Possibly not, but it sure feels good.
My official last day working at GSK is October 15th! I cannot explain how good it makes me feel to have a plan in place. While there ARE many things I'll miss about my time here at GSK, I hate living in limbo. That does NOT necessarily mean that I have a well-thought-out plan. Actually, my plan ends at October 15th. From there, I'm hoping something materializes. Seriously.
Anyway, I am still on the Great American Job Search and hitting the pavement relatively hard. Okay, not THAT hard. I'm negotiating some changes in my life right now. One of them is the possiblity of working only part time, which Muslces and I are trying to make feasible. To do that, we need to sell one of our cars, which is no small feat in this economy. We're working to figure out a plan for that. Working part time would allow me to free my inner domestic diva, as well as pursue my Master's degree... as well as raise kiddos eventually... as well as do a little something else that I have in mind but cannot reveal just yet due to Muscles not exactly being on board with me. I am not working THAT hard to find my dream job right now, though, because I need my degree in hand to acquire that one.
This huge weight has been lifted from me by choosing a final date to work at GSK, though. I have been dreading work each day, knowing that many of the things I am working towards will not come to fruition until after I'm gone. I couldn't really start closing up shop either, because, I was still here "for the time being." Not to mention the recent influx of petty office drama bubbling under the surface. Ginger Snap is brewing some Trouble Soup as we speak, I'm sure. I don't know that YesMan was particularly happy with my departure timing, as she hoped I would stay until my replacement arrived, I think, but I hope she understands. It's dog-eat-dog world around here, and my fragile self cannot compete.
So, hello, Future. I would like to chat with you for a bit...
Dear Future (AKA God Above),
I know it's your job to make the plans and mine to live in them. But please take care of me and my family. It's not your obiligation, but it would be greatly appreciated if you could also help us see the reasons behind Your decisions.
Thanks, buddy!
-Kristy
9.18.2009
Give Me One Reason To Stay Here... And I'll Turn Right Back Around
September 18th.
This date is always significant to me. Most importantly, today is my husband's birthday. This year, he's 26, which blows me away. This little nugget of information is difficult for me to grasp because it means, in no uncertain terms, that I, too, will soon be 26. And.I.Am.Not.Ready.For.That. I know those of you older than me are probably laughing or groaning right now, but 26 is really hitting me hard (and it hasn't hit me yet exactly). It's the beginning of Late-20's to some. It's SO FAR AWAY from 18 and 21 (my favorite ages). And I still feel like I'm stuck in limbo. Like my life has taken these last 2-3 years to stand still... and stop almost. At 25 and 1/2, I have officially completed my Bachelor's degree, which, of course, I'm happy about. Better late than never.
On the other hand, I have also succeeded in acquiring and then throwing away a good job at Girl Scouts (By the way, this date is when I started working at GS 2 years ago.) and trying unsuccessfully to concieve children. I have struggled endlessly with my mother's "new" disability and the state of my parents' lives these days versus when I was growing up. I have been a good wife, but a moody wife. I have leaned on God and then fought His Will. I am less sure of what I want to do with my life now that I have ever been. I am open to change, but impatient for God to reveal to me what changes are coming. Again, I am in limbo.
All of these feelings and a heart-to-heart with my BFF Hypo has led me down a new-ish path. I am diligently working to slightly alter some of my thinking patterns and life habits in order to live in a way that glorifies God. One action that Hypo challenged me to take was to join a women's ministry Bible study. She insisted that this would put some things in perspective and also give me the assurance of knowing I am not alone. So, I took her challenge and my Sister-in-law helped me find a women's Bible study, which we began together last night.
I was nervous.
I haven't been involved in a Bible study in a very long time. While I study the Bible on my own in spurts, I don't necessarily feel "adequate" among women who seem to be cozying up with Jesus in their free time. I wouldn't say I feel inadequate either. I feel confident and comfortable in my relationship with God, but I have always had trouble making this very private relationship public. I think this stems from my mother, who is very private in nature, but that's another story...
Anyway, I really enjoyed attending this new Bible study last night. We're doing Beth Moore's Daniel, and I'm very excited. I was even more excited to hear several women speaking last night that I could instantly identify with. As you loyal Bloggie-Blog followers know, Muscles & I have been trying to have a baby of our own for 2 and 1/2 years. That's a hard pill to swallow, and, at times, it disqualifies me from feeling a part of the sisterhood of women in their 20's. Last night, though, FOUR different women discuss issues that were related to infertility and child-bearing. I felt like God led me to that room full of women for a reason, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. That was just His way of saying "You are supposed to be here."
So, yes, I am happy to be involved in that. I think this post sounds depressing, and I really didn't meant it as that at all. (Maybe it's because Aunt Flo is on her way today or tomorrow?) I am not depressed. I am thankful for the MANY blessings in my life. I am instead frustrated about losing control of my life, when I am so accustomed to calling the shots. My hope for myself is to realize God's power, which He has whether I acknowledge it or not, and find joy in the cards I'm dealt.
... Happy Birthday, Ja!
This date is always significant to me. Most importantly, today is my husband's birthday. This year, he's 26, which blows me away. This little nugget of information is difficult for me to grasp because it means, in no uncertain terms, that I, too, will soon be 26. And.I.Am.Not.Ready.For.That. I know those of you older than me are probably laughing or groaning right now, but 26 is really hitting me hard (and it hasn't hit me yet exactly). It's the beginning of Late-20's to some. It's SO FAR AWAY from 18 and 21 (my favorite ages). And I still feel like I'm stuck in limbo. Like my life has taken these last 2-3 years to stand still... and stop almost. At 25 and 1/2, I have officially completed my Bachelor's degree, which, of course, I'm happy about. Better late than never.
On the other hand, I have also succeeded in acquiring and then throwing away a good job at Girl Scouts (By the way, this date is when I started working at GS 2 years ago.) and trying unsuccessfully to concieve children. I have struggled endlessly with my mother's "new" disability and the state of my parents' lives these days versus when I was growing up. I have been a good wife, but a moody wife. I have leaned on God and then fought His Will. I am less sure of what I want to do with my life now that I have ever been. I am open to change, but impatient for God to reveal to me what changes are coming. Again, I am in limbo.
All of these feelings and a heart-to-heart with my BFF Hypo has led me down a new-ish path. I am diligently working to slightly alter some of my thinking patterns and life habits in order to live in a way that glorifies God. One action that Hypo challenged me to take was to join a women's ministry Bible study. She insisted that this would put some things in perspective and also give me the assurance of knowing I am not alone. So, I took her challenge and my Sister-in-law helped me find a women's Bible study, which we began together last night.
I was nervous.
I haven't been involved in a Bible study in a very long time. While I study the Bible on my own in spurts, I don't necessarily feel "adequate" among women who seem to be cozying up with Jesus in their free time. I wouldn't say I feel inadequate either. I feel confident and comfortable in my relationship with God, but I have always had trouble making this very private relationship public. I think this stems from my mother, who is very private in nature, but that's another story...
Anyway, I really enjoyed attending this new Bible study last night. We're doing Beth Moore's Daniel, and I'm very excited. I was even more excited to hear several women speaking last night that I could instantly identify with. As you loyal Bloggie-Blog followers know, Muscles & I have been trying to have a baby of our own for 2 and 1/2 years. That's a hard pill to swallow, and, at times, it disqualifies me from feeling a part of the sisterhood of women in their 20's. Last night, though, FOUR different women discuss issues that were related to infertility and child-bearing. I felt like God led me to that room full of women for a reason, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. That was just His way of saying "You are supposed to be here."
So, yes, I am happy to be involved in that. I think this post sounds depressing, and I really didn't meant it as that at all. (Maybe it's because Aunt Flo is on her way today or tomorrow?) I am not depressed. I am thankful for the MANY blessings in my life. I am instead frustrated about losing control of my life, when I am so accustomed to calling the shots. My hope for myself is to realize God's power, which He has whether I acknowledge it or not, and find joy in the cards I'm dealt.
... Happy Birthday, Ja!
9.02.2009
Confessions of a South Beach Reformist
- One great thing about this diet is that artificially sweetened products suddenly taste delicious. In fact, anything with even an hint of sweetness seems like it's the best quality of that item you've ever had. It's a treat.
- Another good thing is that I never have to be hungry. I can eat as many vegetables and protiens as I would like (as long as their on the list, which is pretty extensive).
- I miss bacon, but turkey bacon is a surprisingly good substitute. Just don't buy any if you like your bacon crispy.
- I have cheated (slightly) twice. The first time was on Saturday when I ate a chicken wing. It was hot and greasy and UBER good. The second time was last night when I enjoyed 2 glasses of red wine, which was also totally worth it. (Note: Red wine is allowed after Phase 1 anyway, so I really only count that as half of a cheat.)
- I saw a number on the scale today that I don't think I've seen in a year. It was excellent motivation.
- Because I have to eat half a cup of veggies with my breakfast, I've been coming up with some strange concoctions. For example, this morning I had an egg and half a yellow squash sauteed and topped with lowfat cheese. It was delish... strangely enough.
- 2 Cups of veggies are REQUIRED with lunch and dinner, so I'm never hungry after. Next time you go to cook dinner, do a little experiement. See what 2 cups actually looks like. It's no small feat.
- I MIGHT'VE roped a co-worker into taking on this challenge with me so I don't feel so silly when I talk about it. Also, to use as a Coach.
- Ricotta cheese mixed with unsweetened cocoa, vanilla, and sweet&low is my new best friend. So are Sugar-free fudgsicles. Hello dessert!
- The cravings for sugar are not terrible, but don't seem to subside EVER.
9.01.2009
Top 10 Cliches I'll Be Looking Out For On My Upcoming Cruise...
Of course, I'll be spying the entire guest list and crew, Carmen-Sandiego-style.
10. Those ever elusive Bermuda shorts and floral Hawaiian shirts. Nothing gets a girl like a little hamburger meat poking out of one of those things.
9. Sharks. A girl's gotta be safe while At Sea, and this girl knows exactly what to look for -- Pointy fins & creepy music.
8. Scrunchies -- Land or sea, these never really get old for me.
7. Men with suntan lotion bathed noses. Does anyone else remember the guy from Salute Your Shorts with a mullet who constantly sported this look?
6. Speedos. While in Orlando a couple of months back, I discovered that the British love these teeny bits of loin cloth. If I see a really outlandish one, say leopard print, I'll snap a pic.
5. The BayWatch run. Maybe some liquid courage will get some self confident girl going, and she'll break it out on the Lido deck.
4. Too much skin. Rather, I will be watching out to look the other way on this one. Thongs, toplessness, and too-little 'kini's are unwanted in my neck of the ship. Save that for your cabin.
3. Itsy Bitsy Cabin Space. Muscles & I will be sleeping in bunk beds during our relaxing vacay -- It really amps up the romance. KIDDING... but I hope to scope out rooms even smaller than my budget allowed and say "Wow. Looks a little cramped in there."
2. Titanic-like flings AND disasters. I hope to see at least one person at the front of the ship, arms spread, shouting "I'm the king of the world!" I hope NOT to see any icebergs or sinking vessels, but perhaps some displays of fear in the form of seasickness.
1. The Captain. I picture him on his throne behind the large Oak stern (is that what it's called?), with his little sailor outfit and a hat. When I finally break through the dense secruity and speak to him, I imagine he'll be too busy counting Knots to acknowledge me.
10. Those ever elusive Bermuda shorts and floral Hawaiian shirts. Nothing gets a girl like a little hamburger meat poking out of one of those things.
9. Sharks. A girl's gotta be safe while At Sea, and this girl knows exactly what to look for -- Pointy fins & creepy music.
8. Scrunchies -- Land or sea, these never really get old for me.
7. Men with suntan lotion bathed noses. Does anyone else remember the guy from Salute Your Shorts with a mullet who constantly sported this look?
6. Speedos. While in Orlando a couple of months back, I discovered that the British love these teeny bits of loin cloth. If I see a really outlandish one, say leopard print, I'll snap a pic.
5. The BayWatch run. Maybe some liquid courage will get some self confident girl going, and she'll break it out on the Lido deck.
4. Too much skin. Rather, I will be watching out to look the other way on this one. Thongs, toplessness, and too-little 'kini's are unwanted in my neck of the ship. Save that for your cabin.
3. Itsy Bitsy Cabin Space. Muscles & I will be sleeping in bunk beds during our relaxing vacay -- It really amps up the romance. KIDDING... but I hope to scope out rooms even smaller than my budget allowed and say "Wow. Looks a little cramped in there."
2. Titanic-like flings AND disasters. I hope to see at least one person at the front of the ship, arms spread, shouting "I'm the king of the world!" I hope NOT to see any icebergs or sinking vessels, but perhaps some displays of fear in the form of seasickness.
1. The Captain. I picture him on his throne behind the large Oak stern (is that what it's called?), with his little sailor outfit and a hat. When I finally break through the dense secruity and speak to him, I imagine he'll be too busy counting Knots to acknowledge me.
An Update By Way of a Top Ten List
So, after a two month hiatus (and a near break-up altogether), I decided to get back to the bloggie blog today. With so MANY happenings in my life since my last post, I don't really know where to start. So, let's make a list.
The Top 10 Most Interesting Things That Have Happened to Me Since Last Post (In No Particular Order):
10. We tried our first IUI. Shortly (27 days to be exact) after my last post, Muscles and I took our first chance on pregnancy by means of Turkey Bastin'. I had 2 lovely eggs, somewhat anyway. Two days prior to the procedure, one was 15 mm and the other was 17 mm. The ideal size is somewhere in the mid-20's and they grow approximately 2-3 mm per day. So, I was doing alright. The Turkey Bastin' itself was pretty uneventful, as there were no surprises. The next two weeks, however, were deliciously nerve-wracking. I tried my very best (most of the time) not to think about it and not to get my hopes up. Afterall, success rates per Turkey Bastin' cycle are about 10-15%. However, all my efforts couldn't keep me from thinking about it occasionally... and questioning every symptom... and generally driving myself crazy. Unfortunately, it did not take, and we are still BunInTheOven-less. I was disappointed, but not devestated. We will continue to try. I can be reasonable...
9. July brought quite the fire into Ginger Snap's eyes (Reminder: Ginger Snap is my Office Nemesis). Ginger Snap went on a full-fledged rampage to sully my good name. Without going into gory detail about her ill-willed antics, let's just say that in a month-long period, she yelled at me, accused me of lying, accused me of stealing -- TWICE, and generally bad-mouthed me to fellow co-workers. Why, you ask, does Ginger Snap have it out for me? What did I do you, you wonder? Not much. And I can verify that. My boss, YesMan, says that Ginger Snap is intimidated by me and wants me to like her. Well, I tried. On numerous occasions, I have invited Ginger to social functions, both with groups and without. Has she ever, even once, taken me up on it? NOPE. She always says (and I quote) "I just want to go home and spend time with Husband." Anyway, AN-EE-WAY, I am getting off topic. All of Ginger's accusations were, of course, false, but I started to take them personally. Afterall, this was defamation of character to a degree. After much thought, I marched into YesMan's office one morning and informed her that I was fed up -- I was having a talk with Ginger Snap ASAP. YesMan expressed her confidence in my decision (and a bit of fear, too, I think. I'm quite formidable when I'm angry.), and I called Ginger into my office. Basically, Ginger and I couldn't see eye to eye on one single thing. As my boss instructed, I demanded an apology (which I only half-heartedly got). The highlight of the entire discussion, in my humble opinion, was when she screamed "I would be so SO happy if I never ever had to work with you again another day as long as I live." Priceless.
8. Which leads me to the next most interesting thing, and that is that I have decided to leave GSK. My time here is just up, I think. I am getting burnt out on the office drama, especially, and also the long weekend hours. I would like to get back into Social Service, which is my real passion anyway, and I have already made efforts towards it. I thought I had (and actually accepted) a great new job in this field, but, to my great disappointment, it's not going to work out. However, I had already given my notice to GSK. So, luckily for me, GSK has offered to allow me to stay until they hire my replacement and/or I find something else. So, for now, I'm answering questions about badges and cookies. Soon, though, I'll be on to better, if not bigger, things.
7. Also related, I've decided to get my Masters degree. I will be spending this Fall semester preparing to apply to WKU's graduate school and the Masters of Social Work program I have decided on. It's going to be a long road, and I am definitely nervous about it, but I am ready. Don't count on that degree just yet -- I might still change my mind, but I AM going to continue higher education.
6. On a completely different note, I had the opportunity to enjoy my belated birthday gift from my husband in August and visit my BFF Army Wife in El Paso, Texas. I had never been out to west Texas, but I was pleasantly surprised how beautiful it was. (See evidence above.) It was just a long weekend, but we had a blast -- going to a comedy show to see Charlie Murphy (Eddie's bro, of course), shopping, and eating ridiculous amounts of Asian fare (our favorite). It was great to see the gal.
5. So, remember that new J-O-B mentioned in #8? The reason it didn't work out was because I graduated from WKU with my Bachelor's degree this summer. Oh wait. No I didn't. I graduate in December... and even though I am completely finished with all requirements (AND I obtained a signed letter from the Dean of my college to attest to this), I cannot actually be proclaimed a graduate until December. This fabulous employment opportunity required a degree right now (which I thought I had when I applied -- I'm not a total moron), but I could not offer that. Hopefully, something else fantastic will come along. Until then, you guys can plan what you're going to wear to my Out of Control, Belated, Hallelujah, It's Over Graduation Extravaganza in December.
