. 53

Day 4: Now called a blastocyst, “Two types of cells start to form, with profound implications. Some of the cells around the hollow ball clump together on one side. These will become the child. The rest (the outer ring) will develop into the child’s environment – the membranes that will protect, nourish, and contain it, and connect to its mother.” p. 54

“7-12 days after ovulation, cells of the uterine lining are destroyed, creating blood pools, foretelling the growth of the placenta.” p. 57.

This stuff is fascinating!!

The next update comes on Day 13, which for me would be next Monday. If I can hold out that long, I’ll probably start peeing on HPT sticks regularly by then so I’ll know if any of this info will be relevant to me.

I have a sense of calm this time instead of the sense of dread I usually have. But I still can’t bring myself to start the HPTs just yet. I’m just not ready to feel the disappointment of a BFN right now.

I felt calm the night I did the last pregnancy test that came back positive too. I think I kind of knew it. Of course, I was nearly 8 days late for my period then too. We had been on vacation in Seattle visiting Ed’s parents when I realized that I hadn’t started my period. Technically, I was supposed to be on a “rest down” – where the RE had instructed me the month before to “take Estrogen 4 times a day – 200 mg” so that I wouldn’t ovulate and my period wouldn’t start until I took a trigger shot. When the pharmacy called to ask if I wanted it delivered (yes folks, sadly I buy so much of this stuff they actually call me and offer to deliver) I said why not.

The package they sent had only .50 mg tablets in it. But I figured .50 x 4 was 200; that’s what he must have meant. Turns out he meant 200 mg 4 x per day. The RE’s office had called in a separate prescription to a different pharmacy, but didn’t tell me. (No pharmacies near here actually carry fertility drugs so we have to use 2 different ones – one for fertility stuff and one for convenience for everything else.) Naturally I started my period a week early and was in Canada at the time so I couldn’t even get my 3rd day blood work done. I was pissed and decided to take a break from this whole baby making thing for a few months. I figured it was probably time I just gave up and moved on to donor eggs. I had put the decision off for way too long as it is – going on 42 as I am.

We went away on vacation and I came home pregnant.

Now, for you asshats who are thinking, “See I told you! All you have to do is relax. Take a vacation, have some wine,” please note that I was already pregnant when I left for vacation, I just didn’t know it yet. And that month was one of the most stressful months I've had in 6 months. I think I slept in my own bed a total of 4 nights that month with all the work-related travel I did.

This month and last I had not seen any indication on those ovulation predictor sticks that I had even ovulated so, figuring it was the beginning of the end for me, I signed up for an egg donation seminar on Dec 3rd. Wouldn’t you know it, once again as I decide to move down that path, something happens to make me say, “Eine minute bitte!” Having an ultrasound that showed 4 juicy follicles with no stims - when the best I’ve ever done, even with the max allowable stims, was 2 - is messing with my head.

Sadly, as I type this I feel a drawing sensation in my lower abdomen, sort of like (but not exactly) I’m going to start my period. Since my cycles are typically about 22-24 days long, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did get my period tomorrow since today is day 21.

Blather.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2004-11-30T16:58:00.000-05:00

So, we finally figured out why J was so very concerned with the mere thought of us having S-E-X. Not that this is something we actually discuss with her if we can at all avoid it mind you. But ever since we told her we were moving in together and she threatened to kill herself if we did, we had been trying to understand what her resistance was.

This is the little girl who sits on my lap at the theater and who holds my hand when we cross the street, who would rather snuggle on the couch with me than sit with her dad on most nights when we watch a movie, etc. It came as a complete shock that she was this upset over us moving in together. When we could get any kind of answer out of her at all, she would only say cryptically, “Because then you two will be having S-E-X,” and we could never get her to elaborate on (1) why that was any of her concern (2) how it was going to change her life in any way (we certainly don’t do it on the weekends she stays there) and (3) why it bothered her so much. We thought it was because of her little friend whose daddy had gotten remarried, had another baby and apparently promptly stopped paying any attention to his first daughter (or at least that’s the way the little girl saw things – very sad).

While at dinner on Sunday night, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, J (who had been increasingly quiet as we talked about the new house) pipes up completely out of the blue and asks me, “So how are you going to have a baby now?” This is a subject that we have been very delicately trying to introduce to her for about a year now. We didn’t see any need to really force the issue if it turned out that I couldn’t get pregnant so we never quite finished any of the conversations we started with her on it.

