GAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

The last thing you need to read right now is another rant about pregnant people's fucking FB comments.

Well too bad.  Deal with it.  Dick.

I have, oh, I don't know, about 2 thousand friends on facebook that are pregnant.  Ok, ok, I'm exaggerating.  But there are alot.  Like alot-alot.  I'm in an area of the country where women try to poop out as many kids as they can in their lifetime.  It's not uncommon for people to have 4, 5, 6 or even more kids in my neck of the woods.  So pretty much everyone my age is pregnant.  With like their 4th kid.

Luckily my real life friends are too self-centered and alcoholic to be those kind of moms, but my FB friends are NOT.  They go to church and watch the news and read Rachael Ray magazines.

But I digress.  I just think when the time comes for me to be pregnant, I would never post something like "Yay!  Week 18!  Grow baby grow!!"

Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I might say stuff like "It's about fucking time Universe! WTF mate?"
Or possibly "I'm finally pregnant bitches, bring on the gifts!  (and the cake!)"
Maybe I'll just be the TMI girl who says stuff like "Haven't pooped in 5 days.  Thanks hormones!"

You want to be my FB friend now don't you?

I'd better not... I have what doctors call a little bit of an "anxiety problem."

I get anxious.

A lot.

Not like worried that I'm going to be late for an appointment, but that I'm going to crash my car into the cement side wall on the way, killing 7 and injuring myself.  Then I picture the funerals and what I would do or say and how I would defend myself at an involuntary manslaughter trial.

These irrational, illogical thoughts occupy my mind every day.  Especially when I try to go to sleep at night.  That's when the really fucked up thinking happens.  It involves death and rape and destruction of myself and my family. 

Then I get up to check the locks.  One. More. Time.

I finally decided to talk to my doctor about it because it would be really nice not to worry about getting raped in my bed as I'm falling asleep at night.  Only my regular lady parts doctor couldn't see me for weeks, so I decided to call a family practice clinic near my house.  I've never been to this clinic.  Clearly, they have issues with people showing up and asking them for hard core fucking narcotics and xan.ax or something.

They really thought I was just trying to get drugs out of them.

It ended with the doctor giving me a prescription for an anti-depressant and a card for a clinical psychologist.

Bitch.

I guess I am crazy.  Add 1 more reason to the list of why I should start using illegal drugs.

Hiatus

We have been toying with the idea of visiting Hubs's cousin in Oregon all summer long.  We were finally able to make it this weekend and let me say

1 - Oregon is AH-MAZ-ING!  I love it every time I go.
2 - I failed at ICLW but I swear I will make it up to you guys and comment my guts out over the next few days.
3 - I love coming home after a trip.  It feels so comfortable and fulfilling. 

While on the trip, I confided in the cousin about "The IF" and I got one of these:

"You need to just stop being so negative and stop obsessing about it."

Don't you just love that?  I pretty much brush shit like that off because I know (most) people mean well.  Instead of punching screaming at her, I proceeded to tell her my cocaine plan and then we pretty much never talked about it again.

Besides that, it was an epic weekend.  I peed in the Deschutes River a couple times, drank some Oregonian beer and vodka, let my kid play outdoors for 4 days straight, and ate like a queen.

Oh yeah and I was ovulating so that was another adventure in babymaking while being a guest in someone's house.  Only this time we didn't have a room.  Just a couch bed. 

Shoulda Coulda Woulda

When I was in high school, I had a boyfriend on and off for pretty much all of it.  We'd break up every few months, mostly because he had been my only boyfriend and even though I loved him, I knew that it wasn't realistic that we would stay together forever and I didn't want to spend my prime dating years NOT DATING.

At the time, I was still confused about what religion meant in my life and if I even really believed in any of it.  I was going to a Christian church and the big push was "True Love Waits."  They even had commitment ceremonies with your parents where you wore a wedding ring on your left hand that said that and the promise was that you would wait until you got married before having sex.

Uh huh.

Well the good news is that it worked on me for about 2 years.   My boyfriend and I held off on (most) things and were pretty good kids really.

And then we broke up.  For real.

So THIS, ladies, THIS is the time that I felt it might be appropriate to have S-E-X for the first time.  Oh no, not during the 2 fucking years that we were actually TOGETHER.  He was even dating another girl already.  What the hell?

I mean seriously, I could have been banging my little brains out all during high school with a boy that I LOVED, and instead I waited til we broke up.