4. But seriously... one of the best things that has happened to me in recent months (rather weeks) is growth of my spritual self. I've really been questioning alot in my life lately -- what God's purpose is for me through work, why I'm not pregnant yet, etc. -- and I have had to repeatedly give those questions and concerns and anxieties to God and trust that He will take care of me.... Just like He always has. Simply put, with all that He does for me, I am ready to grow up a little and do a little more for Him. And it feels wonderful.
3. For a random change of pace, I took a little impromptu road trip to the Big Apple one weekend. We drove. Yes, you read that correctly. 12 hours there and back in the "roomy" backseat of a Honda Ridgeline. My friend, Shrek, invited me along on this trip with a mission, and I went, happy to have the opportunity to spend some QT with her, as I hadn't seen her much this summer. The entire weekend was a complete display of ridiculousness. To begin, this lovely Asian couple drove us the entire way and back. I can't get into the hairy details of why we were going, but you might say I was an accessory to the Purse Mafioso for the weekend. Anyway, these lovely Asians had a penchant for a certain 80's mix CD that they played no less (literally) that 15x beginning to finish. Songs that used to illicit happy middle-school-era memories for me -- Musta Been Love, for example -- now make me cringe. Also, these people MIGHT have been in marriage counseling in their regular, non-Mafioso lives and MIGHT NOT have been the most pleasant traveling companions. To make it worse, their fathers taught them to read maps upside down and not trust GPS systems because we repeatedly got lost or "took the long way." And the nail in the coffin? I only enjoyed the sketch parts of the city: Chinatown & Little Italy for about 5 hours... then the drive home began. On the bright side, I had the best vodka sauce of my life in Little Italy and my taste buds still shiver at the thought of it.
2. Whew. This is a mucho longo list. I'm probably fatigued easily because I'm on the bird food diet for two weeks. Oops. I mean the South Beach Diet Phase 1. Actually, it's not bad. And I'm not tired OR hungry per say. I just crave sugar like it's a hard drug. You see, the premise of this diet is to detox your body from the excessive amounts of sugar and white flour that we consume. Then you begin to reintroduce things in a healthy way. My biggest beef with this program? I think it's going to cut into my PF Changs consumption considerably -- and possibly permanently. I like the results so far. I am on Day 8 of 14. I've lost about 6 pounds, and my goal is to lose 12. I think I would have heightened self esteem if I saw that special number on the scale, but anyway... It's extremely easy to lose weight in this first phase IF you like lots of vegetables. It's definitely alot of work -- because most things have to be prepared from scratch. Alot of canned foods or processed foods contain sugar, which is, again, a no-no. I'm hoping that it will at least slightly change my outlook on eating in general, but I'm probably being too optimistic. We'll see.
1. Last, and, in my opinion, best of all, Muscles and I booked a vacation! It was against our better judgement -- as we planned to put all available funds towards baby-making, but it is MUCH needed. We're driving down to New Orleans on Friday and sailing away on Saturday until next Thursday. Lucky me, huh? I've never been on a cruise before, so I'm definitely excited.
It felt good to say all those things, but now I'm exhuasted.
Next time, a less extensive list.
7.10.2009
The Right Place, The Wrong Time
Yesterday, Muscles & I had our all-important appointment with Baby Doc. (Well, we didn't actually see Baby Doc because he wasn't working, but we did see his office and his nurses.) Anyway, Muscles and I had to be there at 8:45 AM because I was determined to both see the doctor and make it to my internship on time that afternoon (which I did). We woke up a bit groggy, but mostly excited about the possibilities ahead of us. We definitely said a handful of prayers on the way out the door, on the interstate, and once we arrived.
Thank you, by the way, for the outpouring of support we have received so far in this journey to parenthood. All of the prayers are SO appreciated, and I hope you continue to keep us in your hearts.
Let me refresh your memory: Yesterday, I was scheduled to have an ultrasound. In this said ultrasound, they would determine if the medicine I was on had succeeded in making me ovulate. If I was close to ovulation, they would give me a shot to tell me eggies to "Come on down!" and then we would try the Turkey Bastin' procedure the next day.
So, there we were, praying for both strength and good news simultaneously. Some newbie nurse led me into an ultrasound room where she instructed me to undress from the waist down and wait until the person responsible for operating the machine came in. I did this, covered myself with the paper napkin provided, and tried to prepare myself for all possibilities. I found myself silently chanting: I believe in Your Love. I believe in Your Power. I believe in Your Plan. Muscles, who sat nervously nearby, was probably doing something similar but we didn't talk much. We just silently hoped for good news. Even with the knowledge that infertility is a long process, it is difficult not to hope that we are some of the lucky ones. After all, we have been at this for nearly 2 and a half years already.
The nurse comes in quite awhile later (Not typical for this facility). I'll spare you the fun details, but after looking at my ovaries, she states that I had one mature, good-sized follicle. It was 22.5 mm. (A little background: Anything over 18 and under 30 is good really.) However, it looks like it could be a cyst instead. Cripes. That crushed me.
She went on to say that the other possibility is that I had ovulated in fact, but that it was already in progress. That would mean that we missed our window of opportunity for this month. We have chosen to believe this option.
Nurse thanked us and deposited us in a waiting room to talk with yet another nurse about our options. I know this is not a devastating revelation now, but then... then it felt terrible. It's difficult not to blame yourself when your own body won't cooperate. Muscles comforted me, and I tried to hold it together. After all, there are plenty of couples who suffer much more difficult setbacks... and perhaps never have their own children. I can now say that this is but a bump in the road.
When we got into the consultation room with Nurse #3, she gave us a couple of options. First, she said, it was likely that I had already begun ovulating this month. (This is the same as Nurse #2's assessment.) Next, she stated that there is still a possibility that I did not ovulate, and instead just have a cyst. (Burn. Again.) She said we had two choices as to what we would like to do today. The first choice would be to take a blood sample from me immediately and test whether or not my hormone levels indicate ovulation has occurred. After that (and if) was confirmed, we would then get a sperm sample from Muscles. Those would be washed, and we would complete the procedure sometime that afternoon. The second choice was to go home, hop in the sack, try the old-fashioned way again this month, and start fresh with my next cycle.
It took some self-constraint to make this decision, but we pretty quickly decided to go with the second choice. Our main reason being that, if the follicle could not be confirmed as an eggie instead of a cyst, we would be wasting our money on a long shot. We have to be smart about this if we want to be successful. So, even though it means at least 3-4 more weeks of waiting, we decided to hold off.
The bright side of this appointment was that we learned that the medicine I took this cycle works for me. This medicine carries certain risks with it (as most fertility meds do), but it is a MUCH less expensive route to parenthood (hopefully). So, as a result, we get to continue using this medication and trying the Turkey Baster method. The dark side of our visit was, of course, the disappointment about having to wait even longer to get this show on the road.
Anyway, it took me about six hours of a pity party to think about this rationally, and I am now looking towards the future. I am also enjoying the old-fashioned method with hunky Muscles. :)
Thank you, by the way, for the outpouring of support we have received so far in this journey to parenthood. All of the prayers are SO appreciated, and I hope you continue to keep us in your hearts.
Let me refresh your memory: Yesterday, I was scheduled to have an ultrasound. In this said ultrasound, they would determine if the medicine I was on had succeeded in making me ovulate. If I was close to ovulation, they would give me a shot to tell me eggies to "Come on down!" and then we would try the Turkey Bastin' procedure the next day.
So, there we were, praying for both strength and good news simultaneously. Some newbie nurse led me into an ultrasound room where she instructed me to undress from the waist down and wait until the person responsible for operating the machine came in. I did this, covered myself with the paper napkin provided, and tried to prepare myself for all possibilities. I found myself silently chanting: I believe in Your Love. I believe in Your Power. I believe in Your Plan. Muscles, who sat nervously nearby, was probably doing something similar but we didn't talk much. We just silently hoped for good news. Even with the knowledge that infertility is a long process, it is difficult not to hope that we are some of the lucky ones. After all, we have been at this for nearly 2 and a half years already.
The nurse comes in quite awhile later (Not typical for this facility). I'll spare you the fun details, but after looking at my ovaries, she states that I had one mature, good-sized follicle. It was 22.5 mm. (A little background: Anything over 18 and under 30 is good really.) However, it looks like it could be a cyst instead. Cripes. That crushed me.
She went on to say that the other possibility is that I had ovulated in fact, but that it was already in progress. That would mean that we missed our window of opportunity for this month. We have chosen to believe this option.
Nurse thanked us and deposited us in a waiting room to talk with yet another nurse about our options. I know this is not a devastating revelation now, but then... then it felt terrible. It's difficult not to blame yourself when your own body won't cooperate. Muscles comforted me, and I tried to hold it together. After all, there are plenty of couples who suffer much more difficult setbacks... and perhaps never have their own children. I can now say that this is but a bump in the road.
When we got into the consultation room with Nurse #3, she gave us a couple of options. First, she said, it was likely that I had already begun ovulating this month. (This is the same as Nurse #2's assessment.) Next, she stated that there is still a possibility that I did not ovulate, and instead just have a cyst. (Burn. Again.) She said we had two choices as to what we would like to do today. The first choice would be to take a blood sample from me immediately and test whether or not my hormone levels indicate ovulation has occurred. After that (and if) was confirmed, we would then get a sperm sample from Muscles. Those would be washed, and we would complete the procedure sometime that afternoon. The second choice was to go home, hop in the sack, try the old-fashioned way again this month, and start fresh with my next cycle.
It took some self-constraint to make this decision, but we pretty quickly decided to go with the second choice. Our main reason being that, if the follicle could not be confirmed as an eggie instead of a cyst, we would be wasting our money on a long shot. We have to be smart about this if we want to be successful. So, even though it means at least 3-4 more weeks of waiting, we decided to hold off.
The bright side of this appointment was that we learned that the medicine I took this cycle works for me. This medicine carries certain risks with it (as most fertility meds do), but it is a MUCH less expensive route to parenthood (hopefully). So, as a result, we get to continue using this medication and trying the Turkey Baster method. The dark side of our visit was, of course, the disappointment about having to wait even longer to get this show on the road.
Anyway, it took me about six hours of a pity party to think about this rationally, and I am now looking towards the future. I am also enjoying the old-fashioned method with hunky Muscles. :)
7.07.2009
One to Hang on The Fridge
I just finished up with my annual review and, I have to say, it went very well. Toot toot. (That was me tooting my own horn.) I'll paint you a picture...
My two bosses called me into the office this afternoon about 15 minutes after we were scheduled to meet. Way to make a girl sweat.
They were seated side by side, across the table from me. One of my bosses, YesMan, is who I spend most of my days with. YesMan is actually a she, and I like her very much. She got her moniker from her easy-going personality. YesMan believes in autonomy and letting people work their own way. If you ask her to let you try out a little something new or to leave work early or to help you think through a problem, her answer is almost always an unequivocal YES. My other boss, my solid-line boss, as they like to call her around here, works a couple of hours away on a daily basis. They call her my solid-line boss because YesMan is my dotted-line boss. What that amounts to is madness, basically. The solid-line boss has more authority over me, and yet, rarely sees me. Oh, and the two of them are lateral within the company. It's very confusing, I know. Imagine me on a daily basis, going into YesMan's office to ask a question, only to realize I must take it back and call the long distance boss, Deb-OR-Uh. It's important that you pronounce her name that way instead of abbreviate it. I learned this quickly. Anyway, this makes it sound like I do not like Deb-OR-Uh, but I do. I actually like her very much as well. I'm a lucky gal to have these woman lead me. YesMan is so genuine and caring, and Deb-OR-Uh is so outspoken and spicy!
Having these two women before me, I wasn't exactly nervous. If they had issues with me before today, they would've (and have) expressed them already. We went through each section of the form, discussing my accomplishments since our last meeting. So far, so good.
Pause. I need to give you a little background. My last review was horrendous. Okay... It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't good. I was having some issues with a couple of staff members,and they were having even larger issues with me. Whereas they had been dutifully tattling on me to YesMan, I had been keeping quiet, thinking that was the mature thing to do. Unfortunately, it shed me a guilty light. In all honesty, now that I have stepped back from the situation, there were just a lot of miscommunications and even a total lack of communication at times. I still scored a "Very Good" overall, but I received alot more negative feedback than my overachiever ego is accustomed to.
Anyway, YesMan and Deb-OR-Uh go on to announce how proud they are of me and of my "growth through adversity." The remainder of the meeting was pretty much a swan song to my former self and a victorious Hallmark card dedicated to my improvement. That phrase, though, "growth through adversity" stuck with me and got me thinking...
Not to sing a sad, autobiographical song, but that's really been a strong theme throughout my adolescence and adult life. One of my favorite quotes of all time is "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." For a 25-year-old woman (if I can call myself that), I have been through some tough stuff -- an extremely unhealthy and abusive relationship, almost losing my mom twice, battling illness and infertility, marriage, watching my parents lose the life it took them 30 years to build... and that's not all. But I'm not asking for pity or sympathy. (Sometimes, when I have a really down day, I DO ask for those things from Muscles, but usually I don't like to dwell on them.) I think God has given me challenges, knowing I would figure out the best way to face them and come out on the other side more mature and resilient. Not only that, but I think I am called to help others who are going through difficult times when the assurance and peace God gave me. Maybe I just have The Big Head after my swell review, but I think I have always felt this way. Counseling and talking comes natural to me. I belong in a place, in a profession, where I can utilize those skills.
Okay. Toot toot. Enough about me... Oh wait. This is my bloggie blog. :)
My two bosses called me into the office this afternoon about 15 minutes after we were scheduled to meet. Way to make a girl sweat.
They were seated side by side, across the table from me. One of my bosses, YesMan, is who I spend most of my days with. YesMan is actually a she, and I like her very much. She got her moniker from her easy-going personality. YesMan believes in autonomy and letting people work their own way. If you ask her to let you try out a little something new or to leave work early or to help you think through a problem, her answer is almost always an unequivocal YES. My other boss, my solid-line boss, as they like to call her around here, works a couple of hours away on a daily basis. They call her my solid-line boss because YesMan is my dotted-line boss. What that amounts to is madness, basically. The solid-line boss has more authority over me, and yet, rarely sees me. Oh, and the two of them are lateral within the company. It's very confusing, I know. Imagine me on a daily basis, going into YesMan's office to ask a question, only to realize I must take it back and call the long distance boss, Deb-OR-Uh. It's important that you pronounce her name that way instead of abbreviate it. I learned this quickly. Anyway, this makes it sound like I do not like Deb-OR-Uh, but I do. I actually like her very much as well. I'm a lucky gal to have these woman lead me. YesMan is so genuine and caring, and Deb-OR-Uh is so outspoken and spicy!
Having these two women before me, I wasn't exactly nervous. If they had issues with me before today, they would've (and have) expressed them already. We went through each section of the form, discussing my accomplishments since our last meeting. So far, so good.
Pause. I need to give you a little background. My last review was horrendous. Okay... It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't good. I was having some issues with a couple of staff members,and they were having even larger issues with me. Whereas they had been dutifully tattling on me to YesMan, I had been keeping quiet, thinking that was the mature thing to do. Unfortunately, it shed me a guilty light. In all honesty, now that I have stepped back from the situation, there were just a lot of miscommunications and even a total lack of communication at times. I still scored a "Very Good" overall, but I received alot more negative feedback than my overachiever ego is accustomed to.
Anyway, YesMan and Deb-OR-Uh go on to announce how proud they are of me and of my "growth through adversity." The remainder of the meeting was pretty much a swan song to my former self and a victorious Hallmark card dedicated to my improvement. That phrase, though, "growth through adversity" stuck with me and got me thinking...
Not to sing a sad, autobiographical song, but that's really been a strong theme throughout my adolescence and adult life. One of my favorite quotes of all time is "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." For a 25-year-old woman (if I can call myself that), I have been through some tough stuff -- an extremely unhealthy and abusive relationship, almost losing my mom twice, battling illness and infertility, marriage, watching my parents lose the life it took them 30 years to build... and that's not all. But I'm not asking for pity or sympathy. (Sometimes, when I have a really down day, I DO ask for those things from Muscles, but usually I don't like to dwell on them.) I think God has given me challenges, knowing I would figure out the best way to face them and come out on the other side more mature and resilient. Not only that, but I think I am called to help others who are going through difficult times when the assurance and peace God gave me. Maybe I just have The Big Head after my swell review, but I think I have always felt this way. Counseling and talking comes natural to me. I belong in a place, in a profession, where I can utilize those skills.
Okay. Toot toot. Enough about me... Oh wait. This is my bloggie blog. :)
Top 10 Things I'm Hoping Not to Hear at my Performance Review Today
I'm having my annual review this afternoon. In anticipation, I have been playing a little game of Worst Case Scenario...
10. Oops. You have a little something on your shirt. Oh, it's yesterday's breakfast? Okay...
9. You have done a great job! Unfortunately with the budget cuts, we won't be able to give you a raise this year. Instead, here's a complimentary Gator card! You can use it at over 20 locations.