J: So how are you going to have a baby now?
Me: How?
J: Yeah, how? Is the doctor going to help you?
Me: Yes, remember how we discussed it a long time ago? The doctor gives me special medicine and then he uses a long, thin tube –
J: Yeah, but what’s in the tube?
Me: [a little panicked, looking askance at Ed]
Ed: Um, well there’s fluid from my body, honey. Remember the talk your mom had with you?
J: Yeah! YUCK! Do you really put your weenie into the hole back there?! [makes gagging sounds, almost falls off the chair]
[People at the table next to us: smirking and pretending in vain to read their menus]
Ed: Well, J, it’s sort of like that but perhaps the dinner table is not the best place to have this discussion.
Me: You know, there’s a book store right around the corner. If you really want, we could go there after dinner and look at some pictures of how it all works –
J: But how do you get it out?
Ed: [extremely uncomfortable looking by this point] Get what out?
J: The stuff – you know – from your body? How does it get out?
Ed: Erm, well, let’s talk about this after dinner –
J: Don’t you have to cut it off or something?
Ed: [truly horrified expression on his face now] Cut what off?
J: Your weenie?
[The guy at the next table goes into a coughing fit; sprays water all over the place]
Ed: NO! Ok, so why don’t we go to the bookstore after this and see if we can’t help you understand –
J: You don’t have to cut it off? [looks doubtful]
Me: No, sweetie. You don’t have to cut it off. [smiling discreetly at the people at the next table, who are practically rolling on the floor by now]. If you really want to know more about it, why don’t we wait until we get to the bookstore? I’m sure we’ll find some good books that can explain it at your level.
J: No, let’s not [looking relieved]. I don’t really want to know.
[a minute goes by. The people next to us regain their composure and manage to order.]
J: So, the doctor uses a tube, huh? And you guys don’t have to be kissing or anything?
Me: [exchanging glances with Ed, wondering, just how ‘honest’ do we want to be in this forum] Um, well . . .
Ed: I kinda like kissing [grabs her and makes smacking kissy noises on her cheek]
J: Eeewww! Get off me! That’s just gross. You guys are gross!
Me: So, yes, J – I need a doctor’s help to have a baby.
J: [Brightening up] Hey! Maybe instead of having 2 studies in the new house we can make one into a room for the baby?!
Ed: [looks at me and winks]
Me: [so relieved] Yeah, maybe we can.

Instant Gratification Girl

2004-11-30T16:04:00.000-05:00

Ok, so the clinic called with the results of my bloodwork today. I have no idea why they asked me to come in a mere week later but whatever. My Estrogen is 370. Last week it was 462 so she said it indicates that I definitely ovulated- which is what I was concerned about. I had been peeing on ov predictor sticks for about 35 days straight with no discernable difference. They always showed 2 lines, the test one dark purple and mine lighter pink. Just to see what it should look like, I peed on one the same day they did the HCG shot. That line was so purple it looked like my favorite white shirt that night I spilled merlot all over it.

Anyway, the progesterone level was 26. She said ideally it should be between 15 and 25. However, they have me taking 100 mg 2 x daily of prometrium and last night at 3 am I realized that I’d forgotten to take the second one for the day. So I took it then and again when I got up at 7 am, about 45 minutes before they drew my blood for this test.

Of course, I had no idea what any of this meant so I asked her. She said basically these numbers indicate that I have the right levels of both to support a pregnancy. She told me to try an HPT next Tuesday and "call them with the good news." Tchyeah.

You know what this means don't you? That's right. I have to stop on my way home now and pick up 5 boxes of pregnancy tests so I can now pee on them 3 times a day until I start to bleed once again.

Oh man, I fucking hate this waiting shit.

A Wonderful Life

2004-11-29T09:53:00.000-05:00

This Thanksgiving Holiday was perfect. It was just the three of us, Ed, his daughter J and I. We cooked, we baked, we ate, we slept and we ate some more. Let me tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better apple pie than the one we made together.

I really don’t like having a lot of company around on Thanksgiving. Any other holiday is fine, but on Thanksgiving I just love being able to hang out comfortably (read: with pants undone) and fall asleep watching a good movie after the feast. When you invite family or friends over, there’s a need to ‘entertain’ them and I find it more bothersome than enjoyable – so I no longer do it.