This is how I feel about getting pregnant.  I had my son when I was 25 so I guess I spent some of my prime fertile years having A baby, but the rest of the time I spent trying NOT to get pregnant.... WASTED.

It's like rain on your wedding day.  Or 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife.

OH OH OH OH OH, The Right Stuff

For those of you born in the 80's or even the 90's (gasp!) that title is a reference to the New Kids on the Block.  They were the shit back in my day.  First concert I ever went to and my dad and step mom took me.  I think I was in 5th grade.  I might have cried a little.  Here's a picture just for fun.  (The crazy haired dude on the bottom is Jordan and I'm pretty sure he was the source of endless teenage fantasies.)

Anyway, my point is that I started singing that song to myself in the mirror this morning when I saw my boobs in my new bra.  My god.  It's fantastic!

I buy bras from that really expensive pink place in the mall.  You know the one where bras cost like 50 bucks?  Well, I think the last time I bought a new bra from them was like 2 years ago.  Since that time I've gained and lost some weight, gained and lost a job, and ignored the fact that the straps are discolored and falling apart.  Mostly because when you have an extra 50 bucks, the last thing you want to spend it on is A BRA.

The horror of someone measuring your ta-ta's and forcing you to try on new ones keeps you from the store as long as possible.  Sure, I've bought some other cheaper ones to get me by, but nothing compares to the expensive pink ones.  It's hard to go back to generics after you have had your boobs fit into a comfy bra like a baseball glove. 

You totally just imagined boobs in a baseball glove didn't you?  Dirty bird.

I stood in the mirror, marveling at my magnificent breasts and how wearing the right bra sure makes my chest look bigger and my waist look smaller.  And then, naturally, I thought about how exactly I was going to blog about bras and boobs today.

Oh yeah, and I'm trying to keep my mind off of my cyyyyyyccccclllllleeeee (gag!  so sick of my cycle) and my OOOOOOOO day and spermination.  I don't even know what cyyyyyyccccclllllleeeee day I am today.  Isn't that great? 

Randoms

Some days at about 10:30 pm, like right now, I. Am. Done.

With the day.  I can't stand anyone talking to me.  I can't stand my child throwing fits or whining about going to bed.  All I want to do is sit on the couch, watch The Office and drink a beer or two.  Everyone else can just go to hell at that point.  God bless you Michael Scott and the whole nine Nards.

Next, in the last month or so, I have heard 3 different ladies talk about having orgasms in their sleep.  Fuckingexcuseme?  How is that even possible and how do I sign up for that?  Lucky bitches.  (Shakes fist at Mother Nature.)

Finally, it's ICLW time again and I am glad you made it over to my blog.  I have only been at this for a few months (blogging, not humping profusely for spawn.)  If you'd like to check out my first ICLW post, click here.  It's way more entertaining than this random post.

I'll Give YOU a Tip

There's a frozen yogurt place by my house.  It's delightful.  You pick your yogurt, fill your cup yourself and then add as many toppings as you like.  My favorite is original tangy yogurt with heath bar and strawberries.  My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

So, YOU get your own yogurt, YOU add the toppings, and YOU take it to the scale at the cash register.  Then THEY make you give them money for it.  Fine, whatever.  Nice customer service but at least I can add as much delicious buttery toffee as I want to, right?  But then, right there on the counter....

is a TIP jar.

Um, fuckingexcuseme???  I do all the work and I'm supposed to give you a god damn tip?  Where in anyone's any size, any logic, any anything brain does that make a lick of sense?  (I said lick.)  I think THEY should give ME a tip just for doing all their work for them and paying them $5.

Another Day

So another birthday party last night.  It was fun and great and super laughy and all.

A friend of mine tried for 7 years to get pregnant with her 2nd child.  She was luckily successful last year and now has a 7 week old baby.  She brought her to dinner.  Everyone was passing the baby around and cooing and kissing her.  It was very sweet.

And so so sad.

I am so happy for this friend of mine, OBVIOUSLY.  I just had the slightest twinge of jealousy, which doesn't usually happen to me.  I most often find myself cooing along with the others, making funny faces and breathing in that delicious baby smell.

I'm not sure why I was struggling.  Maybe it was because I wasn't feeling well and didn't have the energy to be positive.  Maybe it was because I'm (still) on my period, which is like cycle 30-something.