8. You kind've sucked. Step yo' game up.
7. My boss's well-meaning but often creepy compliment, "Woooooooonderful." (Make sure you crescendo in the middle.)
6. With the lack of free time you seem to have, we think it's best to give you a few more responsibilities. You are now assigned to office maintenance, including but not limited to: vacuuming, sweeping, lawn care, toilet scrubbing, and shoe polishing.
5. We've decided to make Ginger your supervisor. She might snap (no pun intended) if she doesn't get a little more raw power around here.
4. You did great (or wooooooonderful) with product sales this year. As a result, we think we'll raise your goal up 10% instead of the customary 1%.
3. Excuse me. Something came up. Can we re-schedule for your birthday? (Or some other equally important and unavailable day.)
2. We think it's time for a demotion. How do you feel about becoming a troop leader this year?
1. Because of your outstanding performance this quarter, we would like to give you a special gift: an indefinite vacation.
10. Oops. You have a little something on your shirt. Oh, it's yesterday's breakfast? Okay...
9. You have done a great job! Unfortunately with the budget cuts, we won't be able to give you a raise this year. Instead, here's a complimentary Gator card! You can use it at over 20 locations.
8. You kind've sucked. Step yo' game up.
7. My boss's well-meaning but often creepy compliment, "Woooooooonderful." (Make sure you crescendo in the middle.)
6. With the lack of free time you seem to have, we think it's best to give you a few more responsibilities. You are now assigned to office maintenance, including but not limited to: vacuuming, sweeping, lawn care, toilet scrubbing, and shoe polishing.
5. We've decided to make Ginger your supervisor. She might snap (no pun intended) if she doesn't get a little more raw power around here.
4. You did great (or wooooooonderful) with product sales this year. As a result, we think we'll raise your goal up 10% instead of the customary 1%.
3. Excuse me. Something came up. Can we re-schedule for your birthday? (Or some other equally important and unavailable day.)
2. We think it's time for a demotion. How do you feel about becoming a troop leader this year?
1. Because of your outstanding performance this quarter, we would like to give you a special gift: an indefinite vacation.
7.06.2009
Top 10 Indicators That Your Friends Have Not Grown Up Yet But Might Need To
This list might be ongoing because I can definitely come up with more...
10. A holiday cannot be celebrated without a plethora of alcoholic choices. This is not limited to beer and wine, but also includes hooch and a one-of-a-kind creation that comes in a gas can.
9. When you go to the bar, people look at you like "Who does she think she is? Aren't they married? Doesn't he work at a bank?", and yet your friends don't care. They continue to get falling down drunk and hit on college freshmen.
8. Guys still refer to each other as homosexual slurs for fun. The female version of this might be ending every sentence with "...bitches!"
7. Drunk dialing has not become a forgotten art.
6. They still live at home with the 'rents AND (qualifier here) have their meals cooked and laundry done by Mom. Most times, they also have no intention of moving anytime soon.
5. They are currently obsessed with Twilight, along with the rest of the teeny-bopper nation, AND (another qualifier) own at least one Team Edward t-shirt.
4. Nudity, especially in the form of skinny dipping, is acceptable entertainment. This includes only male nudity usually, and often results in mysterious photographs showing up on your cell phone.
3. Everyone likes everyone. Or used to like everyone. Or at least made out with someone a few times. It happens in groups of friends. Let's just leave that drama in the past, though. No need to bring yesterday's lunch to today's menu.
2. This one is dedicated solely to my dear friend, Shrek... You still have a picture of a certain former N'Sync-er hanging in your closest, just to catch a glimpse of as you get dressed each morning.
1. The following things are recent memories for you (as opposed to distant memories): beer pong, flip cup, revealing club wear, going to a bar more than once per week, drinking until you black out, and wearing your pajama's in public.
10. A holiday cannot be celebrated without a plethora of alcoholic choices. This is not limited to beer and wine, but also includes hooch and a one-of-a-kind creation that comes in a gas can.
9. When you go to the bar, people look at you like "Who does she think she is? Aren't they married? Doesn't he work at a bank?", and yet your friends don't care. They continue to get falling down drunk and hit on college freshmen.
8. Guys still refer to each other as homosexual slurs for fun. The female version of this might be ending every sentence with "...bitches!"
7. Drunk dialing has not become a forgotten art.
6. They still live at home with the 'rents AND (qualifier here) have their meals cooked and laundry done by Mom. Most times, they also have no intention of moving anytime soon.
5. They are currently obsessed with Twilight, along with the rest of the teeny-bopper nation, AND (another qualifier) own at least one Team Edward t-shirt.
4. Nudity, especially in the form of skinny dipping, is acceptable entertainment. This includes only male nudity usually, and often results in mysterious photographs showing up on your cell phone.
3. Everyone likes everyone. Or used to like everyone. Or at least made out with someone a few times. It happens in groups of friends. Let's just leave that drama in the past, though. No need to bring yesterday's lunch to today's menu.
2. This one is dedicated solely to my dear friend, Shrek... You still have a picture of a certain former N'Sync-er hanging in your closest, just to catch a glimpse of as you get dressed each morning.
1. The following things are recent memories for you (as opposed to distant memories): beer pong, flip cup, revealing club wear, going to a bar more than once per week, drinking until you black out, and wearing your pajama's in public.
The Newly Blue-Haired Crew Has a Big 4th
I must admit, I have been angry at the Bloggie Blog for the last couple of days. I had alot to say, but I held back for fear of getting burned again. You see, on Friday morning, I wrote a brilliant little excerpt about my July 4th expectations and *POOF!* it didn't save. So, I just want to let you all know, you missed out because of Blogspot's inattention to detail.
Anyway, I'm back at work today after the week-long, thought-provoking furlough. I am in pain in more ways than one. My thighs, biceps, stomach, and neck ache like I ran (and won) the Boston Marathon this morning. For those of you who were lucky enough to attend the rained-out shindig on Saturday, you might be guessing correctly -- that the giant slip n' slide did me in.
It all started a week or so ago when Muscles was out having a bite with some friends, reminiscing about 4th's past. They always have to try to top the best. One of the bunch suggests a slip n' slide. Ooooh's & Aaaah's ensue. Everyone thinks that's a fab idea until they realize the inevitable -- that slip n' slides are built for children and thus, will not work for this group. The plan is eventually modified to include a homemade, grown-man-size, big slide going down a hill. Sounds like fun, huh? I thought so, too.
I woke up on Saturday morning to eat the annual Yones Familia breakfast at 7:30. Yuck. We felt violated for having to wake up that early in the first place... not to mention that breakfast was nearly gone and cold by the time we actually made it there. Whatever. I planned to mosey back to my bed and nap for awhile, as we had been up late the night before.
Muscles had other plans. He said he must get to work on the water slide. Crap. Our house guest, Casio the Rappin' Calculator, got out of bed in a flurry of excitement to help. Even though I tried diligently to go back to sleep, butterflies of anticipation were keeping me awake. I eventually gave in to the pressure and went outside to see their progress.
There, in the field beside my house, was 300 feet of thick plastic arranged end-to-end down a hill. I was impressed. The boys went to round up 8 or so water hoses (Yeah, I'm guessing we'll hear about that later.) to get this show rollin'. I obediently went inside to find the veggie oil. After all, we wanted this thing to go fast.
I get back out there, only to find my Cuzzo and her boyfriend, Robert Roberts, watering the plastic.
"Where's Muscles?" I ask.
"He and the Calculator went to find MORE hoses," RobRob replies.
I was antsy. I'll admit it. I tricked Roberts into giving it a go. I would've done so myself, but there were safety concerns, and, frankly, he was more expendable. Oops.
Robby-O positions himself atop a boogie board and asks that we push him. We give him the ol' heave-ho and he's off. Uh oh. Robby-O is not sliding in a straight line. He's favoring his left side. Did he have a stroke on the way down? Nope. The slide was malfunctioning and leading poor Robby-O off into the grass and slightly down the hill. No harm, no foul, right?
Robby-O attempts to stand, but struggles instead with the copious amounts of vegetable oil previously mentioned. After a couple of tries, he makes it back up the hill. Being the considerate guest that I am, I convince him to give it another try.
Robby-O is back on his perch, awaiting a push in no time.
Go, Robby-O, go!
I wish I could report that Robby-O got the hang of it, but that's not quite the case. Essentially, it was the same result with less bumbling to stand up this time. That's okay, Robby-O. Perhaps you're just not cut out for slippin' and slidin'.
At this point, I decide to give it a go myself. I have seen the damage (or so I thought) and it was minimal. I mounted the same boogie board (equipped with handles) and strategized in my mind that I would steer myself away from harm's way.
Ready...
Set...
MAN! This thing feels alot faster than it looks! I'm an excellent steer-er, really showing Robby-O up, I think. Then, like you may have guessed, I too rolled off of the plastic and into the coarse hay. YUCK.
In the meantime, Muscles and his Calculator come back. We put our five young minds together and try to come up with a way to fix the slide. Apparently, all that thinking was difficult for dear Muscles because he suddenly broke free from the group, ran to the slide, and plopped down head-first. What.A.Bad.Idea.
Let's just say Muscles hit every bump, stick, and rock on the way down to the same patch of hay Robby-O and myself had landed in. Only when he stood up, he was covered in tiny cuts. Ouch.
Robby-O chose this moment to air his own previously unmentioned concerns. He raised the back of his own shirt up to reveal multiple wounds. Why did he let me slide down, knowing the risks? Good question. Either way, I ended up feeling perfectly fine.
Muscles, on the other hand, was not so happy. He was in the middle of a full scale rant.
"This is never going to work! It's not going to work! Too bad! I hate that we did allll this work for nothing. Guess everybody can just be disappointed. Blah Blah Blah."
Geez, Louise, Muscles. Calm down. I hate it when he does that over-reacting thing. And, to boot, I enjoyed my short-lived, uninjured ride [halfway] down the hill. I think we could've tried harder, but Muscles wasn't having it. GAME OVER.
I went inside to pout and take a shower. What a let down. Or so I thought.
When I got out of the shower and looked out the window, one third of our deconstructed slide (100 feet of slippery goodness) was lying in our front yard. The water hoses had been adjusted for optimal water delivery. Wow.
This was a more traditional slip n' slide. You actually had to run and jump on it, just like the days when we were all wee tots. This was a nice consolation prize.
We spent the afternoon running, jumping, and diving onto our adult-size slip n' slide. It was a blasty-blast, even when the rain started.
What I did not expect, however, was to wake up the next morning feeling like I had wrestled an angry giant. Muscles and I were both in considerable pain. After checking in with our co-slippers n' sliders, everyone was, in fact, in pain.
Later that evening, we went over to the in-laws house to watch the previously rained-out fireworks. I announced how very sore I was to whoever would listen, as it hurt each and every time I moved.
My mother-in-law then says to me,
"Well, you all ARE 25 years old, throwing your bodies on the ground! You should be sore."
Buuuuuurn. Good point, though I hate to admit it. Perhaps this is the beginning of what getting old feels like. Next time I fancy a slip n' slide, I'll be sure to load up on BenGay cream and IcyHot patches first.
Anyway, I'm back at work today after the week-long, thought-provoking furlough. I am in pain in more ways than one. My thighs, biceps, stomach, and neck ache like I ran (and won) the Boston Marathon this morning. For those of you who were lucky enough to attend the rained-out shindig on Saturday, you might be guessing correctly -- that the giant slip n' slide did me in.
It all started a week or so ago when Muscles was out having a bite with some friends, reminiscing about 4th's past. They always have to try to top the best. One of the bunch suggests a slip n' slide. Ooooh's & Aaaah's ensue. Everyone thinks that's a fab idea until they realize the inevitable -- that slip n' slides are built for children and thus, will not work for this group. The plan is eventually modified to include a homemade, grown-man-size, big slide going down a hill. Sounds like fun, huh? I thought so, too.
I woke up on Saturday morning to eat the annual Yones Familia breakfast at 7:30. Yuck. We felt violated for having to wake up that early in the first place... not to mention that breakfast was nearly gone and cold by the time we actually made it there. Whatever. I planned to mosey back to my bed and nap for awhile, as we had been up late the night before.
Muscles had other plans. He said he must get to work on the water slide. Crap. Our house guest, Casio the Rappin' Calculator, got out of bed in a flurry of excitement to help. Even though I tried diligently to go back to sleep, butterflies of anticipation were keeping me awake. I eventually gave in to the pressure and went outside to see their progress.
There, in the field beside my house, was 300 feet of thick plastic arranged end-to-end down a hill. I was impressed. The boys went to round up 8 or so water hoses (Yeah, I'm guessing we'll hear about that later.) to get this show rollin'. I obediently went inside to find the veggie oil. After all, we wanted this thing to go fast.
I get back out there, only to find my Cuzzo and her boyfriend, Robert Roberts, watering the plastic.
"Where's Muscles?" I ask.
"He and the Calculator went to find MORE hoses," RobRob replies.
I was antsy. I'll admit it. I tricked Roberts into giving it a go. I would've done so myself, but there were safety concerns, and, frankly, he was more expendable. Oops.
Robby-O positions himself atop a boogie board and asks that we push him. We give him the ol' heave-ho and he's off. Uh oh. Robby-O is not sliding in a straight line. He's favoring his left side. Did he have a stroke on the way down? Nope. The slide was malfunctioning and leading poor Robby-O off into the grass and slightly down the hill. No harm, no foul, right?
Robby-O attempts to stand, but struggles instead with the copious amounts of vegetable oil previously mentioned. After a couple of tries, he makes it back up the hill. Being the considerate guest that I am, I convince him to give it another try.
Robby-O is back on his perch, awaiting a push in no time.
Go, Robby-O, go!
I wish I could report that Robby-O got the hang of it, but that's not quite the case. Essentially, it was the same result with less bumbling to stand up this time. That's okay, Robby-O. Perhaps you're just not cut out for slippin' and slidin'.
At this point, I decide to give it a go myself. I have seen the damage (or so I thought) and it was minimal. I mounted the same boogie board (equipped with handles) and strategized in my mind that I would steer myself away from harm's way.
Ready...
Set...
MAN! This thing feels alot faster than it looks! I'm an excellent steer-er, really showing Robby-O up, I think. Then, like you may have guessed, I too rolled off of the plastic and into the coarse hay. YUCK.
In the meantime, Muscles and his Calculator come back. We put our five young minds together and try to come up with a way to fix the slide. Apparently, all that thinking was difficult for dear Muscles because he suddenly broke free from the group, ran to the slide, and plopped down head-first. What.A.Bad.Idea.
Let's just say Muscles hit every bump, stick, and rock on the way down to the same patch of hay Robby-O and myself had landed in. Only when he stood up, he was covered in tiny cuts. Ouch.
Robby-O chose this moment to air his own previously unmentioned concerns. He raised the back of his own shirt up to reveal multiple wounds. Why did he let me slide down, knowing the risks? Good question. Either way, I ended up feeling perfectly fine.
Muscles, on the other hand, was not so happy. He was in the middle of a full scale rant.
"This is never going to work! It's not going to work! Too bad! I hate that we did allll this work for nothing. Guess everybody can just be disappointed. Blah Blah Blah."
Geez, Louise, Muscles. Calm down. I hate it when he does that over-reacting thing. And, to boot, I enjoyed my short-lived, uninjured ride [halfway] down the hill. I think we could've tried harder, but Muscles wasn't having it. GAME OVER.
I went inside to pout and take a shower. What a let down. Or so I thought.
When I got out of the shower and looked out the window, one third of our deconstructed slide (100 feet of slippery goodness) was lying in our front yard. The water hoses had been adjusted for optimal water delivery. Wow.
This was a more traditional slip n' slide. You actually had to run and jump on it, just like the days when we were all wee tots. This was a nice consolation prize.
We spent the afternoon running, jumping, and diving onto our adult-size slip n' slide. It was a blasty-blast, even when the rain started.
What I did not expect, however, was to wake up the next morning feeling like I had wrestled an angry giant. Muscles and I were both in considerable pain. After checking in with our co-slippers n' sliders, everyone was, in fact, in pain.
Later that evening, we went over to the in-laws house to watch the previously rained-out fireworks. I announced how very sore I was to whoever would listen, as it hurt each and every time I moved.
My mother-in-law then says to me,
"Well, you all ARE 25 years old, throwing your bodies on the ground! You should be sore."
Buuuuuurn. Good point, though I hate to admit it. Perhaps this is the beginning of what getting old feels like. Next time I fancy a slip n' slide, I'll be sure to load up on BenGay cream and IcyHot patches first.
7.02.2009
Top 10 Independance Day Truths
In honor of the upcoming holiday...
10. It should always be a day-long event, not just an evening of fire in the sky. Around here, it starts several days early. In fact, we're having our first patriotic meal tonight.
9. Once, I witnessed a Twinkie eating contest. The event was inspired by a national hot dog eating contest. I think my father-in-law chose Twinkies because hot dogs are disgusting. Little did he know how disgusting the little, cream-filled cakes would become. The champion's strategy was dunking each Twinkie into a glass of water before swallowing it whole. Yuck.
8. A kiss beneath the fireworks makes a girl melt. Listen up Men, Boyfriends, and Muscle-y Husbands: You'll be gifted beyond your wildest dreams if you'll just lean over and plant a wet one on your lady during the show.