Anyway, over the course of the weekend, we watched all 3 Harry Potter movies, The Count of Monte Cristo and The Never Ending Story – all very good movies. On Saturday afternoon, Ed went fishing for a few hours and J and I went out and picked up some board games - Clue, Yahtzee, the new DVD version of Trivial Pursuit and Turbo Cranium – which is such a cool game that I highly recommend for adults as well. We sat on the living room floor and snacked on pistachios, fruit, cheese and crackers. Ed and I shared a bottle of the wine we had bought on our trip to Napa last month and J finished off her sparkling cider. All in all – a very cool party.

On Sunday, we went to look at the 2 houses we had narrowed it down to one last time. This is a hard decision. Both houses have amenities we really don’t really want but would be paying a premium for – bigger lots (i.e., more taxes), a wine cellar (oh, the pressure to fill it up!) and a pool (which Ed’s parents used to have but was so hard to keep up that now Ed feels they’re nothing but a burden. Plus, we live in the Northeast. How many months do you actually get to enjoy a pool for crying out loud?). But after looking at nearly 300 houses in 7 months, I think we’re just too burned out to keep this up. It’s time to make a decision.

After the house review, we went to a cool little coffee shop in town. We ate pumpkin pie and played a rousing game of Yahtzee (it was pretty empty there). Afterward, we just sat on the couch and read our books. Thankfully, J loves to read as much as we do. Ed with his copy of Harry Potter book 5 (he reads them all before he lets J read them. Of course, I've already read them all - several times - love me some Harry Potter!), me with Jonathan Kellerman's latest serial murder thing and J with one of the Lemony Snickett books (A Series of Unfortunate Events). What a site we must have made. All sprawled out across the couch at the back of the shop….just the 3 of us – so far.

It was easy to forget the baby game for just a few days there. It was quite nice in fact, to not think about it, or read about it, or talk about it. I think I really needed that break.

But it was back in full force last night. I woke up at 3:50 am and never did get back to sleep.

The nurse at the clinic had given me a shot of HCG to force ovulation on Tuesday so after bumping uglies on both Tuesday and Wednesday, I think we covered our bases. I’m in the dreaded 2 week wait right now, waiting to see if any of those four juicy follicles hooked up with one of Ed’s sailor boys. I’ve felt various twinges on my right side, which was where 3 of the 4 Jucies were dangling so hopefully I’m brewing up a mean pot o baby right now.

I’ll let you know.

Juicy Fruits

2004-11-23T13:07:00.000-05:00

So, I’m very excited today. I have four – count ‘em 4! juicy follicles dangling off my ovaries this morning. Why this is so astonishing is the fact that, for the last 2 years, even when they jacked me up on 4 amps of every heavy duty fertility drug you can imagine, the highest number of follicles I have ever produced was 2. Yes – two. I believe they call that being a ‘low responder.’ Tchyeah.

In any case, since my miscarriage, my period has been really messed up. One month AF arrived on cycle day 20 - made even worse by the fact that she didn’t show up until cycle day 50 the previous month. The inconsiderate bitch.

As a last ditch effort (since I had been given the donor egg speech 3 times since January and I was just about ready to forsake the dream of having my own bio child when I discovered that I was pregnant), I began to see an acupuncturist/Chinese Herbologist. He assured me that if I could get pregnant without science (SCIENCE! Shouted in a Thomas Dolby voice) once then it was worth a shot to see if I could do it again. Only this time, he would be working with me through acupuncture and herbs to bring my body back in balance. I did some research and discovered that the Sher Institue in NYC has just begun an independent study of the effects of acupuncture on IVF. So if they were taking this seriously I thought, then so would I.

My periods, which had dwindled away so much that I didn’t even need a pantyliner after the first few hours, came back with a vengeance. I began having longer, heavier periods right away. Aunt Flo bitchslapped me so bad one month, I thought I was in the middle of a real life WWF smackdown. And even though it took us 3 months to get things back on track, I suddenly have four succulent follicles hanging around like hookers waiting for sailors fresh off a 6 month tour of duty in the desert. Ah yes, come to mama you naughty little semen, er, seamen.