Or maybe I'm turning into a bitter old hag who can't be trusted around small children.  I'll be the friend who you're afraid to let hold your baby because I might caress it Lenny-style or put it in my trunk and run away with it.


On the optimistic side of not being pregnant, the sushi was divine.

Reasons I Should Starting Doing Cocaine

Last night I was hanging out with a bunch of girlfriends for a birthday party.  I looked around the room and realized that I am, by far, the fattest of all my friends.  I am a size 12 and don't normally look at myself in the mirror with disgust.  But my friends are like fucking models.  Seriously.  There were like 12 of us and the closest 2nd was probably a size 6.

So I left that party to join a different party with my normal sized friends.  We were discussing how there are so many skinny bitches in the world and why we aren't one of them.  We have concluded that skinny bitches

A - don't eat, and
B - use cocaine

Oh blah blah blah if you're skinny and you're like, "I eat like a fucking horse and I have never ever touched cocaine.  I just have good metabolism!"  I'm super happy for you.

Next, I thought of all the drug addicts out there and how they seem to have no problems getting pregnant.  So HELLO reason #2!  Cocaine is looking pretty good now ain't it?

Finally, today I suffered through an allergy test because I have chronic sinusitis and recurrent sinus infections so I was wondering if maybe I have allergies.  Well, guess what Mother Nature, you win again!  I am not allergic to ANYTHING.  My sinuses are just fucked up.  Maybe if I snort some coke it'll help with that situation too.  I mean it couldn't really get any worse.

Dear everyone, I'm just kidding.  I don't do drugs and I'm not going to start.  And I'm really glad you're skinny and eat salads for lunch every day.

Because I Said So

For the love of everything holy, please go to this website and watch this video.  If you don't come back to my blog, I will know that you died laughing.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Might as Well be a 900 Number

I called my doctor yesterday to discuss the next steps.  As I've said before, he wants me to take a 2 month break from meds and we had discussed possibly doing a laparoscopy.  So they said I could do a phone follow-up rather than coming in to the office for one.  The call lasted 24 minutes and since it's still considered a follow up, I will have to pay the $60 copay and my insurance will have to pay, oh I don't know, like, their 1st QUARTER REVENUES.

Damn, doctors are greedy bastards.

Anyway, we decided against the lap (woo hoo!) and I am just going to give them a call after this cycle and talk about possibly trying femara and fsh.

Or my acupuncturist is going to prove that those old Asian dudes really knew what they were talking about for the past 3000 years.  That would be fun.

Oh yeah and my RE is Asian.  So that would be double fun.

I feel like these statements might be borderline racist or something.

But they're not, fuckers  Stop being so damn sensitive.

How I Make My Life More Difficult Than it Needs to Be

You know how I told you I'm lucky and get to work part time?  Well today I have gone ahead and made my life more difficult for myself.  I'm a fucking idiot.

I have been considering going to nursing school for the past couple of years.  I have put it off a number of times thinking I would have a newborn by yester-year.  About a year ago, I applied for a phlebotomy training program through the local big hospital system.  It's an entry level job and it doesn't pay DICK but since I have been an accountant for the past decade, I figured I would have to start somewhere.

So kinda forgot about this job til they called me last month for an interview.  I figured I might as well check it out and long story short, I got the f-ing job.  I say f-ing job because now I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO DO.  It pays so little that I can't afford to quit my other part time job (which also has benefits.)

So I have decided to do both.  What the fuck?

I just can't seem to turn it down because like a GAZILLION people applied for it (ok 525 people) and only TEN were hired.  The company is willing to let me be on call and only work 12 hours a pay period after the initial training period.

The problem is the initial training period is 40 hours a week for 6 weeks.

So now I have committed to doing the training program and still working my other job, which is 24 hours a week.

How will I ever do this you ask?

Ummmm yeah, OBVIOUSLY I have no fucking clue.

I keep telling myself that it's only 6 weeks and then I will have a job in the medical field to get my feet wet and a toe in the door.  If I decide to switch eventually they offer benefits for 24 hours a week including tuition reimbursement.

But then I also keep telling myself that I'm going to want to shoot myself in the eye after 3 days of this.

So, in true BU fashion, I keep over-analyzing it.  I'm an accountant, what can I say?

Er, fuck, I'm a phlebotomist or something.

Advice?

How Your Vagina Sometimes Fails You

Here's what I don't understand. 