7. Every good 4th of July must involve water. Lake water is sewer water's masked cousin as far as I'm concerned, but anybody can enjoy a round of pool volleyball, eh?
6. It's a fine excuse to express your patriotism... as long as it's not in the form of showing off your fave Stars & Bars flag/t-shirt/bandanna. Feel free, however, to belt out America, The Beautiful or the Pledge of Allegiance at will. We will join you.
5. It's your special day if red, white, and blue are your colors. You can wear them head to toe, shoes included. You may also paint your face, buy a coordinating swimsuit, and/or bring matching cupcakes to our shindig. But only today.
4. There will be copious amounts of yummy grilled food. Who doesn't love the juiciness of a patriotic cheeseburger and the sweetness of America's Baked Beans? :)
3. Togetherness is the day's theme. No drama from yo' baby mama today. Please leave your issues in the driveway.
2. Babies and dogs got it right the first time. Fireworks are scary and not all that fun. Sure, they are a great opportunity for a little romance (See #8), but mostly they are just loud balls of fire sailing through the sky. Who needs it? No one. But I'll be right there with the other throngs of people, Ooohing and Aaahhing.
1. People will drink until they are falling down, belligerent, or snuggling up on this celebratory day. Beer is usually the drink of choice, so park your Igloo anywhere in our front yard and get to it. Of course we don't mind cleaning up your empty cans or grotesque vomit tomorrow.
10. It should always be a day-long event, not just an evening of fire in the sky. Around here, it starts several days early. In fact, we're having our first patriotic meal tonight.
9. Once, I witnessed a Twinkie eating contest. The event was inspired by a national hot dog eating contest. I think my father-in-law chose Twinkies because hot dogs are disgusting. Little did he know how disgusting the little, cream-filled cakes would become. The champion's strategy was dunking each Twinkie into a glass of water before swallowing it whole. Yuck.
8. A kiss beneath the fireworks makes a girl melt. Listen up Men, Boyfriends, and Muscle-y Husbands: You'll be gifted beyond your wildest dreams if you'll just lean over and plant a wet one on your lady during the show.
7. Every good 4th of July must involve water. Lake water is sewer water's masked cousin as far as I'm concerned, but anybody can enjoy a round of pool volleyball, eh?
6. It's a fine excuse to express your patriotism... as long as it's not in the form of showing off your fave Stars & Bars flag/t-shirt/bandanna. Feel free, however, to belt out America, The Beautiful or the Pledge of Allegiance at will. We will join you.
5. It's your special day if red, white, and blue are your colors. You can wear them head to toe, shoes included. You may also paint your face, buy a coordinating swimsuit, and/or bring matching cupcakes to our shindig. But only today.
4. There will be copious amounts of yummy grilled food. Who doesn't love the juiciness of a patriotic cheeseburger and the sweetness of America's Baked Beans? :)
3. Togetherness is the day's theme. No drama from yo' baby mama today. Please leave your issues in the driveway.
2. Babies and dogs got it right the first time. Fireworks are scary and not all that fun. Sure, they are a great opportunity for a little romance (See #8), but mostly they are just loud balls of fire sailing through the sky. Who needs it? No one. But I'll be right there with the other throngs of people, Ooohing and Aaahhing.
1. People will drink until they are falling down, belligerent, or snuggling up on this celebratory day. Beer is usually the drink of choice, so park your Igloo anywhere in our front yard and get to it. Of course we don't mind cleaning up your empty cans or grotesque vomit tomorrow.
7.01.2009
Top 10 Things You Can Find Me Doing When I Have All the Free Time in the World
Inspired by this week...
10. Browsing the classifieds. I've been known to shop around for new jobs even when I don't need one. It's good to know what's out there. The problem is that sometimes I convince myself I MIGHT need one...
9. Eating copious amounts of something I concocted from the ingredients readily available in my kitchen. When I'm home alone, a simple ham sandwich never occurs to me. Instead, I make things like Thai-style Pineapple fried rice with golden raisins or Crispy, homemade Onion strings and a chicken burrito. My cravings are flung far and wide. I take advantage of this while Muscles is at work.
8. Planning to undertake a major housecleaning project, like, say, reorganize the office. Yeah, right.
7. Shopping. This is kind've an ancient sport for me. You see, Muscles and I have long-since put ourselves on a cash-only, monthly budget. We each have some money to shop with, but I usually spend mine on food. Yeah, I'm a fattie. Anyway, its a favorite past time. I still hit up the best bargain shopping spots on a quasi-regular basis. Mostly for items for the crib.
6. Procrastinating about getting myself presentable to go into town. Why, dear Lord, can Muscles get out of bed and be out the door 15 minutes later, showered, shaved and all?!? I have to allot at least 45 minutes to this process, in order to dry and (usually) straighten the horses' mane. Sometimes, I just sike myself out of it.
5. Bloggie bloggin'. This somehow makes it onto every list. What can I say? I love to laugh at my own brilliance. (Don't correct me, please.)
4. Laying out in the sweet, sweet sun. My naturally pale skin may not love the sun, but my endorphins sure do.
3. Working. Yep. Sad. I like my job, and I like thinking about what I'm going to do next and how.
2. Texting/calling/annoying friends. I have trouble understanding how other people can be busy while I'm twiddling my thumbs. Pick up your phone, girl. I have hours dead silences or random, oddball comments to get out. Geez. Take a personal day for a friend in need.
1. Lying on my couch, eating a strange combination as a snack (currently mini marshmallows and shredded coconut), watching re-runs of JK+8 (Don't get me started on the divorce drama. I have very strong opinions), and thinking about things I could be/need to be/want to be doing.
10. Browsing the classifieds. I've been known to shop around for new jobs even when I don't need one. It's good to know what's out there. The problem is that sometimes I convince myself I MIGHT need one...
9. Eating copious amounts of something I concocted from the ingredients readily available in my kitchen. When I'm home alone, a simple ham sandwich never occurs to me. Instead, I make things like Thai-style Pineapple fried rice with golden raisins or Crispy, homemade Onion strings and a chicken burrito. My cravings are flung far and wide. I take advantage of this while Muscles is at work.
8. Planning to undertake a major housecleaning project, like, say, reorganize the office. Yeah, right.
7. Shopping. This is kind've an ancient sport for me. You see, Muscles and I have long-since put ourselves on a cash-only, monthly budget. We each have some money to shop with, but I usually spend mine on food. Yeah, I'm a fattie. Anyway, its a favorite past time. I still hit up the best bargain shopping spots on a quasi-regular basis. Mostly for items for the crib.
6. Procrastinating about getting myself presentable to go into town. Why, dear Lord, can Muscles get out of bed and be out the door 15 minutes later, showered, shaved and all?!? I have to allot at least 45 minutes to this process, in order to dry and (usually) straighten the horses' mane. Sometimes, I just sike myself out of it.
5. Bloggie bloggin'. This somehow makes it onto every list. What can I say? I love to laugh at my own brilliance. (Don't correct me, please.)
4. Laying out in the sweet, sweet sun. My naturally pale skin may not love the sun, but my endorphins sure do.
3. Working. Yep. Sad. I like my job, and I like thinking about what I'm going to do next and how.
2. Texting/calling/annoying friends. I have trouble understanding how other people can be busy while I'm twiddling my thumbs. Pick up your phone, girl. I have hours dead silences or random, oddball comments to get out. Geez. Take a personal day for a friend in need.
1. Lying on my couch, eating a strange combination as a snack (currently mini marshmallows and shredded coconut), watching re-runs of JK+8 (Don't get me started on the divorce drama. I have very strong opinions), and thinking about things I could be/need to be/want to be doing.
Wanted: 32 Somewhat Structured Hours in a Day
This week I am on furlough from my job. What that amounts to is that all staff are required to take this week completely off from work with no pay. We are not allowed to go to the office, check our email or voice messages, or answer personal calls from volunteers. It was instituted as a way to try to salvage the meager budget this year. We found out about it a couple of months ago, and, to be quite honest, I have been excited about it rather than upset. Financially, I suppose it's a bit of a bummer, but socially it's been nice. There is another one scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving, and I plan to take a little vacay then, depending on where this baby stuff goes.
Anyway, I have had too much time to think and whatnot since this began. This has been a problem for me, of course. As much as I complain about always being tired and busy, I think I thrive under those circumstances. Monday, the first "real" day of the furlough, was great. I had an interview in the morning and then the doctor's appointment that afternoon with Jonathan. We went to our favorite Asian restaurant after that, and I was happy. My day was full. Yesterday was a different story. I had only one thing on the agenda: to have lunch with my friend, Shrek. This particular version of Shrek is not green. She is a girl and has impeccable manners. Perhaps she just has a penchant for wanting to be the center of things, much like the lovable, green ogre.
With all of that free time, I devised a plan of the many enjoyable things I wanted to accomplish yesterday: lay out, write a little in the bloggie blog, do some housework (only enjoyable when I have ample time), plan a fabulous dinner and execute it, and work out. Somehow, I managed to check off very few things on my fun to-do list. I did some laundry and light cleaning, and I made an average meal for my family. Where did all my time go, you ask? The sofa ate it. Yep. I laid on my sofa, flipping channels and checking my facebook. I even tried to take a nap, but no. I was too busy with the 2 afore mentioned activities to squeeze that in either. I was lost. So many good, solid options of what to do, and I took a big "L." This brings me to my next point...
I don't think I can ever be a stay-at-home mom. I know. Lightening strike me now.
Anyway, I have had too much time to think and whatnot since this began. This has been a problem for me, of course. As much as I complain about always being tired and busy, I think I thrive under those circumstances. Monday, the first "real" day of the furlough, was great. I had an interview in the morning and then the doctor's appointment that afternoon with Jonathan. We went to our favorite Asian restaurant after that, and I was happy. My day was full. Yesterday was a different story. I had only one thing on the agenda: to have lunch with my friend, Shrek. This particular version of Shrek is not green. She is a girl and has impeccable manners. Perhaps she just has a penchant for wanting to be the center of things, much like the lovable, green ogre.
With all of that free time, I devised a plan of the many enjoyable things I wanted to accomplish yesterday: lay out, write a little in the bloggie blog, do some housework (only enjoyable when I have ample time), plan a fabulous dinner and execute it, and work out. Somehow, I managed to check off very few things on my fun to-do list. I did some laundry and light cleaning, and I made an average meal for my family. Where did all my time go, you ask? The sofa ate it. Yep. I laid on my sofa, flipping channels and checking my facebook. I even tried to take a nap, but no. I was too busy with the 2 afore mentioned activities to squeeze that in either. I was lost. So many good, solid options of what to do, and I took a big "L." This brings me to my next point...
I don't think I can ever be a stay-at-home mom. I know. Lightening strike me now.
Disclaimer: I am, in no way, knocking stay-at-home moms. My own mother stayed at home with me for most of my childhood, and it was an irreplaceable blessing. I actually think my working will be a detriment to my own mothering. Read on.
This topic has been on my mind alot as Muscles & I have gone through the reproductive technology process. I'm hoping to come out the other side of this baby thing, saying both my future child and I are better for it. Right now, though, I just feel really guilty. And angry.
I love to work. Maybe I don't love to work SO much, but I DO love to work. I like to feel needed and important, and also that I'm not along for a free ride. And furthermore, I think my working is necessary to provide the best life for said future kiddos. I think it contributes to my happiness, our marital success, and my personal growth. I don't know if I think this is selfish or not, but I already feel guilty about it. I absolutely HATE the idea of my child growing up in day care. I can guarantee that will not happen either. So, I feel like I will be stuck between a rock and a hard place when (hopefully) baby arrives. And to add insult to injury, why is this MY concern rather than Muscles' concern? His response is something like "We'll figure it out. I'll support whatever you do." WHY CAN'T I JUST SUPPORT WHATEVER HE DOES?!?
I don't know. Either way, I am currently, happily in denial. My hope is that some family member (or a few) will miraculously offer to keep said child/children once or twice a week until I can devise a workable plan. The other option that I am more than willing to undertake is working part time. I just interviewed for a full-time job, however, so we'll see. One bright spot of the position is that pre-school is available in the building... Whew. So much to think about.
6.29.2009
On the Verge of Something Big... Maybe
The ball is rolling, baby.
Today we went to the Baby Doc. Our intention was to discuss the results of Muscles' most recent test and our options thereafter. I don't know why I thought that was just another step in the long, grocery-line wait for baby-makin', but it wasn't. It was progress. It was the beginning. It was dangerously hopeful.
We arrived at the fertility center half an hour early. Muscles and I paused outside the door of the center to say a quick prayer for good news. I suppose it worked because I found myself thanking God an hour later. Anyway, they got us signed in. At this particular office, they require a hospital-style bracelet every single visit for both partners. I quickly learned to thrust my bracelet-ed wrist at any personnel for verification of my identity. I suppose that's a good thing. Anyway, a nurse came out to get us nearly before we had a chance to sit down. Sweet.
We were sat neatly in a regular office instead of in a little consultation room like before. I worried immediately that our satisfaction with the center would diminish now that we were actually so close to action. These turned out to be unfounded. Baby Doc came in a few minutes later, the same as he had during our other visits. He told us he was pleased with Muscles' test results. There were a couple of below average numbers, but the most important numbers were adequate or even a bit above average. Doc made his suggestion, which is to try Turkey Bastin' without injectable, invasive drugs. For now. This is significantly cheaper than the type of Turkey Bastin' I thought we would be trying, which involves a series of expensive shots to stimulate my eggies to come out and play. Instead, there are pills to stimulate the eggies.
Then the surprise. (To me anyway)
Doc says, "Okay, so by my calculations, you are currently on Day 3, so I'll give you the prescription and you can begin taking it today. Schedule an ultrasound for next Thursday, and, if the medicine works we will do the procedure next Friday."
I heard Muscles suck in his breath. I looked at him to see if he was still with me. There was an evident surprise and a hint of fear in his eyes. I raised my eyebrows in that what-do-you-think look and he smiled and nodded. We were, we ARE doing this. With that, we left and I did, in fact, start the prescription today.
The chances for any fertility procedure to be a success are really against you. Even IVF success rates are below 50%. This procedure is even lower. It is closer to 10-15%. Still, my fingers are crossed. We're young and mostly healthy. It could work.
Send a prayer up for us, if the postman can get it there in time. Let me amend my thoughts on the fertility process to say this. There IS alot of waiting, but there also seems to be some periods of sprinting. Waiting. Sprinting. Waiting. Waiting. Sprinting. Waiting. I don't know how to adjust to that exactly, but I'm working on it. My fingers are crossed.
Today we went to the Baby Doc. Our intention was to discuss the results of Muscles' most recent test and our options thereafter. I don't know why I thought that was just another step in the long, grocery-line wait for baby-makin', but it wasn't. It was progress. It was the beginning. It was dangerously hopeful.
We arrived at the fertility center half an hour early. Muscles and I paused outside the door of the center to say a quick prayer for good news. I suppose it worked because I found myself thanking God an hour later. Anyway, they got us signed in. At this particular office, they require a hospital-style bracelet every single visit for both partners. I quickly learned to thrust my bracelet-ed wrist at any personnel for verification of my identity. I suppose that's a good thing. Anyway, a nurse came out to get us nearly before we had a chance to sit down. Sweet.
We were sat neatly in a regular office instead of in a little consultation room like before. I worried immediately that our satisfaction with the center would diminish now that we were actually so close to action. These turned out to be unfounded. Baby Doc came in a few minutes later, the same as he had during our other visits. He told us he was pleased with Muscles' test results. There were a couple of below average numbers, but the most important numbers were adequate or even a bit above average. Doc made his suggestion, which is to try Turkey Bastin' without injectable, invasive drugs. For now. This is significantly cheaper than the type of Turkey Bastin' I thought we would be trying, which involves a series of expensive shots to stimulate my eggies to come out and play. Instead, there are pills to stimulate the eggies.
Then the surprise. (To me anyway)
Doc says, "Okay, so by my calculations, you are currently on Day 3, so I'll give you the prescription and you can begin taking it today. Schedule an ultrasound for next Thursday, and, if the medicine works we will do the procedure next Friday."
I heard Muscles suck in his breath. I looked at him to see if he was still with me. There was an evident surprise and a hint of fear in his eyes. I raised my eyebrows in that what-do-you-think look and he smiled and nodded. We were, we ARE doing this. With that, we left and I did, in fact, start the prescription today.
The chances for any fertility procedure to be a success are really against you. Even IVF success rates are below 50%. This procedure is even lower. It is closer to 10-15%. Still, my fingers are crossed. We're young and mostly healthy. It could work.
Send a prayer up for us, if the postman can get it there in time. Let me amend my thoughts on the fertility process to say this. There IS alot of waiting, but there also seems to be some periods of sprinting. Waiting. Sprinting. Waiting. Waiting. Sprinting. Waiting. I don't know how to adjust to that exactly, but I'm working on it. My fingers are crossed.
6.25.2009
A Mish Mash, If You Will
Don't expect any big things from my bloggie blog today. I'm sick. Without climbing up on my soapbox to make my usual speech about my consitution and why it's always failing me, let's just say I have a crappy immune system. If you're carrying a bug, you're passing it off to me. That is definite. I have a fun little throat-sore-in', chest congestin', headachin' thing right now. I'm down, but not out.
