log·or·rhe·a (lô'gə-rē'ə, lŏg'ə-)

Fun with etymology

2009-08-02T12:54:00.006-04:00

Urofollitropin is derived from...

a) space dust cast off of Uranus

b) the "black blood" of the Uros, pre-Incan people who live in Peru and Bolivia

c) the urine of post-menopausal women

d) don't be ridiculous, Amy, these are all completely absurd

If you picked c, you are correct. I am injecting old lady pee into my abdomen. I am alternating the injection sites across my belly with Lovenox, a blood thinner that, in theory, will help the blood flow issues that may or may not have caused my previous failures. Lovenox-Bravelle-Lovenox-Bravelle, like so:

Heh. I'm perforated.

This made me so happy, I had to fight tears

2009-07-25T09:50:00.005-04:00

Those of you who have known me since my single-digit years are well aware that The Sound of Music is my absolute most favorite movie ever. And I mean ever. But Amy! You'll say. You watch Bring It On every time they show it on TBS! How can that possibly not be your favorite? There are many reasons, but perhaps the most important is that Bring It On would never inspire 200 people to do this:

OMG! A Sunday Seven!

2009-07-19T16:55:00.018-04:00

Well, hello there. Long time, no see. This week's Sunday Seven is titled: The Funny Thing About Infertility. No, seriously. Sometimes this shit is just amusing.

1. A new diagnosis

My doctor decided it would be best to have me tested for various immunological issues in an attempt to pin down exactly why I keep failing to get knocked up. Twelve vials of blood and two weeks later, I received an email from him explaining that YES, thank you Jebus, there IS something wrong with me that we can fix easily. I have a mutation in my methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase gene. Say that three times fast. Or, use the abbreviation – MTHFR. Yes, MTHRFKR, indeed.

2. Desperate Times

I have spent a great deal of my life trying to maintain at least a modicum of anonymity. I eschew public speaking at all costs and I hate seeing myself in pictures or video. Well. When someone offers you thousands of dollars worth of medical services for free if you speak on camera, things change quickly.

Have you ever Googled yourself? Time was when (like, a month ago) that if I wanted to check out my presence on the interwebs, the only hits I got were this blog, and my Facebook and LinkedIn pages. But now… go ahead. Do it. Google me.

3. Desperate Measures

I could totally win a game of "Never Have I Ever." Ever been interviewed on camera without any pants on? Just asking.

4. When you can't pray to anyone

One day, when my children ask me where they came from, I will tell them that storks brought them. And I won’t even be lying:

This is a Polish fertility talisman bestowed upon me by Theresa’s mother-in-law, Linda, and holds the esteemed position of being simultaneously the most charming and the most hideous thing I’ve ever been given. It has a long history of granting the baby-making wishes of women. The woman who gave the statue to Linda was “deadly serious” in her insistence that this was not to be taken lightly, and that it was highly effective. We shall see.

5. When it really is DIY

At our last go-‘round at the fertility clinic, I was waiting to be brought into the Procedure Room for the egg retrieval. The doctor came around to tell us it wouldn’t be long, and Ben asked when it would be time for his contribution to the process. The doctor reassured him that someone would take care of him. A short pause followed and he then felt the need to clarify (and reassure me, I suppose).

“Well, it’s not a service that we provide.”

6. He does it all for the presents

Ben: Sweetie, it’s Father’s Day, and I did not receive a gift.

Me: [thinking he was gonna get all mushy and serious] …

Ben: I give, and I give and I give into little cups and I have NO PRESENTS to show for it.

7. Plastic tubing gets me soooo hot

Last Saturday I was in Boston at Theresa and Chris’s wedding/baby celebration. Chris was discussing the possibility of inappropriate shower games wherein the guests have to answer questions like “What date was the baby conceived?” or “What position were you in?” I was thinking that my answers to these questions would be absolutely high-larious – “Well, I was definitely on my back. There were three other people in the room and it involved about 3 feet of plastic tubing…”

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

2009-04-05T22:36:00.002-04:00

Part 3A: The Good

It seems there finally came a point where the universe decided it had been shoveling shit at us for long enough.