Why is it that just because I have a vagina, I am responsible for keeping my family's underwear clean?

We have this fancy shmancy clothes hamper that has 2 separate compartments, one for lights and one for darks.  It's supposed to make the whole laundry thing easy peasy one two threesy.  Well take a look:

Yes, my husband's dirty clothes are on the floor right next to the hamper.  This is a very small pile of dirty clothes.  It gets much, much bigger.  I gave up on asking him to put the clothes in the hamper a long time ago.  I'm not quite sure why it's such a difficult concept, but apparently it's similar to trying to get me to give a blow job.*

And yeah I know that I could just stop doing his laundry, but believe me I've tried this little reverse psychology gem before and you know what it got me?  A big old charge to my debit card when my husband went out to buy all new socks and underwear when his were all dirty.  Not to mention the guilty conscience of smugly separating my laundry from his.  Although with that method, his clothes actually ended up in the hamper instead of next to it.

And then there's my son.  He's six and although he's been potty trained for a few years now, he still doesn't quite see the importance of wiping his ass thoroughly (or at all.)  I started making him take a bath every time he took a dump and didn't wipe, but that didn't work and it just created a bigger mess for me to clean up.  So then I bought those grown-up baby wipes that you can leave in the bathroom for him to try so wiping would be more convenient for him.  That seems to work about half the time but I still have the lovely chore of washing his underoos in hot water with bleach every time.

Well, PMS is going great for me this month.  As you can plainly see. 


* Maybe I should try a surprise BJ to get new carpet?

Hope Floats

Thank you kind ladies for the replies to my last post. I cried over a couple of them. :)

They will try more Clomid or Femara or even injectibles, but they want me to take 2 months off to steady my hormones. Also, I've started acupuncture and my acupuncturist wants me to try some herbs for the 2 month break, so I figure that is worth a try. Also, my insurance doesn't cover any fertility meds so figuring that part out is a challenge too.

Of course I will keep you all posted because I tell you people everything!  

Surrender

It's an interesting time for me when I get to the end of my rope. There it is, staring me in the face, and yet, so far, I've always been able to will just a few more inches out of it. Yes, I am sick to death of thinking about my eggs and sperm and what day it is in the cycle, but my mind still can't wrap itself around the fact that I will not have another child someday. I think it's because every beat of my heart tells my head that it's not true. (Maybe they could get a conference call going with my uterus.)

Well, today is different. I've somehow hurt my back and I've been in pain for well over a week now. I'm trying to give up sugar for a couple weeks so I have a protesting headache because my addiction hasn't been fed. And the negative pregnancy test is the icing on the cake. It's the last of my Clomid cycles and my doctor wants me to take a 2 month break from fertility meds to let my body get back to normal.

I don't know what's next.

Versatile Blogger Award

Oak at The Elusive Embryo was kind enough to nominate me for the Versatile Blogger Award. If you haven't seen her blog, you should check it out because she is hilarious!

For this award, here’s what you do:

1. Thank whoever gave you the award.
2. Tell 7 things about yourself that readers may not know.
3. Pay it forward by nominating 10 bloggers you’ve recently discovered.


As if you didn't know enough about me already, here are 7 zany facts about my life:

1 - 3 years ago I had heart surgery for 2 holes in my septum. Weird right? My heart was actually broken. They said I was lucky during my son's birth that I didn't have a stroke because that is often when they discover someone has a hole in their heart. Also, the surgery was outpatient and done through a catheter in my femoral vein. Amazing isn't it?

2 - I've had a little girl's name picked out since I was 13 years old. My husband hated it at first, but with the threat of physical violence gentle persuasion, he has come around to see that once again, I am right and the name is awesome. Now all we need is the little girl.

3 - My parents divorced when I was around 3 and each were remarried. They have since divorced their 2nd spouses and now live together again. It's odd but cool I guess.

4 - My son scored in the 99th percentile in national testing at school this year. :)

5 - I have a mad sweet tooth. It's borderline ridiculous. I try to keep it in check, but if there is a dessert or candy anywhere in a 3 mile radius, I can't stop my hand from putting it in my mouth.

6 - I see dead people.

7 - Last year I dislocated and broke my hand when I tripped and fell while running. Yes running. I'm not normally that ungraceful but I'm not normally that graceful either.

So here they are, my 10 nominees! Have fun ladies!