Anyway, I haven't posted in a few days because I have been a girl on the move. Last weekend, Muscles & I made a quickie trip down to South Carolina to visit one of my best friends and her brand new baby girl. This is Hypochondriac Friend (Hypo for short). The little bundle of joy was only 4 days old on the day we arrived, so we stayed in a hotel and just popped in for a couple of visits. Hypo was gracious enough to allow this and put up with my many questions. Babies are just an ongoing mystery to me. The more I see them, the more questions I have about what in the heck to do with them. So... Hypo decides to teach me a few things, in her roundabout, I-didn't-intend-to, way.
About an hour after we arrived, LBJ (little bundle of joy) was getting hungry. LBJ is so very small and precious that her mouth is too small to breastfeed just yet. To prepare her to breastfeed, Hypo feeds her through a tiny tube sitting on her finger. LBJ sucks on her finger and thus, milk comes from the tube. Hypo says this is necessary so she does not get something called Nipple Confusion. Again, I was confused. LBJ, on the other hand, knew what was up. She was content as far as I could tell.
But I need to clarify something before I go on. One of Hypo's greatest qualities is her ability to be completely honest, blunt. In fact, it may be my favorite thing about her. Hypo has been known to get into a TMI situation at least once a day. But the great thing about this is that you know what to expect. Hypo has really been preparing me for pregnancy and childbirth in this way. I can safely say I am now more scared than ever. What I don't understand is why God makes our bodies for the amazing purpose of childbirth and yet, recovering from it makes it difficult to take care of said LBJ. I suppose it teaches you a lesson.
I have lots more to say, so I'll add to this later. But for now, I'm sick and I have to get some work done. :)
Anyway, I haven't posted in a few days because I have been a girl on the move. Last weekend, Muscles & I made a quickie trip down to South Carolina to visit one of my best friends and her brand new baby girl. This is Hypochondriac Friend (Hypo for short). The little bundle of joy was only 4 days old on the day we arrived, so we stayed in a hotel and just popped in for a couple of visits. Hypo was gracious enough to allow this and put up with my many questions. Babies are just an ongoing mystery to me. The more I see them, the more questions I have about what in the heck to do with them. So... Hypo decides to teach me a few things, in her roundabout, I-didn't-intend-to, way.
About an hour after we arrived, LBJ (little bundle of joy) was getting hungry. LBJ is so very small and precious that her mouth is too small to breastfeed just yet. To prepare her to breastfeed, Hypo feeds her through a tiny tube sitting on her finger. LBJ sucks on her finger and thus, milk comes from the tube. Hypo says this is necessary so she does not get something called Nipple Confusion. Again, I was confused. LBJ, on the other hand, knew what was up. She was content as far as I could tell.
But I need to clarify something before I go on. One of Hypo's greatest qualities is her ability to be completely honest, blunt. In fact, it may be my favorite thing about her. Hypo has been known to get into a TMI situation at least once a day. But the great thing about this is that you know what to expect. Hypo has really been preparing me for pregnancy and childbirth in this way. I can safely say I am now more scared than ever. What I don't understand is why God makes our bodies for the amazing purpose of childbirth and yet, recovering from it makes it difficult to take care of said LBJ. I suppose it teaches you a lesson.
I have lots more to say, so I'll add to this later. But for now, I'm sick and I have to get some work done. :)
6.19.2009
Top Ten Forms of Procrastination at My Desk
10. Facebooking. Who didn't see this one coming? It's the ultimate source of juicy information that's none of my business. In fact, I paused during this post already to check facebook. What would I do if I missed someone's status update indicating their plans for the day? And how would I function without knowing the most recent deets on everyone I went to high school with?!?
9. Vacation planning. I'm a big planner by nature, and, as mentioned previously, I love to travel. And it doesn't have to be somewhere exotic. I just love to explore new places. With Priceline, Expedia, Orbitz, Southwest, and BookIt (Try it if you haven't. It's my new fave.) websites readily available, it's easy to let my mind and fingers wander off into pleasant thoughts about where else I would rather be.
8. Eating & thinking about eating. I might be admitting I have a problem here. I have a desk drawer exclusively dedicated to snacking. It might contain entire jars of peanut butter, popcorn, crackers, cookies, and snackpacks of all varieties. It is also equipped with forks, spoons, and napkins. I also have a inconspicuous candy bucket on my bookshelf. To boot, there's a snack machine down the hall, constant reasons to "celebrate" with food, and a friendly co-worker with a penchant for having the occasional lunch out.
7. Rapport-building (and tearing down for that matter) with co-workers. We are lucky enough to work in an environment that encourages teamwork. In order to have teamwork, the team must talk. And as one might suspect, we often get off topic. It's easy to, say, begin planning an event, and end up talking about Ginger's latest antics.
6. Emailing. While this is part of my job responsibility, I often find myself doing some casual, personal emailing instead. With the majority of my close friends working in their first couple of years in grown-up jobs, we all have our grown-up email accounts to play with. And, of course, we may appear to be adults from a distance, but we're really probably planning the coming weekend's debauchery.
5. Bloggie bloggin'. You think I type all this in my free time? No way. At least half of this gem is produced during working hours. To my credit, alot of my job is to answer questions from volunteers, which sometimes involves just waiting around for the next question.
4. iPhoning... and iTexting... and iFacebooking... and iWeatherChecking... and iGamePlaying...
3. Babydreaming. Similar to daydreaming, but involves more diapers, onesies, and cribs.
2. Plan-solidifying. Surprising to most of the kiddos and volunteers I work with, I have a life outside of these walls. A busy one at times. In order to fit everyone in, I'm always busy texting or calling or emailing friends, family, & Muscles about where to eat dinner that night or who wants to go to the baseball game. Of course, this could be avoided if plans could be solidified in advance, outside of working hours. But they can't. And that's an asset as far as I'm concerned. If I make long-term (say, a week in advance) plans, I sometimes break them if I'm not feeling the activity. I hate doing that to friends and the like. So... I try to avoid that song & dance altogether and, instead, make short-term, last minute, fly by the seat of my slacks plans.
1. Being generally overwhelmed. Most days, I have more work to do than I could possibly complete. This is the nature of the nonprofit beast. As a result, I have learned to prioritize in accomplishing tasks. Sometimes, however, I get so overwhelmed with this workload that my brain seems to fall out. At this point, I know I'm ready for a break, and perhaps for one of the activities listed above.
9. Vacation planning. I'm a big planner by nature, and, as mentioned previously, I love to travel. And it doesn't have to be somewhere exotic. I just love to explore new places. With Priceline, Expedia, Orbitz, Southwest, and BookIt (Try it if you haven't. It's my new fave.) websites readily available, it's easy to let my mind and fingers wander off into pleasant thoughts about where else I would rather be.
8. Eating & thinking about eating. I might be admitting I have a problem here. I have a desk drawer exclusively dedicated to snacking. It might contain entire jars of peanut butter, popcorn, crackers, cookies, and snackpacks of all varieties. It is also equipped with forks, spoons, and napkins. I also have a inconspicuous candy bucket on my bookshelf. To boot, there's a snack machine down the hall, constant reasons to "celebrate" with food, and a friendly co-worker with a penchant for having the occasional lunch out.
7. Rapport-building (and tearing down for that matter) with co-workers. We are lucky enough to work in an environment that encourages teamwork. In order to have teamwork, the team must talk. And as one might suspect, we often get off topic. It's easy to, say, begin planning an event, and end up talking about Ginger's latest antics.
6. Emailing. While this is part of my job responsibility, I often find myself doing some casual, personal emailing instead. With the majority of my close friends working in their first couple of years in grown-up jobs, we all have our grown-up email accounts to play with. And, of course, we may appear to be adults from a distance, but we're really probably planning the coming weekend's debauchery.
5. Bloggie bloggin'. You think I type all this in my free time? No way. At least half of this gem is produced during working hours. To my credit, alot of my job is to answer questions from volunteers, which sometimes involves just waiting around for the next question.
4. iPhoning... and iTexting... and iFacebooking... and iWeatherChecking... and iGamePlaying...
3. Babydreaming. Similar to daydreaming, but involves more diapers, onesies, and cribs.
2. Plan-solidifying. Surprising to most of the kiddos and volunteers I work with, I have a life outside of these walls. A busy one at times. In order to fit everyone in, I'm always busy texting or calling or emailing friends, family, & Muscles about where to eat dinner that night or who wants to go to the baseball game. Of course, this could be avoided if plans could be solidified in advance, outside of working hours. But they can't. And that's an asset as far as I'm concerned. If I make long-term (say, a week in advance) plans, I sometimes break them if I'm not feeling the activity. I hate doing that to friends and the like. So... I try to avoid that song & dance altogether and, instead, make short-term, last minute, fly by the seat of my slacks plans.
1. Being generally overwhelmed. Most days, I have more work to do than I could possibly complete. This is the nature of the nonprofit beast. As a result, I have learned to prioritize in accomplishing tasks. Sometimes, however, I get so overwhelmed with this workload that my brain seems to fall out. At this point, I know I'm ready for a break, and perhaps for one of the activities listed above.
6.18.2009
Preparing me For a No-Fun Summer
I think the process of acquiring reproductive technology is directly related to God's desire to prepare us for little ones. It's lengthy. There's alot of excitement, but alot of waiting. You never get to do things your way, on your time, and you have to sacrifice alot of other fun things in life in order to make room for this. I imagine being a mom is like this, but with more love.
Until we decided to forge ahead with fertility treatments early (or 2.5 years late, depending on your viewpoint), I had big plans for this summer. Muscles and I are travelers... do-ers. To begin with, my birthday gift from the hubby was an airline ticket to El Paso to visit the Military Wife best friend. Sweet, I know. I haven't gotten around to purchasing it yet, though, because we are still waiting to find out when I can go. You see, I have to essentially be available at any moment once this madness begins. I will be scheduled to have various tests done throughout my cycle, checking my hormone levels and egg production. I will be on different types of shots and medications in order to make everything happen at maximum capacity. Then, when the time comes, I will be given another shot to tell my eggs to get out of my ovaries and into appropriate, babymaking areas. When that happens, of course, the both of us have to be available to go actually have the procedure done. Then we wait for two loooooong weeks to see if it worked. Be prepared for a depressing, pessimistic post if it does not.
And then, the entire process begins again. So, you see, I am perpetually unavailable this summer. Other plans that this eliminates include (but are not limited to) a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland and a long weekend, girls trip to the beach.
On another note, it is necessary to abstain from drinking to achieve optimal results. I have no problem with this, and neither does Muscles -- other than that, it is easy for us to forget in social situations -- however, our friends don't quite understand. I think it sometimes makes them feel better if there is no sober judgement present to remind them of their behavior the next day.
Anyway, even though I'm sad about the lack of vacations in my life this summer, I am continuing to be constantly excited about the prospect of parenthood. One of my two best friends from childhood (and still today), had a baby girl herself yesterday. Growing up like sisters, it is natural that I feel like this baby is my niece already. I told her mom a week or two ago about my daydreams of having a daughter myself one day, and the four of us bonding. She said that perhaps I would have a son, and then we could officially be family one day if they married each other. It's all silly, I know, but I can't wait to see what's in store for all of us. :)
Until we decided to forge ahead with fertility treatments early (or 2.5 years late, depending on your viewpoint), I had big plans for this summer. Muscles and I are travelers... do-ers. To begin with, my birthday gift from the hubby was an airline ticket to El Paso to visit the Military Wife best friend. Sweet, I know. I haven't gotten around to purchasing it yet, though, because we are still waiting to find out when I can go. You see, I have to essentially be available at any moment once this madness begins. I will be scheduled to have various tests done throughout my cycle, checking my hormone levels and egg production. I will be on different types of shots and medications in order to make everything happen at maximum capacity. Then, when the time comes, I will be given another shot to tell my eggs to get out of my ovaries and into appropriate, babymaking areas. When that happens, of course, the both of us have to be available to go actually have the procedure done. Then we wait for two loooooong weeks to see if it worked. Be prepared for a depressing, pessimistic post if it does not.
And then, the entire process begins again. So, you see, I am perpetually unavailable this summer. Other plans that this eliminates include (but are not limited to) a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland and a long weekend, girls trip to the beach.
On another note, it is necessary to abstain from drinking to achieve optimal results. I have no problem with this, and neither does Muscles -- other than that, it is easy for us to forget in social situations -- however, our friends don't quite understand. I think it sometimes makes them feel better if there is no sober judgement present to remind them of their behavior the next day.
Anyway, even though I'm sad about the lack of vacations in my life this summer, I am continuing to be constantly excited about the prospect of parenthood. One of my two best friends from childhood (and still today), had a baby girl herself yesterday. Growing up like sisters, it is natural that I feel like this baby is my niece already. I told her mom a week or two ago about my daydreams of having a daughter myself one day, and the four of us bonding. She said that perhaps I would have a son, and then we could officially be family one day if they married each other. It's all silly, I know, but I can't wait to see what's in store for all of us. :)
6.17.2009
Pour Some Sugar On Me
Today is my 3rd wedding anniversary. (I'll pause for applause.) Last night, Muscles, wonderful husband that he can be, took me to a country music awards show in Cashville, Tennekee as a gift. Yep, he outdid himself this time. Usually (as in the past 2 years), we just bebop down to our favorite restaurant for a quite evening of yummy food. We were both pretty pumped about this, though.
Muscles picked me up directly from work to head down there, so I had to make a temporary vanity station in my office. But it worked. I wore a long, patterned dress with braided straps. Very summer-y. Very retro-ish. Jonathan wore jeans, a button down, and a tie. We were adorable, if I do say so myself, but we were also a bit nervous. No one had informed us what the proper attire for this event would be. Luckily, we quickly noted when we arrived that no one else had been informed either. There were formal gowns, blue jeans, t-shirts, casual dresses, sports coats, and boots. Lots of boots.
We found our seats and were pleasantly surprised. We were five rows from the mosh pit, at side stage. On the tickets, we had feared this "Side Stage" label as we weren't sure if we'd be staring at camera cords and the backs of heads. It worked out, though, that side stage was actually just to the right of the stage and we were much closer than those who had tickets "front stage" (or whatever that's called. The next thing we noticed was that there was an abundance of alcohol around us. Neither of us had anything to drink, but our section definitely reeked of hard liquor. My only concern was that these sweet, fun, little beverages would catapult normally pleasant show-watchers into Up-And-Downers. And I was correct. The fateful result was alot of awkward flattening my legs against my chair and standing up to grumble under my breath. I dislike a show disruptor.
Anyway, one of the most interesting parts of the show was that I got to see everything happen behind the scenes. Below are some interesting things I picked up, in list format:
1. A choreographer came out about 30 minutes before the show went live and taught the people in the mosh pits some sweet moves to accompany the opening number. Without going into too much detail, I will inform you that there was a rodeo-style arm twisting move that some patrons of the bar outside enjoyed a bit too much.
2. Another producer or something came out and asked all fans to help with an emotional number by Trace Adkins. He asked that, when he gave us the signal (a flashlight), we would all turn on our cell phones and wave them slowly through the air, lighter-style. This was neat to see come to fruition, except that I felt like an idiot waving my cell phone in the air, periodically pushing the button so the light would stay on, and showing the world my background photo of Pokey, my pet dog.
3. There really weren't that many stars and starlets there. There were about 4 rows sectioned off for the famous folk, right behind the presentation stage. We were one section away from this, so we watched each of them come up the stairs from The Important Area Below.
4. Coincidentally, the entire front row of the mosh pit was made up of big-breasted, blond women in white wife beaters. Hm. At first, I thought I just missed the memo on appropriate attire, but, of course, they were planted there. Who wants someone's chain-smoking grandma front and center?
5. Every time a performer finished, the camera panned to another stage, and a church of men dressed in black from head to toe scurried out on the stage to disassemble the set. And EVERYTHING was on wheels. They wheeled a set out, and wheeled a new one in, band members already in place. Taking the wife beater-wearing women into consideration, it reminded me of a pit stop in a Nascar race.
6. Perhaps the mos interesting behind-the-scenes tidbit was the teleprompters. I had never been to a live recording of anything, and I had never sat in a position where I could see a teleprompter while a celebrity was reading from it. On one hand, this ruined the lame jokes Here's-Your-Sign Guy made because I could see the punchlines before he said them. On the other hand, it was funny to to see the celebrities that made up their own material rather than read the script. Muscles, old man that he is, did not bring his glasses, so he could not participate in the discussion about the teleprompters.
All in all, it was a lovely evening. We were starved when the show was over, so we stopped at Hooter's for some wings. (It was delish, but that place always makes me feel a little skeezy.)
We headed home, happy, and proud of another successful year.
Muscles picked me up directly from work to head down there, so I had to make a temporary vanity station in my office. But it worked. I wore a long, patterned dress with braided straps. Very summer-y. Very retro-ish. Jonathan wore jeans, a button down, and a tie. We were adorable, if I do say so myself, but we were also a bit nervous. No one had informed us what the proper attire for this event would be. Luckily, we quickly noted when we arrived that no one else had been informed either. There were formal gowns, blue jeans, t-shirts, casual dresses, sports coats, and boots. Lots of boots.