We met with our doctor a couple weeks ago to discuss what we wanted to do next. He was not keen on us trying another frozen embryo cycle. We’ve done two, and something is obviously not working. He suggested we try IVM, a relatively new method (in the US, at least) that was developed for women with PCOS. (Hi! That’s me!) In vitro maturation, rather than in vitro fertilization (IVF), requires little or no stimulating drugs. If you recall, that’s what nearly killed me last year. Instead of maturing eggs and then retrieving them, immature eggs are removed from the ovaries and matured over 24-48 hours in a petri dish full of some sort of special, magical media. Once mature, they’re then fertilized and three days later transferred back to my yooteris.

We will be part of a study of IVM. Because of my history and diagnosis, I can’t be randomized. We WILL be in the IVM group. Thank you, medical ethics. And. And-and-and-and-and. If we fail, they will continue to use our frozen embryos – the seven we already have plus however many are created from this new egg retrieval and fertilization – until our insurance cap runs out and then keep going for free until we succeed or run out of embryos, whichever comes first. In exchange, we have agreed to do a little PR for them and for IVM in an interview with a reporter from the New York Times. Fair? Yes, very.

So once again, this could be cool or this could suck. We won’t know for a few weeks which way it will swing. We’ve decided to tempt fate and order a few bottles of wine from wine.com, just to screw with the universe a little.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

2009-03-28T20:15:00.000-04:00

Part Two: The Ugly

I’ve walked around for about six weeks now blaming the extra pudge I’m carrying around my midsection on all the hormones.

But now I’m off the hormones.

This is just how fat I am. Phooey.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

2009-03-26T20:03:00.002-04:00

Part One

Not in that order. We’ll start with the bad:

It didn’t work.

“Not so comfy, akshully.”

Big fat fail.

Negatory.

There’s not really much to tell here, really. We did the embryo transfer earlier this month. Eight days later – on my birthday, no less – we found out my hCG level was less than 1, far from the 5 it needed to be. Awesome. The extra kick in the nuts was that I had to continue to jab myself in the ass with giant needles for two more nights until I got the official word after the second blood test that it was a bust. Phooey.

Fingers Crossed

2009-03-03T20:30:00.000-05:00

Thanks, AP, for this excellent piece of journalism

2009-03-01T23:12:00.003-05:00

Rare snow blankets South as East braces for storm
BIRMINGHAM, Ala. – A potent March snowstorm blanketed much of Alabama with up to 4 inches of snow Sunday, covering Civil War statues and forcing the cancellation of hundreds of church services.

Soooo, the only comments this dude can make on the effect of four inches of snow in Alabama are about how the snow is covering statues commemorating the “War of Northern Aggression” and canceling church services?

'Kay.

I Had A Dream

2009-02-28T22:44:00.000-05:00

And in this dream, there was a guy. The guy was sitting on the arm of the chair that is next to the organ at my nana's house. He dropped something on the floor and as he bent down to grab it, he fell, hit his head on the corner of the piano bench and HIS HEAD CAME CLEAN OFF.

He fell one way and his head rolled in another. I grabbed his head, matched it up to his neck, and held it on while I called 911.

Backdating R Us

2009-02-24T22:58:00.001-05:00

OK, OK. Big fat fail. I know. But I’m trying, I really am!

Scroll.
Down.

Excuse us while we remodel

2009-02-21T23:11:00.000-05:00

Click here for the beta version of my new website.

How they find me

2009-02-20T23:10:00.000-05:00

Someone Googled "what is the name of the people that live with half of his brain" and landed here. Go figure.

387

2009-02-19T23:08:00.000-05:00

Apparently that’s a good number for estradiol. Because remember the last test? NOT THIS TIME, BITCHES!

My favorite kind of vegetarian

2009-02-16T23:06:00.000-05:00

Alyssa was here all weekend. Here’s something I absolutely love about her. About six months ago, she became a vegetarian. But see, here’s the thing. She is THE BEST kind of vegetarian ever. We discussed – at length – the merits of Nathan’s corn dogs, she stole a chicken finger off my plate at lunch AND decided that the lump of cookie dough on the kitchen counter looked like filet mignon. Now THAT is the sort of vegetarian I can wrap my head around.