Yesiree bob. If all goes well I’ll be having such fun with my turkey baster this holiday weekend that even the bird in the oven will envy me.

Why a turkey baster and not my very own dream boy? That’s another story altogether. Has to do with the fact that his 9 year old daughter clocks every move we make around her to make sure we’re not even thinking about having S-E-X -- ever. Seems one of her precious little school chums told her that "as soon as daddy gets remarried and has another baby, she won’t count any more." So, naturally, J’s panicked about losing daddy’s attention to another baby. It’s probably better that I couldn’t pry the name of her darling little school chum out of her, lest there be a real life smackdown that woulda landed my candy ass in court. Smackdown on her daddy that is. If the kid really feels that she doesn't count any more, then daddy needs to get on the ball. Anway, I’m just saying. I can't even kiss my man with the daughter around, let alone grope his perfect behind.

But I digress.

Isn't today a wonderful day?

Plagiarism be damned!

2004-11-22T13:43:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER
So one of my favorite blogs is by Tertia , who has a way of inspiring people to start their own blogs. I recently followed one of her links to this one - a cutie named Chris - and I couldn't help but post a copy of his disclaimer...wish I were this clever:

IMPORTANT: This email is intended for the use of the individual addressee(s) named above and may contain information that is confidential, privileged or unsuitable for overly sensitive persons with low self-esteem, no sense of humour or irrational religious beliefs. If you are not the intended recipient, any dissemination, distribution or copying of this email is not authorised (either explicitly or implicitly) and constitutes an irritating social faux pas. Unless the word absquatulation has been used in its correct context somewhere other than in this warning, it does not have any legal or grammatical use and may be ignored. No animals were harmed in the transmission of this email, although the yorkshire terrier next door is living on borrowed time, let me tell you. Those of you with an overwhelming fear of the unknown will be gratified to learn that there is no hidden message revealed by reading this warning backwards, so just ignore that Alert Notice from Microsoft: However, by pouring a complete circle of salt around yourself and your computer you can ensure that no harm befalls you and your pets. If you have received this email in error, please add some nutmeg and egg whites and place it in a warm oven for 40 minutes. Whisk briefly and let it stand for 2 hours before icing.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

2004-11-22T09:40:00.000-05:00

Driving through the suburbs, house hunting.

Him: So this is the neighborhood (indicating that I should maybe look around).
Me: mmm
Him: That’s where they put the goats (pointing at a completely empty fenced in area of a yard).
Me: Goats?
Him: Goats.

** later **

Him: So - it’s nice but you’ve still got the Clampetts living next door…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me: It looks like M and J are heading towards divorce.
Him: Yeah, he’s clearly passive/aggressive, probably thinking, “How am I going to get through another 50 years of her yapping?”
Me: Unless he has already learned to become selectively deaf.
Him: Huh?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pulling up to a 4 way stop at the same time as many other cars. He lets the cars in the other direction go first. As we pull out and nearly complete our left hand turn, the woman coming from the other direction decides to try and pull out – apparently completely unaware that we are right in front of her.

Him: Ok, we can’t live here. The people are too dumb.

** A little later **

Him: Have you noticed how many deer there are on the side of the road here?
Me: On the side of the road as in dead or as in calmly munching?
Him: Not dead, just hanging out.
Me: Oh, no, I haven’t noticed. I did notice the other day that there were a lot of dead ones on the side of the road between Stamford and Greenwich though.
Him: Ok, so that’s where the stupid ones live. At least the deer here are smart.
pause....
There are just too many of them.

** a few minutes pass **

Him: You see, that’s why we need to bring the wolves back.
Me: Wolves?
Him: Yep, for the deer problem. I mean, sure – you might lose the occasional dog or small child but it’d bring balance back to the environment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me: undoing seat belt . . .
Him: What’re you doing?
Me: Taking my coat off so I can get this vest off…I’m hot.
Him: That’s a good look on you, the vest and turtleneck. Why don’t you just leave the coat off and wear that?
Me: Because it’s too cold outside.
Him: It’ll make your nipples hard. That’s a good look on you too – OOH! Punchbug, convertible – 2 points for me! Ha HA!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, I love that man.

Infertilty, huh - what is it good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again…

2004-11-18T08:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, so what, exactly, is infertility? For the most part, it is a medical condition that can be treated with distinct success ratios depending on what the ‘problem’ actually is. It’s a bleak and tragic path to find yourself on, to be sure. But then there’s the diagnosis that I’ve been given: Infertility due to “advanced maternal age.”