We found our seats and were pleasantly surprised. We were five rows from the mosh pit, at side stage. On the tickets, we had feared this "Side Stage" label as we weren't sure if we'd be staring at camera cords and the backs of heads. It worked out, though, that side stage was actually just to the right of the stage and we were much closer than those who had tickets "front stage" (or whatever that's called. The next thing we noticed was that there was an abundance of alcohol around us. Neither of us had anything to drink, but our section definitely reeked of hard liquor. My only concern was that these sweet, fun, little beverages would catapult normally pleasant show-watchers into Up-And-Downers. And I was correct. The fateful result was alot of awkward flattening my legs against my chair and standing up to grumble under my breath. I dislike a show disruptor.
Anyway, one of the most interesting parts of the show was that I got to see everything happen behind the scenes. Below are some interesting things I picked up, in list format:
1. A choreographer came out about 30 minutes before the show went live and taught the people in the mosh pits some sweet moves to accompany the opening number. Without going into too much detail, I will inform you that there was a rodeo-style arm twisting move that some patrons of the bar outside enjoyed a bit too much.
2. Another producer or something came out and asked all fans to help with an emotional number by Trace Adkins. He asked that, when he gave us the signal (a flashlight), we would all turn on our cell phones and wave them slowly through the air, lighter-style. This was neat to see come to fruition, except that I felt like an idiot waving my cell phone in the air, periodically pushing the button so the light would stay on, and showing the world my background photo of Pokey, my pet dog.
3. There really weren't that many stars and starlets there. There were about 4 rows sectioned off for the famous folk, right behind the presentation stage. We were one section away from this, so we watched each of them come up the stairs from The Important Area Below.
4. Coincidentally, the entire front row of the mosh pit was made up of big-breasted, blond women in white wife beaters. Hm. At first, I thought I just missed the memo on appropriate attire, but, of course, they were planted there. Who wants someone's chain-smoking grandma front and center?
5. Every time a performer finished, the camera panned to another stage, and a church of men dressed in black from head to toe scurried out on the stage to disassemble the set. And EVERYTHING was on wheels. They wheeled a set out, and wheeled a new one in, band members already in place. Taking the wife beater-wearing women into consideration, it reminded me of a pit stop in a Nascar race.
6. Perhaps the mos interesting behind-the-scenes tidbit was the teleprompters. I had never been to a live recording of anything, and I had never sat in a position where I could see a teleprompter while a celebrity was reading from it. On one hand, this ruined the lame jokes Here's-Your-Sign Guy made because I could see the punchlines before he said them. On the other hand, it was funny to to see the celebrities that made up their own material rather than read the script. Muscles, old man that he is, did not bring his glasses, so he could not participate in the discussion about the teleprompters.
All in all, it was a lovely evening. We were starved when the show was over, so we stopped at Hooter's for some wings. (It was delish, but that place always makes me feel a little skeezy.)
We headed home, happy, and proud of another successful year.
6.16.2009
Too Much Drama in the G-S-K
We have a lovely office manager, Ginger McGrouchy. She's an odd creature, prone to frequent doctors' visits, long lunches, and closed-door gossip. She's easily spotted as she as she has flaming red hair and pale, glowing flesh. She preys on fruit, crackers, and office staff who have more freedom than she does. She thrives in a hostile, unfriendly environment. You might recognize her crouching in our director's office, reporting infractions, or camoflauged behind the front desk. All in all, she's a peach.
So, today, my WorkPal and I spent many hours trekking around town, asking for donations so we could fun some t-shirts for girls during this Mom & Me event we're holding late in the summer. It was a chore. Just mustering up the courage to hear people reject you all day is tough, but then to actually walk (in heels) from business to business, past "No Soliciting" signs only to hear that the people we needed to talk to were out, or that they'd already given to charities this year was terrible. Five donations of $100 each would fund us, AND the business gets its name on the back of the t-shirts that kids and parents alike will be wearing around town to boot. I, personally, thought it was a good deal. I would've donated had I a working business. So, then, after about 10 rejections and a handful of MaybeButComeBack's, a monsoon hit - June 11th style. I had to pull over (Luckily, there was Sonic Drive-In and it was Happy Hour.), and wait that out.
Awhile later, we trudge back in the office, wet from the storm, to settle back into what we need to accomplish today. Ginger bee-bops over to my office door, armed with her deadly weapon: the pathetic sign. It must be mating season in Ginger's parts because she was in rare form. She was lookin' for a fight, as some might say.
CoWorker Pal is also in my office. Ginger begins with,
"I just want to start off my saying that I don't give a d@mn where you all go during the day."
Uh oh. If that's as good as it's going to get, this is bad. The Pal & I exchange glances.
Ginger continues to explain that she's upset, to say the least, that we left the office without making sure that she had lunch. Okay, well maybe we were douches there, but she didn't speak up. If I was starving at my desk, I would NOT have waved silently as we were walking out the door. I would've spoken up. Grow up, Peter Pan. I'm not your babysitter, and I'm not making you a PB&J. Tell me you haven't eaten if you haven't. She continued by pointing out that she also needed to know where we are at all times so she can answer volunteer's questions. Point well taken, EXCEPT that you get this handy slice of paper in your inbox every single week that details my whereabouts. Boo-Yah!
I stood my ground. I apologized for her having not the opportunity to take lunch. If she had mentioned that she didn't have that taken care of, of course, I would've sat back down and waited for her. Clearly, she was mad about other stuff, but tell me she wouldn't.
A volunteer walked in the office, so I said,
"I will make sure you have lunch in the future. Clearly, we don't agree about this, but that's fine." She agreed, and walked away. The volunteer finished her business, and what did Ginger do?!? She came back to my doorway. I wanted to close it in her face, but I sat there attentively.
She continued to try to sway me to her side. I do NOT agree, and I am not one to just let it slide. I tried very hard to be nice, but I also tried very hard to be clear about my feelings. I always maintain my composure. Another volunteer came in, and she retreated angrily.
Awhile later, she was back for Round 3. Geez, Louise. I restated my position. She persisted, pesky Ginger that she is. I cracked.
"I'm sorry that you did not get lunch. I will check in the future." This was said definitively, as if to also say Goodbye. See yourself out of my office. She stomped out.
This brings me to my point: Working in an office setting is too emotionally exhausting for me. With 7 women cooped up together 8 hours a day, there's bound to be trouble. And there always is. I want out.
So, today, my WorkPal and I spent many hours trekking around town, asking for donations so we could fun some t-shirts for girls during this Mom & Me event we're holding late in the summer. It was a chore. Just mustering up the courage to hear people reject you all day is tough, but then to actually walk (in heels) from business to business, past "No Soliciting" signs only to hear that the people we needed to talk to were out, or that they'd already given to charities this year was terrible. Five donations of $100 each would fund us, AND the business gets its name on the back of the t-shirts that kids and parents alike will be wearing around town to boot. I, personally, thought it was a good deal. I would've donated had I a working business. So, then, after about 10 rejections and a handful of MaybeButComeBack's, a monsoon hit - June 11th style. I had to pull over (Luckily, there was Sonic Drive-In and it was Happy Hour.), and wait that out.
Awhile later, we trudge back in the office, wet from the storm, to settle back into what we need to accomplish today. Ginger bee-bops over to my office door, armed with her deadly weapon: the pathetic sign. It must be mating season in Ginger's parts because she was in rare form. She was lookin' for a fight, as some might say.
CoWorker Pal is also in my office. Ginger begins with,
"I just want to start off my saying that I don't give a d@mn where you all go during the day."
Uh oh. If that's as good as it's going to get, this is bad. The Pal & I exchange glances.
Ginger continues to explain that she's upset, to say the least, that we left the office without making sure that she had lunch. Okay, well maybe we were douches there, but she didn't speak up. If I was starving at my desk, I would NOT have waved silently as we were walking out the door. I would've spoken up. Grow up, Peter Pan. I'm not your babysitter, and I'm not making you a PB&J. Tell me you haven't eaten if you haven't. She continued by pointing out that she also needed to know where we are at all times so she can answer volunteer's questions. Point well taken, EXCEPT that you get this handy slice of paper in your inbox every single week that details my whereabouts. Boo-Yah!
I stood my ground. I apologized for her having not the opportunity to take lunch. If she had mentioned that she didn't have that taken care of, of course, I would've sat back down and waited for her. Clearly, she was mad about other stuff, but tell me she wouldn't.
A volunteer walked in the office, so I said,
"I will make sure you have lunch in the future. Clearly, we don't agree about this, but that's fine." She agreed, and walked away. The volunteer finished her business, and what did Ginger do?!? She came back to my doorway. I wanted to close it in her face, but I sat there attentively.
She continued to try to sway me to her side. I do NOT agree, and I am not one to just let it slide. I tried very hard to be nice, but I also tried very hard to be clear about my feelings. I always maintain my composure. Another volunteer came in, and she retreated angrily.
Awhile later, she was back for Round 3. Geez, Louise. I restated my position. She persisted, pesky Ginger that she is. I cracked.
"I'm sorry that you did not get lunch. I will check in the future." This was said definitively, as if to also say Goodbye. See yourself out of my office. She stomped out.
This brings me to my point: Working in an office setting is too emotionally exhausting for me. With 7 women cooped up together 8 hours a day, there's bound to be trouble. And there always is. I want out.
Top Ten Reasons Being Perpetually 21 is a Great Idea
Today, I'm feeling restless, so I cannot quite commit to a full-size bloggie blog post. So, instead, I will reminisce about my favorite year -- the 21st. A tribute...
10. Got no job, got no money... and it's Friday. Might as well go... back to SLEEP.
9. Why, yes, I'd love to go to the bar with you tonight... even though it's a Wednesday in November. And yes, yes, I will go out tomorrow night. And the night after. And the night after. Etc. Etc.
8. What hangover? I'm ready for another drink.
7. Because running screaming into a bar or a group of people and proclaiming, "I'm 21. Woooo!" is socially acceptable.
6. Because going to class is optional
5. Because tanning was a top priority, right up there with drinking heavily and ordering pizza or chinese daily.
4. Because slutty clubwear was cheap.
3. For the prestige that accompanies being able to buy your younger friends malt beverages.
2. That it is acceptable to make hooch in any and all large containers, including but not limited to coolers, bathtubs, and buckets.
1. Any and all inappropriate behavior and wrongdoing is excused with admission of your age.
10. Got no job, got no money... and it's Friday. Might as well go... back to SLEEP.
9. Why, yes, I'd love to go to the bar with you tonight... even though it's a Wednesday in November. And yes, yes, I will go out tomorrow night. And the night after. And the night after. Etc. Etc.
8. What hangover? I'm ready for another drink.
7. Because running screaming into a bar or a group of people and proclaiming, "I'm 21. Woooo!" is socially acceptable.
6. Because going to class is optional
5. Because tanning was a top priority, right up there with drinking heavily and ordering pizza or chinese daily.
4. Because slutty clubwear was cheap.
3. For the prestige that accompanies being able to buy your younger friends malt beverages.
2. That it is acceptable to make hooch in any and all large containers, including but not limited to coolers, bathtubs, and buckets.
1. Any and all inappropriate behavior and wrongdoing is excused with admission of your age.
6.15.2009
I Think I'll Sling My Backpack Over One Shoulder for the Duration of This Post
Today, I have taken a personal day from work to participate in the first day of classes for my internship. This internship is my very last requirement for my Bachelor's degree. In this, I have been selected to participate in a pilot project at the local university (that has international reach) that invites high school students to participate in 4-week courses for both high school and college credit. The course they choose is paired with a reading comprehension course because the purpose of this program is to improve the reading level of college students -- not to get too involved. This is really the reader's digest version. Anyway...
Currently, I am sitting in on an Intro. to Psychology class. My purpose is to observe students and feel out their reactions to class. There are 7 bright-eyed, young things who appear quite alarmed already, 10 minutes into class. Each are sitting stiffly, as if they are too cool for school, and, of course, they are segregated into boys versus girls. So far, I, for one, feel very superior. The professor, on the other hand, is probably my age or younger, and is somewhat unconvincing. I'm trying to build him up with reassuring nods from my spot on the back row.
Seeing these students really takes me back to my first year of college. Boy, was a I a different person then. I can't even begin to describe myself without saying that I was deeply involved in a very unhealthy relationship with a beast. He was terrible. Suffice it to say, this "situation" added a great deal of stress to my life every single day. Let me paint you a picture...
Raaah. Raaaaah. Raaaaah. My alarm clock would go off at 6 AM Monday through Friday. I got up, maybe took a shower, changed into some possibly-clean sweatpants and a t-shirt and rolled out. Yeah, I was that gross. Rest easy knowing that I have raised my personal hygiene standards since then. Anyway, I then picked up the Boyfriend at his dorm so I could drive us both to the top of the hill and get some prime parking. We were in the parking lot by 7 AM, and class didn't start until 8. I vividly remember listening to alot of Bob & Sheri In The Morning during the waiting period...that, and arguing alot. This entire song and dance was necessary to avoid a bottom-of-the-hill parking space and the sweaty trek up to class. To be quite honest, I'm feeling a little red-faced even admitting all this. What a dork.
After this, I bee-bopped over to class, head down. The Boyfriend did not like it when I made eye contact or spoke to other guys. He considered it flirting. Some kind of argument usually ensued during this time. Eventually, I made it into class. I felt comfortable there. I always feel comfortable in class, actually. I can be successful in those situations. I think for a long time, I retreated into academics when I was feeling out of control. It's like my own, twisted version of bulimia. It was also important for me to absorb all of the knowledge my professors had to offer because I was responsible for making sure the both of us (the boyfriend and myself) earned acceptable grades. Again, I'm embaressed. I was a dummy.
After class, we would usually walk down the hill, or maybe drive, to Boyfriend's dorm. A large part of this and the following year of my life were spent sleeping. I was nearly narcoleptic. If I had as little as an extra 20 minutes, I would spend it napping. During this particular semester, I recall having at least 2 designated nap times per day. This was one of them. Boyfriend and I would take a long nap in his dorm before waking up for the next class. You bet I looked nice after all this mid-day sleeping. So then, we went to another class or two (usually -- this is prior to my becoming a Professional [and proud] Skipper), and took a nap until it was time to go to work. Unfortunately, we worked together too. Oh, and the green-eyed monster probably made another appearance somewhere in there. What a tangled web we weave. I have no (zero) warm memories during this time of my life. Sorry to bring you down with this post. I'm really leaving out a multitude of horrendous details.
On to the fun stuff... From there, Boyfriend & I often parted ways. I would come up with some creativity-lacking lie, like I was going to work on homework, and then I would meet up with friends instead. That year, the girls I worked with met up at an apartment to talk and drink and maybe play cards a few times a week. We usually went out for margaritas at a local Mexican restaurant, too. In high school, I didn't drink at all, so there are alot of interesting stories about me from this time. (Nothing too bad, just embaressing) These are some of my best memories of college, and, definitely the best of that year. Some of my closest friends -- Ally, AJ, & Jennifer -- were made that year.
I look around at these apprehensive high school students, and I'm undeniably excited for them. They have so many great times and experiences ahead.
Currently, I am sitting in on an Intro. to Psychology class. My purpose is to observe students and feel out their reactions to class. There are 7 bright-eyed, young things who appear quite alarmed already, 10 minutes into class. Each are sitting stiffly, as if they are too cool for school, and, of course, they are segregated into boys versus girls. So far, I, for one, feel very superior. The professor, on the other hand, is probably my age or younger, and is somewhat unconvincing. I'm trying to build him up with reassuring nods from my spot on the back row.
Seeing these students really takes me back to my first year of college. Boy, was a I a different person then. I can't even begin to describe myself without saying that I was deeply involved in a very unhealthy relationship with a beast. He was terrible. Suffice it to say, this "situation" added a great deal of stress to my life every single day. Let me paint you a picture...
Raaah. Raaaaah. Raaaaah. My alarm clock would go off at 6 AM Monday through Friday. I got up, maybe took a shower, changed into some possibly-clean sweatpants and a t-shirt and rolled out. Yeah, I was that gross. Rest easy knowing that I have raised my personal hygiene standards since then. Anyway, I then picked up the Boyfriend at his dorm so I could drive us both to the top of the hill and get some prime parking. We were in the parking lot by 7 AM, and class didn't start until 8. I vividly remember listening to alot of Bob & Sheri In The Morning during the waiting period...that, and arguing alot. This entire song and dance was necessary to avoid a bottom-of-the-hill parking space and the sweaty trek up to class. To be quite honest, I'm feeling a little red-faced even admitting all this. What a dork.
After this, I bee-bopped over to class, head down. The Boyfriend did not like it when I made eye contact or spoke to other guys. He considered it flirting. Some kind of argument usually ensued during this time. Eventually, I made it into class. I felt comfortable there. I always feel comfortable in class, actually. I can be successful in those situations. I think for a long time, I retreated into academics when I was feeling out of control. It's like my own, twisted version of bulimia. It was also important for me to absorb all of the knowledge my professors had to offer because I was responsible for making sure the both of us (the boyfriend and myself) earned acceptable grades. Again, I'm embaressed. I was a dummy.