Dinner and a (Comedy) Show

2009-02-13T23:03:00.000-05:00

The table next to us at California Pizza Kitchen tonight was full of Midwestern tourists. One noticed that our waiter is from Michigan. (All the waiters’ name tags at CPK identify their motherland.) Tourist Guy asks the waiter how long he’s been in New York. Waiter’s like oh, 4, 4 and a half years.

Tourist guy: Why?

Wait for it. Waaaaaiit for it…

Waiter: To get into acting.

Bwwaaaahahahahahahaahaha.

There are reasons this t-shirt exists. (And this one. And this one, too.) He’s one of them.

Short Story

2009-02-12T22:59:00.000-05:00

The 2009 State of the Company meeting, complete with Rock Band competition on the Wii and cocktail hour at the Mexican place across the street from the office. Amy did not get trashed, nor did she require the assistance of pantyliners as napkins or any public trash cans, and was home by 9. Success once again.

Retail therapy: the best therapy

2009-02-10T23:39:00.001-05:00

We began the journey toward parenthood, in earnest, just about a year ago today. It was around this time last year that we decided to sell our souls to Capital One and finance IVF. Despite the setbacks and egregious sucktasticity of the process, it has always felt good to be actively moving toward a goal. We were the first among our friends to get this far, and for the amount of work, thought, money, and pain and anguish we’ve put into it, it would only be fair if we were the first to be successful.

But it was not to be. Two friends jumped on the baby train just as we were getting back on board after the new year. And one, within what seemed like seconds, got lucky.* And now instead of barreling down the tracks like a steaming locomotive, I feel as though I’m chasing the caboose.

I have this image in my mind. You know those movies where a woman is on the train, and the guy is running down the tracks as the train pulls away? Eventually, the train picks up speed and leaves him behind, watching the woman get smaller and smaller as she disappears into the distance.

So with this pathetic little plot in my head, I left work in search of some solace on Monday. I would like to thank Michelle at Ann Taylor Loft, and her tireless dedication to making my ass look good in a pair of jeans, with providing me the sort of comfort I was looking for:

Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. Mine and mine.

*I'm not allowed to divulge which one, so don't bother asking.

The reason I couldn't actually post on Monday

2009-02-09T14:20:00.001-05:00

When Vacuum Cleaners Attack

2009-02-08T18:42:00.002-05:00

This afternoon, Ben and I prepared the second bedroom for my friend Alyssa’s impending visit next weekend. She’s allergic to cats, so we were doing our best to rid the room of all traces of Jojo. When we opened up the futon, we discovered that SOMEHOW he has managed to get his fur all over the damn thing, even though it’s always been covered. So Ben got out our kick-ass new vacuum cleaner and attached the pet hair remover thingie that has a rolling brush inside powered by the suction from the hose. Before he attacked the bed, he decided that my shirt required vacuuming and proceeded to run it up my back.

It sucked up my hair, all the way to my scalp.

And got stuck.

The look of pure panic on Ben’s face was priceless, and I could see the thought “Oh my God, if we have to cut off a chunk of her hair she is going to kill me” flash behind his eyes. I squeaked out a “help me!” to break him out of his oh-fuck trance. He had me lie down on the bed while he took the whole attachment apart with a screwdriver. At first, he just kept apologizing. I hadn’t said much and he had no idea what I was thinking. So I said exactly what was on my mind–

“It’s still funny, just get this thing the fuck out of my hair before it STOPS being funny.”

The process itself was quick, easy, and resulted in the loss of only about ten hairs. Once I was freed, I returned to the kitchen to let him finish the job the vacuum was intended for. A few minutes later, he called to me from the bedroom.

“How are we going to set a good example for kids?”

Ahem. Yes. If WE do boneheaded things like VACUUM PEOPLE, then WE might have a hard time preventing our children from doing similar, boneheaded things.

“How are WE going to set a good example? I don’t think the question is how WE are going to do that.”

“What are you saying?”

Nothing, sweetie. Really.

Newsflash: Amy gets out of the house. Film at 11.