This diagnosis appears to be saying that I’m infertile because I’m old. But if eventually becoming unable to bear children is merely another part of the aging process, then am I really “infertile” or am I just old?

There’s a special kind of pain that infertility brings to all who suffer from it. But in my situation, along with the pain of being told that I will never bear a child who is biologically mine, comes the notion of guilt. Guilt because I was not infertile for many years and could have chosen to procreate at a better time along that path, and a special kind of guilt for feeling a sense of solidarity with women who are still in their twenties and thirties whose infertility is the result of viable medical issues that I simply don’t have.

But even more pervasive are the feelings of anger and stupidity. Not a day goes by that I don’t kick myself for not being better informed. I believed the media hype about women becoming mothers well into their forties and I believed that those were their biological children – because, well, no one ever admitted that they weren’t.

At every annual gynecological visit, while doing the normal “warm up chit-chat,” I would tell my doctor that, yes I definitely wanted children and no I still had not been able to find Mr. Wonderful yet. I told at least three different doctors over a seven year period that, if I had not met the man of my dreams by the time I was forty, I’d start my family on my own using donor sperm. Not one of those doctors told me that forty was way too late to start this process. Not one of them advised me that thirty-five was a much more reasonable age to start at least testing my hormone levels to best determine when my window of opportunity was starting to close. Not one of them.

And this is where the anger comes from. Because this now makes me a victim of circumstance, a victim of doctors who didn’t care enough to properly inform me of the facts, and a victim of my own naiveté. And if there’s one thing I will never let myself become ever again, it’s a victim.

I lived a large part of my life as the victim for the abuse I took from my family who firmly believes in capital punishment in the form of a belt and or a fist, from my alcoholic father who, it turns out, didn’t believe I was really his child, and for the poor living conditions we suffered as a result of my mother’s cancer and death at a very young thirty-six. And if there’s anything I learned from being the victim is that there is absolutely nothing more unfulfilling.

One of the greatest moments in my life came when I was able to admit that I am where I am in this life as a direct result of every decision I personally made up to that point. When I finally realized that regardless of what hardships people endure, it’s our reaction to those challenges that make us who we are, I broke free from the suffering I had been forcing myself to endure by maintaining my identity as 'the victim.'

So you can understand why I’m a bit put out right now to find myself in the position of being a victim once again. A victim of doctors who didn’t bother to mention the natural, biological breakdown of eggs that occurs when women reach a certain age; of a population afraid to discuss the realities of egg donor pregnancies; of living in a region with the highest per capita cost of living nationwide so that I literally would not have been able to support a family until my most recent promotion; of having a career based in a metro area where it seemed an impossible task to find a suitable partner until I was 39.

So, what are my options at this point? Continue to beat myself up over the guilt, play the victim once again until enough people feel sorry for me or until I’m done feeling sorry for myself, or get back on track and make an educated decision about how to proceed.

Like most women in this situation, I hadn’t made the conscious decision to delay having children for a simple reason like not being “ready yet.” I had been ready to start my family since I was 27 years old. Unfortunately, I had not yet found the man with whom I could do that. For years I held on to the belief that I would find the man of my dreams way before infertility became an issue for me, so I waited – and I waited.

When it became clear that I may not find that man in time, I chose to go back and finish my degree and pursue a career that would permit me to afford to support my family on my own. And let’s face it; anyone who embarks upon the career-woman/mom path knows that it’s an adventure in stress and compromise as well as a whole new level of personal development. As the years flew by, I stretched to achieve each new career goal and still, in my heart I thought my soul mate would arrive on time. But I was wrong - he arrived about 4 years too late.

I made what I thought were – and still think are - sound decisions. Knowing what I know now, would I have chosen to drop out of college once again, at age 35 this time, so that I could get that second job and be able to afford the IVF with donor sperm route? The same questions that I had then are still valid now. How would I have been able to support that child, assuming that the process resulted in only one child? What if I had twins? With no husband, no grandparents, indeed, no family within a ten hour drive away, how would I have done it?