After class, we would usually walk down the hill, or maybe drive, to Boyfriend's dorm. A large part of this and the following year of my life were spent sleeping. I was nearly narcoleptic. If I had as little as an extra 20 minutes, I would spend it napping. During this particular semester, I recall having at least 2 designated nap times per day. This was one of them. Boyfriend and I would take a long nap in his dorm before waking up for the next class. You bet I looked nice after all this mid-day sleeping. So then, we went to another class or two (usually -- this is prior to my becoming a Professional [and proud] Skipper), and took a nap until it was time to go to work. Unfortunately, we worked together too. Oh, and the green-eyed monster probably made another appearance somewhere in there. What a tangled web we weave. I have no (zero) warm memories during this time of my life. Sorry to bring you down with this post. I'm really leaving out a multitude of horrendous details.
On to the fun stuff... From there, Boyfriend & I often parted ways. I would come up with some creativity-lacking lie, like I was going to work on homework, and then I would meet up with friends instead. That year, the girls I worked with met up at an apartment to talk and drink and maybe play cards a few times a week. We usually went out for margaritas at a local Mexican restaurant, too. In high school, I didn't drink at all, so there are alot of interesting stories about me from this time. (Nothing too bad, just embaressing) These are some of my best memories of college, and, definitely the best of that year. Some of my closest friends -- Ally, AJ, & Jennifer -- were made that year.
I look around at these apprehensive high school students, and I'm undeniably excited for them. They have so many great times and experiences ahead.
6.14.2009
Yard Sale-ing - Not to be Confused with Yard Sailing, Of Course
Yesterday morning, the joke was on my bodyclock. I had to push myself out of bed at 5 AM, a time I wasn't even sure registered on my alarm clock, all in the name of a yard sale. A week ago, I convinced my parents to have a yard sale before they move. My dad's original plan was just to give away all of their belongings that they wouldn't be able to fit into the new place. He had been offering everything he could think of, large and small, to anyone he came in contact with, and I thought he could make a profit instead. (He can thank himself for that aspect of my personality.) So, when I said I would help, he gave in. What had I gotten myself into? The things we do for our families...
I bumbled blindly through a shower and headed to the big event. It was 6:30 AM when I arrived at the spectacle. My dad and his mother were sitting on the front lawn amidst what appeared to be my childhood home's vomit. Seriously, I think there were a few photographs of me for sale in that mess. The mess was, however, arranged neatly on tables, the ground, and across makeshift clotheslines. The meager boxes I had donated to the cause the night before were minuscule in the mounds of things my dad decided to sell. I mean, I guess I can't blame him, though. What, exactly, were they going to do with 3 leafblowers, 2 decorative, wall-hanging brooms, 7 coolers, about 10 broken fishing poles, my grandmother's abandoned sconces (Look it up if you're not sure what these are. We had at least a dozen if you're a fan of medieval-style, so I'm sorry if you missed the boat on that one.), and a plethora of gaudy gold, Home Interior items? Many of the things for sale, I hadn't even seen since I was a child. They had spent recent years hiding in my parents' basement.
Our yard sale progressed quite merrily, with the three of us doing our respective parts. My grandmother nitpicked about prices, floor displays, and which items were too ridiculous to sell. I, of course, ignored her and tried to coach my dad into pushing the prices up. My dad, in turn, just gave things away as usual. As in, you bought a teddy bear for twenty-five cents? Great, take this working VCR as a complimentary gift! All in all, he made a good profit, though. I still wouldn't say I had a blast. Perhaps, I have not acclimated to the culture of yard sale-ing. Either way, I have compiled my second top ten list, a tribute to all things despicable:
9. Putting a price on old memories is impossible. Too low, and I feel like I'm selling my soul. Too high, and I'm stuck storing that old memory in a plastic tub until the next go-round.
8. I don't like the social pressure of haggling over prices. If I ask you what you'll give me for something, it's just because it's unacceptable to discuss money in our culture.
7. It is unacceptable to wear a bikini to a yard sale, thus I always end up with less-than-sexy farmer's tans.
6. People who insist on personal demonstrations of items for sale. I expect a tip if I have to drag out an extension cord and run through my yard amongst my other customers, proving that the leaf blower actually works.
5. People who mutter under their breath about the cost or quality of the items for sale. This is not a department store. I do not run blue-light specials like the local Wally World. Therefore, I am not interested in hearing one more old lady say "Oh that's nice, but eveything's TOO HIGH here."
4. The way neighbors, young and old, feel the need to mosey over, buy my stuff and relocate it 30 feet from me. If I want to get rid of it, I probably am not hoping to look at it on your front porch for the next year.
3. Drive-by's. This is the serious but picky, yard sale-er who rolls by slowly in his/her pick-up truck or rusted out, child-molester van, snarls her nose, and proceeds to speed away. THIS yard sale is not up to her standards.
2. Clean up. I didn't want all this crappy stuff in the first place. I certainly am not going to enjoy loading the leftovers up and dropping them off at the local Goodwill in the summer heat. Perhaps I could start throwing all remaining items in free with the last purchase of the day...
1. Other yard sales. I prefer to run a monopoly in the thriving yard sale-ing field. Please don't place your signs on top of mine, or in brighter colors. Don't put your announcements on my street's corner when that territory is clearly taken, and DON'T, by any means, bee-bop over to "visit" and comment "Wow. You have alot of clothes. Our yard sale is more tools and furniture."
This is NOT, I repeat NOT, a profession. Who cares if you've accumulated more stuff?!?
I bumbled blindly through a shower and headed to the big event. It was 6:30 AM when I arrived at the spectacle. My dad and his mother were sitting on the front lawn amidst what appeared to be my childhood home's vomit. Seriously, I think there were a few photographs of me for sale in that mess. The mess was, however, arranged neatly on tables, the ground, and across makeshift clotheslines. The meager boxes I had donated to the cause the night before were minuscule in the mounds of things my dad decided to sell. I mean, I guess I can't blame him, though. What, exactly, were they going to do with 3 leafblowers, 2 decorative, wall-hanging brooms, 7 coolers, about 10 broken fishing poles, my grandmother's abandoned sconces (Look it up if you're not sure what these are. We had at least a dozen if you're a fan of medieval-style, so I'm sorry if you missed the boat on that one.), and a plethora of gaudy gold, Home Interior items? Many of the things for sale, I hadn't even seen since I was a child. They had spent recent years hiding in my parents' basement.
Our yard sale progressed quite merrily, with the three of us doing our respective parts. My grandmother nitpicked about prices, floor displays, and which items were too ridiculous to sell. I, of course, ignored her and tried to coach my dad into pushing the prices up. My dad, in turn, just gave things away as usual. As in, you bought a teddy bear for twenty-five cents? Great, take this working VCR as a complimentary gift! All in all, he made a good profit, though. I still wouldn't say I had a blast. Perhaps, I have not acclimated to the culture of yard sale-ing. Either way, I have compiled my second top ten list, a tribute to all things despicable:
Top 10 Reasons I Dislike A Good Yard Sale
10. If I'm trying to interest you in purchasing my old junk, that is not an indication I'm looking for new friends. Keep movin', buddy.9. Putting a price on old memories is impossible. Too low, and I feel like I'm selling my soul. Too high, and I'm stuck storing that old memory in a plastic tub until the next go-round.
8. I don't like the social pressure of haggling over prices. If I ask you what you'll give me for something, it's just because it's unacceptable to discuss money in our culture.
7. It is unacceptable to wear a bikini to a yard sale, thus I always end up with less-than-sexy farmer's tans.
6. People who insist on personal demonstrations of items for sale. I expect a tip if I have to drag out an extension cord and run through my yard amongst my other customers, proving that the leaf blower actually works.
5. People who mutter under their breath about the cost or quality of the items for sale. This is not a department store. I do not run blue-light specials like the local Wally World. Therefore, I am not interested in hearing one more old lady say "Oh that's nice, but eveything's TOO HIGH here."
4. The way neighbors, young and old, feel the need to mosey over, buy my stuff and relocate it 30 feet from me. If I want to get rid of it, I probably am not hoping to look at it on your front porch for the next year.
3. Drive-by's. This is the serious but picky, yard sale-er who rolls by slowly in his/her pick-up truck or rusted out, child-molester van, snarls her nose, and proceeds to speed away. THIS yard sale is not up to her standards.
2. Clean up. I didn't want all this crappy stuff in the first place. I certainly am not going to enjoy loading the leftovers up and dropping them off at the local Goodwill in the summer heat. Perhaps I could start throwing all remaining items in free with the last purchase of the day...
1. Other yard sales. I prefer to run a monopoly in the thriving yard sale-ing field. Please don't place your signs on top of mine, or in brighter colors. Don't put your announcements on my street's corner when that territory is clearly taken, and DON'T, by any means, bee-bop over to "visit" and comment "Wow. You have alot of clothes. Our yard sale is more tools and furniture."
This is NOT, I repeat NOT, a profession. Who cares if you've accumulated more stuff?!?
6.12.2009
Top Ten Reasons I Won't Be Sending My Future Children to My Camps
I thought I might spice up the bloggie blog a bit with some Top Ten Lists. Here's the first one:
10. It might hurt their feelings when all the camp staff get printed t-shirts, but the girls have to make their own.
9. They won't be able to utilize the frequent smoke breaks, as I won't be supplying them with cigs.
8. I would prefer no one ever call my son a "Pixie."
7. Their musical tastes probably will not include early 90's Reba, thus they would be ridiculed.
6. Swimming with shoes on is not a good look.
5. Seductive dance is reserved for afterschool activities only.
4. I am fresh out of space for kitschy crafts.
3. There are enough creepy old men at the mall for our taste, thank you very much.
2. Porter johns are acceptable for state fairs and construction sites, but not for week-long, children's events.
1. I will be taking sweet revenge on Ranger Rulebook by sending 2 less kids into his brainwashing realm.
Of course, this is all in good fun. I have wonderful volunteers whom I would most certainly trust with my children. These are just some infractions that have been caught in the past.
10. It might hurt their feelings when all the camp staff get printed t-shirts, but the girls have to make their own.
9. They won't be able to utilize the frequent smoke breaks, as I won't be supplying them with cigs.
8. I would prefer no one ever call my son a "Pixie."
7. Their musical tastes probably will not include early 90's Reba, thus they would be ridiculed.
6. Swimming with shoes on is not a good look.
5. Seductive dance is reserved for afterschool activities only.
4. I am fresh out of space for kitschy crafts.
3. There are enough creepy old men at the mall for our taste, thank you very much.
2. Porter johns are acceptable for state fairs and construction sites, but not for week-long, children's events.
1. I will be taking sweet revenge on Ranger Rulebook by sending 2 less kids into his brainwashing realm.
Of course, this is all in good fun. I have wonderful volunteers whom I would most certainly trust with my children. These are just some infractions that have been caught in the past.
Thunder Thunder, Crash Crash
Last night, there was a hugh-mungo storm in South Central Kentucky. Our local weatherman (if you can call him that) was at his post, cutting into our regular programming, warning us of strong storms, frequent & deadly lighting, possible hail (which never really happens, except for that one time it did), and, of course, tornadoes! I don't typically get too riled up about Mother Nature, and last night was no exception. Muscles, however, does. Muscles has been known to jump out of bed and run through the house at the sound of a little strong wind. He religiously checks the weather on his handy iPhone, and informs those around him of the percentage chance of rain on a bi-daily basis. He also sometimes musters up his courage and tries to watch the storm from the front porch, until lightening sends him running inside. My mother is also like this, so I'm used to it. I have lots of memories of my mom and I huddled in bathtubs and interior closest with pillows, blankets, and flashlights during thunderstorms. We are a safe bunch.
Anyway, as I mentioned in an earlier post, this is day camp week at my job. This particular night, of all nights, was the final night of camp, culminating in a sleepover. So, I have two camps full of kiddos huddled in lodges, and their designated adults are making important decisions. I decide to call and check in on both camps. The first camp, let's call it "Camp Legit" cause they know what they're doing for the most part, does not answer. Camp Reba (refer to earlier post) does answer, and informs me that they have no power, but all is well. The girls are singing merrily around a makeshift campfire, otherwise known as a lantern. It's not a dreamboat, but it works. The girls have had a blast there this week.
Repeatedly, I try calling Camp Legit. I can't get through. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off above my head. Duh, Rooster. Camp Legit's lodge has a working telephone, a land line. Now, just to find the number. I, instead find the number of Ranger Rulebook, the site maintenance and order-keeper for Camp Legit. I call him up.
"Hi, Ranger Rulebook. I apologize for calling so late, but I need the number to Camp Legit."
"THIS is NOT the number to Camp. You have the wrong number," he growls, misunderstanding.
"No, no!" I exclaim, "This is Rooster Roo from the Girl Scouts Office. I need the number to camp, please."
"What is your concern?" Rulebook inquires.
Oh, well since it's not obvious, I was concerned about the pollen count in the middle of the night, while a tornado is tearing through the area, I think sarcastically. Good thing I think before I speak most of the time. I explain instead that my camp director is new, and I want to check on them in this monsoon.
Ranger Rulebook, always knowing best as it is, begins a 20-minute long diatribe about the qualifications of the volunteers at camp, and how I do not need to call them. Again, I ask politely for the number, just in case, and again, Rulebook recites his speech about why I do not need the number. Clearly, Rulebook does not understand that I am the all-important, young CEO of this outfit. (Of course, I'm not, but it's a better title than my real job.) We talk in circle for another 20 minutes until, suddenly, SHHHHHHHHHHH. Click.
That was the sound of Ranger Rulebook hanging up on me. Or losing cell phone service. I am not sure. Either way, I call back to get repeatedly rejected. At this point, I was sitting in my own darkened house with no electricity, fuming. Since Rulebook refused to pick up from then on out, there's no feel-good ending to this. I just sat there, stewing, until I fell asleep. I woke up this morning with a new vengeance, though. Ranger Rulebook must be stopped.
Anyway, as I mentioned in an earlier post, this is day camp week at my job. This particular night, of all nights, was the final night of camp, culminating in a sleepover. So, I have two camps full of kiddos huddled in lodges, and their designated adults are making important decisions. I decide to call and check in on both camps. The first camp, let's call it "Camp Legit" cause they know what they're doing for the most part, does not answer. Camp Reba (refer to earlier post) does answer, and informs me that they have no power, but all is well. The girls are singing merrily around a makeshift campfire, otherwise known as a lantern. It's not a dreamboat, but it works. The girls have had a blast there this week.
Repeatedly, I try calling Camp Legit. I can't get through. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off above my head. Duh, Rooster. Camp Legit's lodge has a working telephone, a land line. Now, just to find the number. I, instead find the number of Ranger Rulebook, the site maintenance and order-keeper for Camp Legit. I call him up.
"Hi, Ranger Rulebook. I apologize for calling so late, but I need the number to Camp Legit."
"THIS is NOT the number to Camp. You have the wrong number," he growls, misunderstanding.
"No, no!" I exclaim, "This is Rooster Roo from the Girl Scouts Office. I need the number to camp, please."
"What is your concern?" Rulebook inquires.
Oh, well since it's not obvious, I was concerned about the pollen count in the middle of the night, while a tornado is tearing through the area, I think sarcastically. Good thing I think before I speak most of the time. I explain instead that my camp director is new, and I want to check on them in this monsoon.
Ranger Rulebook, always knowing best as it is, begins a 20-minute long diatribe about the qualifications of the volunteers at camp, and how I do not need to call them. Again, I ask politely for the number, just in case, and again, Rulebook recites his speech about why I do not need the number. Clearly, Rulebook does not understand that I am the all-important, young CEO of this outfit. (Of course, I'm not, but it's a better title than my real job.) We talk in circle for another 20 minutes until, suddenly, SHHHHHHHHHHH. Click.
That was the sound of Ranger Rulebook hanging up on me. Or losing cell phone service. I am not sure. Either way, I call back to get repeatedly rejected. At this point, I was sitting in my own darkened house with no electricity, fuming. Since Rulebook refused to pick up from then on out, there's no feel-good ending to this. I just sat there, stewing, until I fell asleep. I woke up this morning with a new vengeance, though. Ranger Rulebook must be stopped.
6.11.2009
How to Get Pregnant in a Lifetime or Less
And so, the road to our unborn child involves a great deal of waiting.
This morning, at the ungodly hour of 5 AM, I woke up and headed to our fertility center, a hour's drive away from our house, to have a required, preliminary test done. This test is called an HSG. Basically, a doctor blew up my uterus with a pear-shaped balloon, squirted some sort of dye in it, and then took x-rays to see if the dye was going where it is supposed to. This all is done while lying on an x-ray table, with a small team of medical personnel standing by, and my legs in something one might describe as super-stirrups. The nurse was, in fact, so interested in helping me through this procedure that she literally cupped my face in her hands during the "difficult" part. That brings me to another point. One of my best friends prepared me for this fun event by telling me how very painful this all would be. Thanks, dear. Luckily, pain was not an issue for me. I came through like a trooper. The pain and discomfort I experienced actually came several hours later. So anyway... We're one step closer to making something magical happen. Before I get too Disney-movie, I'll move on... Jonathan has a test scheduled for next week. The following week, we will meet with Doc to make a decision on a course of action. We are SO excited.