Pundelina Kafoops Lives Here
An Unwanted Path
Tears Are For Babies
MoJo Working
If It Weren't For Bad Luck, We Would Have No Luck
Parenthood For Me
Brownies and Onion Dip
The Daily Miracle
The Rocky Road to Motherhood
This Little Life of Mine

Sweaty Big Stuff

So you know how there's that phrase, "don't sweat the small stuff?" (that's what she said.)

Well I fucking hate that phrase.

What does it even mean? Because there's some small stuff that feels like pretty big stuff when it actually happens to you.

I will generously provide you with some examples:

- When you just went to the bathroom (#2) and you look over to notice that there is no toilet paper on the roll. No toilet paper? Small stuff. Running to the hallway (or worse, the next stall) to get more toilet paper with your pants around your ankles? Sweaty big stuff.

- Smudging your pedicure right after you get it. Smudged toenail? Small stuff. Your nerves after you just spent an hour saying "what?" and trying to make out what the nail technician just said to you, besides calling you honey. Not to mention the 40 dollars you just spent to have a flower painted on as well, and the fact that you have no strawberry red in your polish collection to fix it? Sweaty big stuff.


But seriously, in life, there's a point when the small stuff you just spent a good amount of time NOT sweating becomes the big stuff. Like the big, mean, resentful big stuff.

It all started when I read this post. So I guess you could say I blame Aunt Becky for making me sweat (but in a good way.)

You see, Hubs is quite the workaholic. He typically logs about 70-80 hours per week, and although that affords me to only work part-time, which is great, it does leave me a little bit lonely (and angry) sometimes. But I've pretty much told myself to just be grateful for his hard work and to enjoy working only 21 hours a week.

If there's something I really want to do, like a pilates class or getting a drink with my girls, Hubs tries hard to accommodate, but it involves a lot of coordinating and nagging reminding on my part to get him somewhere.

We do, however, spend one ENTIRE weekend a month at his parent's house. You see, they have a ranch and Hubs enjoys the cowboy life. We spent the past 4 days there and he was in the fields from sun-up to sun-down every day.

On our way home, I was thinking about what I am passionate about and why in the world we never spend an entire weekend doing it. And it made me realize that the small stuff is turning into a large mountain and I am starting to sweat it. So I talked to the Hubs about it.

He was surprisingly receptive to the conversation and asked me what it is I'd like to spend a weekend doing.

Naturally, the answer was taking a god damn vacation.

I love traveling and we have done very little of it since we've been married. So we planned a trip! Well, not a real trip because now we have to come up with some money to actually take a trip, but there are 3 Caribbean islands I've always wanted to go to and I found a cruise that goes to ALL 3 plus Belize and Cozumel.

Doesn't that sound amazing?

Eat and drink all night and then wake up to spend the day on a new tropical beach.

Now... now I have to sweat the how to get the money portion of the vacation, but that is something I'm willing to put some sweat into.

Jealousy

Do you have a friend that gets everything she wants? You know the one, you love her and would probably die for her, but sometimes you look at her life and wonder how everything comes so damn easily to her?

My bestie is that girl. She's an only child so even in college I was jealous of her situation. Her parents bought her a car and footed her tuition and books. I think she had to pay her cell phone bill and that was only because her parents thought it was utterly ridiculous that 19 year old college students would need a cell phone. (I'm old ok? This was a long time ago, way way before 8 year olds had them.)

Fast forward to post college. She decided to move to Florida for a couple of years and met her wonderful, perfect husband. He's so great. He vacuums, girls. Vacuums. She got an amazing 6 figure job as a sales person in the sport she loves. They got a beautiful house, sold it, and then bought a bigger more beautiful house. Also, I should note that she is tall and beautiful and has a killer body. And last year, she found out she was accidentally pregnant. Accidentally. Like such an accident that she was actually upset that she was pregnant and it was going to change her life.

Now I love her dearly, but that was a little hard to take. She complained. A lot.

This is not to say that said bestie hasn't worked hard. She is extremely intelligent, worked very, very hard in college and went back to get her MBA. She eats healthier than any person I've ever seen and works out several times a week. She's totally great at her job and even though she was scared of her life changing, she is an excellent mother and just loves her little girl (and her husband) to pieces. So, it's not that she doesn't deserve any of these things, because she totally does.

It's just, sometimes, I wonder... how is it so easy for her? Or is it just as hard for her, but she just complains a lot less than me?