The circumstances that prohibited me from pursuing that option then would stop me again, even knowing what I know now. The quality of life I’d have offered my children would have been extremely hard on them, and probably harder on me. I felt that I owed it to my future child, and to myself to finish college, solidify my career and find a suitable partner with whom I could have a real family.

I could easily slip back into the victim mode today and lament the circumstances that have brought me to this point in my life. And I could let the guilt over my past decisions, right or wrong, eat me alive.

Or I could give myself credit for making the best decisions with the knowledge and resources I had available at the time and get on with the decision I have yet to make: to try with donor eggs or to remain childless. I won’t pretend that it’s not a struggle. It’s a grieving process for sure – giving up the dream of seeing traces of me reflected back from a young face, and wondering if the feeling of being an imposter every time someone says, “She must get that from her mother!” will ever go away.

Having children is the driving reason behind every decision I’ve made in the past seven years, from the car I drive (the safest on the market according to Consumer Reports), to the town in which I live (must have exemplary schools!) and the job I have chosen (no real challenges right now, but boy is it secure – and so flexible I can set my own office hours or even choose to work from home without asking permission from anyone). So, yeah - I’m where I am at this point in my life precisely because of every single decision that I have made until now. But with the approach of my 42nd birthday in April, the reality is that I’m getting too old for this. And I question if it makes sense for me to continue to pursue this course. I guess what it comes down to is that I’m old . . .Old enough to know better. . . but too young to resist.

Fifty Freakin SIX!

2004-11-10T23:12:00.000-05:00

Somebody tell me that I'm dreaming and some blathering idiot did not just say all over national television that she had twins at 56 because she wanted to "manifest" herself?!?!?

And did anyone catch Wife Swap? THESE people are permitted to breed and yet I'm not? Oh, if there really is a God, he sure has a sick sense of humor.

Just fuck.

Pregnant Aliens?!

2004-11-10T18:57:00.000-05:00

Ed makes me watch the most asinine tv shows ever invented. We had a deal once. That he would let me watch Buffy if I'd let him watch Star Gate. Now, however, I want to re-negotiate the deal because that stupid brat Buffy went and got herself cancelled.

In any case, I'm still being forced to watch this insipid Star Gate and on Monday night, I am not kidding you, there were TWO - count 'em 2 - freaking aliens who dared to be pregnant on this show and ONE OF THEM WAS MALE!

Could I be any more depressed than I am right now?

Forgive me Father, For I have Sinned. . .

2004-11-09T17:05:00.000-05:00

Oh people, I am going straight to hell.

I’m one of those people. You know the type – the ones who must use two, yes TWO packets of the Swiss Miss Instant Cocoa mix in one tiny cup of boiling water. One simply does not contain enough scintillating chocolaty goodness for the likes of me.

And today, I was forced into opening yet another because some NAZI BASTARD had forgotten to include those tasty little marshmallows in my second package. And of course, I had already eaten all the ones from the first package. Yes, if you can just imagine it: I stood there in the community kitchen at work, for all to see, with a plastic fork (all the better to let the cocoa powder slide through the tines yet hold on to the lip-smacking lumps of pure white, sugary goodness) and fished out every delectable little morsel and popped them one by one into my drooling mouth.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I savored every scrumptious crumb, too. I am, however, ashamed to admit that much later when I went into the ladies room, there was a hint of chocolate moustache ringing my entire mouth. Must have happened when I lifted the bag up to lick one of the obstinate little buggers that was hanging onto the inside edge of the bag.

It’s a good thing my mother isn’t around to see this debauchery. Otherwise she’d figure out very quickly why the Lucky Charms at our house always seemed to have more cereal than charms. I shall surely be punished for such depravity.

For the record:

One envelope: 120 cals
Fat 2.5 g (plus the milk though)
22 g carbohydrates

So 2 of those narsty little buggers plus milk is 370 cals and 10 g of fat.

No shit.

For just a few more calories (oh, OK and a lot more grams of fat), I could have had a Big Mac ™ http://www.calorie-count.com/calories/item/21111.html

Now I’m just pissed. Because this means I’ll have to skip eating a real meal for dinner and once again force myself to consume something with green leafy goodness to make up for this little slip. Such torment! You see? Yet one more sign that the Universe is against me. Making me eat something healthy to make up for my cocoa-marshmallow sin. Is there no mercy for the likes of me? Pray for my wanton soul, people. Pray for me.