This morning, at the ungodly hour of 5 AM, I woke up and headed to our fertility center, a hour's drive away from our house, to have a required, preliminary test done. This test is called an HSG. Basically, a doctor blew up my uterus with a pear-shaped balloon, squirted some sort of dye in it, and then took x-rays to see if the dye was going where it is supposed to. This all is done while lying on an x-ray table, with a small team of medical personnel standing by, and my legs in something one might describe as super-stirrups. The nurse was, in fact, so interested in helping me through this procedure that she literally cupped my face in her hands during the "difficult" part. That brings me to another point. One of my best friends prepared me for this fun event by telling me how very painful this all would be. Thanks, dear. Luckily, pain was not an issue for me. I came through like a trooper. The pain and discomfort I experienced actually came several hours later. So anyway... We're one step closer to making something magical happen. Before I get too Disney-movie, I'll move on... Jonathan has a test scheduled for next week. The following week, we will meet with Doc to make a decision on a course of action. We are SO excited.
A Tribute to Reba
So, this particular week of my life, I have been participating in a new form of ridiculousness: summer camp. In my position with the organization I work for, I am the liaison to all things camp in the area we cover. This equates to alot of unnecessary paperwork and my traipsing through day camps with a mental checklist of possible wrong-doings. One particular camp, in a rural area (of Kentucky, I know, right.), is spear-headed by a couple of bumbling volunteers with ill-intentions towards The Man (or The Woman, in this case). A co-worker, whom one might refer to as Strong Sierra for fun, and I planned a surprise visit yesterday afternoon to this particular camp. In theory, we would arrive unexpectedly and "catch" them in any number of violations that they would correct before a scheduled visit from us. After the hour-long drive through no-where, USA, we arrive to find a shockingly, comfortingly normal camp. I mean, it's not top dollar, but it's working. The girls are having a blast and experiencing lots of new, "campy" things. We check out the waterfront, since it has alot of potential for possible safety hazards, only to find almost everything going as planned (Minus a nest of baby mice. Ick.). We then hike about 13 miles uphill back to the lodge (Not really, but it felt like it.) and share some snackies with the kiddos. I pick up on a couple of new faces in the crowd -- mostly because they were grown men amongst gaggles of young girls. I verify their background information and sit back to observe. I notice a little mild flirting between an adult female unit leader and one of these men, whom we'll call William because that was his name and I have no reason to protect his identity. Both, I'm quite sure are married. Nonetheless, the girls just thought it was funny and innocent. Their problem then, not mine. As I'm observing this, Bumbling Director Numero Uno saunters up to us to inform us that there is a must-see skit coming up in a few minutes. Great. We are obligated to sweat through thirty more minutes of sweltering humidity to watch girls hug and talk about friendship... Or so I thought.
Three of the oldest girls at camp are in charge of this jewel of a skit. They gather all of the younger girls around and have them sit in an appropriate area for the audience. Let me warn you, that is the last use of the word "appropriate" in this post. The three girls whip out a boombox and send William to stage left (in the woods, behind some trees). I clearly hear the girls tell him his instructions are to walk into the center of the circle and stand there when the music begins. Williams begs why, with no response. He obliges. Also, I'd like to break in with a special announcement now: Of course, he gets doused with buckets of water at the end of the skit. Yes, it's hilarious, but that's not the good part. Read on. One member of this clever older girl trio presses play on the boombox. A country song begins playing, and here comes William. The great fireball, Reba McEntire, begins belting out a song from the early 90's about a no-good, cheating man whom she's kicking to the curb. Greeeaaat.
The trio waste no time in forming a circle around William and dancing first angrily and then seductively. He stands there laughing. The young girls in the audience cheer as the trio push him around, take off his hat, and verbally spar for his affections. One extra-special highlight of the show was when the trio each fell to the ground in come-hither poses. This continued for the entire 3 and 1/2 minutes of Reba, and, of course, ended with William soaking wet. The crowd roared.
Haha. Funny, right? Cute? NO. Without climbing onto my soapbox for this, suffice it to say that this is NOT the positive, empowering message we were hoping to send out to girls. On the bright side, I'm sure Reba is dancin' in her boots, waiting on the royalties from that performance.
Three of the oldest girls at camp are in charge of this jewel of a skit. They gather all of the younger girls around and have them sit in an appropriate area for the audience. Let me warn you, that is the last use of the word "appropriate" in this post. The three girls whip out a boombox and send William to stage left (in the woods, behind some trees). I clearly hear the girls tell him his instructions are to walk into the center of the circle and stand there when the music begins. Williams begs why, with no response. He obliges. Also, I'd like to break in with a special announcement now: Of course, he gets doused with buckets of water at the end of the skit. Yes, it's hilarious, but that's not the good part. Read on. One member of this clever older girl trio presses play on the boombox. A country song begins playing, and here comes William. The great fireball, Reba McEntire, begins belting out a song from the early 90's about a no-good, cheating man whom she's kicking to the curb. Greeeaaat.
The trio waste no time in forming a circle around William and dancing first angrily and then seductively. He stands there laughing. The young girls in the audience cheer as the trio push him around, take off his hat, and verbally spar for his affections. One extra-special highlight of the show was when the trio each fell to the ground in come-hither poses. This continued for the entire 3 and 1/2 minutes of Reba, and, of course, ended with William soaking wet. The crowd roared.
Haha. Funny, right? Cute? NO. Without climbing onto my soapbox for this, suffice it to say that this is NOT the positive, empowering message we were hoping to send out to girls. On the bright side, I'm sure Reba is dancin' in her boots, waiting on the royalties from that performance.
6.10.2009
Deconstructed Birthday Cheeseburger
I'm feeling quite insightful and creative this morning, so why not go for Bloggie Blog Post #2?
This past weekend, I re-invented the art of a birthday celebration. D
on't throw yourself into a frenzy. I am still a quarter of a century old. It wasn't my birthday. It was a very close friend of mine's, the age-before-you-might-be-considered-old's birthday. She invited her closest girlfriends, including myself, out for the three big D's: dinner and drinks and debauchery.
We began dinner at a local restaurant on their outdoor deck. (Actually, we finished dinner there too. Betcha didn't catch that grammatical error. Anyway..) I was in a feisty mood, as were most of the other ladies, so we ordered a round of Lemon Drop Martinis, Margaritas, Wine, & the like. Our first round became our second and after our second, we found ourselves ordering drinks that begin with phrases like "Bottle of..." and/or "Pitcher of..." Needless to say, we had a little too much fun, but that's bound to happen when great women like ourselves get a chance to get out together.
After dinner, we hopped in the car with our sober driver and pumped up the 90's on 9 channel, my personal favorite. We participated in a rousing, high-school style sing-a-long en route to downtown PlaceWhereIComeFrom, the haven for yet more libations. We arrived at a local bar in uplifted spirits, only to find a front row parking place. Sweet!
I need to take a moment to back up. I'm always terrible at leaving out essential threads of a story and thus making the ending predictable. Anyway, I drove myself to the restaurant earlier in the night. After an unexpected amount of drinky, I made the always-responsible decision to ride with someone I had just met. (Good thing she's one of Birthday girl - Amazon Ally's dear friends.) All of this was done with the assurance from Muscles that he would pick me up when I became ready to leave.
Anyway, we continued to have a blasty-blast, with the exception of the appearance of PsychoBitch. (Refer to Amazon for backstory -- Not mine to tell.) This particular bar that we were avid patrons of closes at midnight, a full hour and a half prior to the surrounding bars. When Amazon had had enough, she decided we would leave when this bar closed. Coincidentally, a couple of mine and Muscles' (mostly his) close guy friends showed up downtown around that time. I said hello cordially but shooed them away, not wanting them to rain on the all-female party we were having. I make the admittedly hazy decision that I will pop over to say hello when the birthday girl leaves and THEN call Muscles to hop in the Batmobile and swing through to get me. What can I say? I'm a social butterfly on occasion and I wanted to say hello to some friends I rarely see.
So... This all goes according to plan. I tell AA happy birthday and then head over. This is the kind of night downtown that I used to love. It seems like EVERYONE is out. I talked to everyone for maybe, 15-20 minutes, and then decided I missed my Muscles and was ready to leave. I went outside, plopped down on a park bench, and gave him a ring. Nothing. I called again. Nothing. (Nothing equals voicemail, Bee Tee Dubya) I called approximately 75 more times. Not really. In reality, I called about 15 more times, which is still a great deal. My Lemon Drop Brain was starting to think I was stranded downtown. Uh-Oh!
I called up my BFF. He's not really my BFF. He's Muscles' BFF, but it's fun to call him that considering we had what one might call a "rough patch" in the beginning of our friendship. Anyway, I ask him if he's talked to Muscles tonight.
"Yeah, about an hour ago, why?" BFF asks.
I tell him the story. He LAUGHS. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with men? (Refer to previous post for additional evidence.) I ask BFF to call Muscles because maybe my calls are not going through. He refuses and laughs some more. I might add that this situation is most often reversed, and I am equally unforgiving. Comin' back to bite me now, BIG time.
I end the convo somewhere around this time.
I then head back inside to ask the two afore mentioned friends if they can take me home. (One of them lives less than 3 miles from me, and I live FAR out.) He says sure, he'll take me as far as my road. Again, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIS MALE BRAIN? That would be about a 3 mile hike for me home, in the dark, with the coyotes, in a skirt. No!
I head back outside to call Muscles because his (not ours, anymore) friends are big jerks. Fifteen or more calls later, I get through. Muscles claims he had no service. He was sounding a bit groggy. I was unimpressed, but I was too happy that I wasn't abandoned to care. He was en route in the batmobile. YES!
As I waited the 20 or so minutes for him to arrive, the intelligent, responsible people came out of the woodwork. Friends and acquaintances waited with me and offered to pay for cab rides home. Of course, I didn't need help anymore, but I was grateful. I also chose to use this time to cheerfully call all of my best friends for a leisurely chat. Guess how many answered at 1 AM? It was dismal.
Twenty minutes later, Muscles swooped me up in the Batmobile and we headed home. I insisted on a cheeseburger before bed, so he even obliged stopping somewhere along the way to get me one. We got back to our house in one piece, Muscles still groggy and myself savoring the thoughts of that cheeseburger. Somewhere along this time, the Lemon Drop Brain hit me. OH to tha NO. I sent Muscles to sleepytime, and I decided to stay on the couch until I sobered up a bit. Afterall, I hadn't behaved like this is quite some time, and I was concerned about the after effects in the morning. I think I sleepwalked after this. I can't be sure. I know I was falling asleep on the couch and then...
I woke up at 6:45 AM (You guessed it.) in my own bed. I looked at peaceful, snoring Muscles and shook my head around a little to check for a headache. Nothing. I looked down. I was also wearing something quite different from what I went gallivanting around in last night. Hm. How did that happen? I nudged Muscles and asked, "Did you come get me from the couch last night?"
"No. I've been sleepin'. I'm still sleepin'. I love you." he mumbles.
I was so confused. I felt as if I had been body snatched. Okay... So I decide I need to hydrate myself in order to continue to feel alive. I walk down the stairs slowly and focus my sleepy eyes on our coffee table as I put together the pieces of what I'm looking at.
There, on our antique trunk of a makeshift coffee table, is a row of items. First, is the top of my bun from my cheeseburger the night before, half eaten, of course. Next, is a small, neat stack of pickles. After the pickle tower, is a small pile of bacon. Next to that is the actual cheeseburger. And after that, is the other partially eaten half of the bun. Neatly. In a row. Like I was playing a game with them at 2 AM. Hm...
I got my glass of water, and climbed back up the stairs to snuggle back in with my husband. Happy Birthday, dear Ally. We had a blast. :)
This past weekend, I re-invented the art of a birthday celebration. D
on't throw yourself into a frenzy. I am still a quarter of a century old. It wasn't my birthday. It was a very close friend of mine's, the age-before-you-might-be-considered-old's birthday. She invited her closest girlfriends, including myself, out for the three big D's: dinner and drinks and debauchery.We began dinner at a local restaurant on their outdoor deck. (Actually, we finished dinner there too. Betcha didn't catch that grammatical error. Anyway..) I was in a feisty mood, as were most of the other ladies, so we ordered a round of Lemon Drop Martinis, Margaritas, Wine, & the like. Our first round became our second and after our second, we found ourselves ordering drinks that begin with phrases like "Bottle of..." and/or "Pitcher of..." Needless to say, we had a little too much fun, but that's bound to happen when great women like ourselves get a chance to get out together.
After dinner, we hopped in the car with our sober driver and pumped up the 90's on 9 channel, my personal favorite. We participated in a rousing, high-school style sing-a-long en route to downtown PlaceWhereIComeFrom, the haven for yet more libations. We arrived at a local bar in uplifted spirits, only to find a front row parking place. Sweet!
I need to take a moment to back up. I'm always terrible at leaving out essential threads of a story and thus making the ending predictable. Anyway, I drove myself to the restaurant earlier in the night. After an unexpected amount of drinky, I made the always-responsible decision to ride with someone I had just met. (Good thing she's one of Birthday girl - Amazon Ally's dear friends.) All of this was done with the assurance from Muscles that he would pick me up when I became ready to leave.
Anyway, we continued to have a blasty-blast, with the exception of the appearance of PsychoBitch. (Refer to Amazon for backstory -- Not mine to tell.) This particular bar that we were avid patrons of closes at midnight, a full hour and a half prior to the surrounding bars. When Amazon had had enough, she decided we would leave when this bar closed. Coincidentally, a couple of mine and Muscles' (mostly his) close guy friends showed up downtown around that time. I said hello cordially but shooed them away, not wanting them to rain on the all-female party we were having. I make the admittedly hazy decision that I will pop over to say hello when the birthday girl leaves and THEN call Muscles to hop in the Batmobile and swing through to get me. What can I say? I'm a social butterfly on occasion and I wanted to say hello to some friends I rarely see.
So... This all goes according to plan. I tell AA happy birthday and then head over. This is the kind of night downtown that I used to love. It seems like EVERYONE is out. I talked to everyone for maybe, 15-20 minutes, and then decided I missed my Muscles and was ready to leave. I went outside, plopped down on a park bench, and gave him a ring. Nothing. I called again. Nothing. (Nothing equals voicemail, Bee Tee Dubya) I called approximately 75 more times. Not really. In reality, I called about 15 more times, which is still a great deal. My Lemon Drop Brain was starting to think I was stranded downtown. Uh-Oh!
I called up my BFF. He's not really my BFF. He's Muscles' BFF, but it's fun to call him that considering we had what one might call a "rough patch" in the beginning of our friendship. Anyway, I ask him if he's talked to Muscles tonight.
"Yeah, about an hour ago, why?" BFF asks.
I tell him the story. He LAUGHS. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with men? (Refer to previous post for additional evidence.) I ask BFF to call Muscles because maybe my calls are not going through. He refuses and laughs some more. I might add that this situation is most often reversed, and I am equally unforgiving. Comin' back to bite me now, BIG time.
I end the convo somewhere around this time.
I then head back inside to ask the two afore mentioned friends if they can take me home. (One of them lives less than 3 miles from me, and I live FAR out.) He says sure, he'll take me as far as my road. Again, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIS MALE BRAIN? That would be about a 3 mile hike for me home, in the dark, with the coyotes, in a skirt. No!
I head back outside to call Muscles because his (not ours, anymore) friends are big jerks. Fifteen or more calls later, I get through. Muscles claims he had no service. He was sounding a bit groggy. I was unimpressed, but I was too happy that I wasn't abandoned to care. He was en route in the batmobile. YES!
As I waited the 20 or so minutes for him to arrive, the intelligent, responsible people came out of the woodwork. Friends and acquaintances waited with me and offered to pay for cab rides home. Of course, I didn't need help anymore, but I was grateful. I also chose to use this time to cheerfully call all of my best friends for a leisurely chat. Guess how many answered at 1 AM? It was dismal.
Twenty minutes later, Muscles swooped me up in the Batmobile and we headed home. I insisted on a cheeseburger before bed, so he even obliged stopping somewhere along the way to get me one. We got back to our house in one piece, Muscles still groggy and myself savoring the thoughts of that cheeseburger. Somewhere along this time, the Lemon Drop Brain hit me. OH to tha NO. I sent Muscles to sleepytime, and I decided to stay on the couch until I sobered up a bit. Afterall, I hadn't behaved like this is quite some time, and I was concerned about the after effects in the morning. I think I sleepwalked after this. I can't be sure. I know I was falling asleep on the couch and then...
I woke up at 6:45 AM (You guessed it.) in my own bed. I looked at peaceful, snoring Muscles and shook my head around a little to check for a headache. Nothing. I looked down. I was also wearing something quite different from what I went gallivanting around in last night. Hm. How did that happen? I nudged Muscles and asked, "Did you come get me from the couch last night?"
"No. I've been sleepin'. I'm still sleepin'. I love you." he mumbles.
I was so confused. I felt as if I had been body snatched. Okay... So I decide I need to hydrate myself in order to continue to feel alive. I walk down the stairs slowly and focus my sleepy eyes on our coffee table as I put together the pieces of what I'm looking at.
There, on our antique trunk of a makeshift coffee table, is a row of items. First, is the top of my bun from my cheeseburger the night before, half eaten, of course. Next, is a small, neat stack of pickles. After the pickle tower, is a small pile of bacon. Next to that is the actual cheeseburger. And after that, is the other partially eaten half of the bun. Neatly. In a row. Like I was playing a game with them at 2 AM. Hm...
I got my glass of water, and climbed back up the stairs to snuggle back in with my husband. Happy Birthday, dear Ally. We had a blast. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