2009-02-07T16:25:00.004-05:00

I have already failed at NaBloPoMo, but it was totally worth it. I couldn't write last night because I was too busy having a life. Getting out of the work-home-sleep routine, even for just one night, has improved my mood immensely. And it gave me stuff to write about. Bonus!

I went with five other girls to see He’s Just Not That Into You on its opening night. Like most other chick flicks, it was formulaic and predictable with very little character development. But unlike most other chick flicks, I actually walked away from it having learned a few things:

1. If I had read that book a long time ago, it would have saved me an awful lot of trouble.

2. I should actively appreciate the fact that I’m not single-in-the-city a lot more than I do. I take it for granted that I don’t feel the need to check my email 400 times a day, or obsess over how many days have passed since I gave a guy my number, or worry about the unspoken subtext of lines as simple as “I’ll talk to you later.” Eff that. Being married is AWESOME.

3. I will never, ever tell my daughter (should I ever have one) that the reason a boy treats her badly is because he likes her. It’s a piece of advice akin to “those mean girls only make fun of you because they’re jealous of you” but the ramifications of imbuing a young girl with this pile of hooey are potentially disastrous. Nope. Won’t do it.

I certainly wouldn’t give the movie four stars. But if you’re single or newly married, or even if you’ve been married forever but you've still got vivid memories of what this era of your life was like, then it might be worth two hours of your time. Especially if you sneak mini bottles of merlot into the theater with you. That always makes things better.

I am "honored".

2009-02-05T22:56:00.003-05:00

Today, I rode down to a client meeting in Pennsylvania with five other coworkers. Two of them have a reputation for being, shall we say... constantly, horrifyingly, childishly inappropriate. And what better way to perfectly illustrate this than the nickname that was bestowed upon me this morning. Not A-Tims, not Tim-timmeny, tim-tim, teroo (I'm not making that one up), and not T-Dawg. No.

T-bag.

And not the kind that goes in a mug full of hot water.

Conversations

2009-02-04T18:55:00.006-05:00

Chez A&B

Ben, holding up my empty wine glass: Sweetie, did you drink all the cooking wine?

Me: I plead the fifth.

Ben: Do you think maybe you might have a problem?

Me: Yes. We're out of cooking wine.

Over text message today

Shelly: I have kind of a big crush on Clive Owen. Just wanted to share.

Me: You're a really lousy lesbian, you know that?

Shelly: HAHAHAHAHA. I do have a BIG crush on Queen Latifah

Me: I'm not sure that Queen Latifah > Tek + Clive

Me: Do you take any issue with me posting this conversation on my blog tonight?

Shelly: I'd be "honored."

Shelly: But not "honored".

"want".

2009-02-03T20:48:00.009-05:00

Approximately eight seconds after posting last night's entry, I received this email from Zoltan, the Mad Hungarian. I tried to argue his very same point with my high school English teachers, but I kept getting points knocked off my papers for it, so I gave up. I now bend to their collective will. (The links are mine.)

Subject: "want."
Body:

I hate this rule.

a) it is not in line with Hungarian
b) a '"' is not a punctuation mark, a '.' is.
c) you end a sentence with a ".", "!", or a "?". Not a '".'

Retahded - and I think I have a case. Please evaluate with an open
mind:

I say "bullshit." What do you say?
I say "bullshit". What do you say?

The latter just makes so much more sense. I do not say "period" so it
does not belong there. Also consider when I do say a punctuation mark.

As he typed, he screamed "eff that!" in frustration.

Dumb rule! Keep the apostrophes though...

Cheers,
Zoltan

Slurp

2009-02-02T20:49:00.002-05:00

I'm giving National Blog Posting Month another shot. As you may have noticed from my spicy new banner, the theme for February is "want." And I think this picture sums up that topic perfectly:

Where there is a will, there is a way

2009-02-01T22:57:00.001-05:00

In French, the idiom “where there’s a will, there’s a way” translates to “to want, that is to be able.” (Vouloir c’est pouvoir.)

And you know? Wanting something and being capable of making it happen doesn’t mean we should, or that it’s our right to have it. I just thought I’d throw that out there. The deepest, strongest desires don’t entitle us to a damn thing. I could tie this in quite nicely to my argument against praying for things, but I won’t. That’s not the point.

Not today, anyway.

So this chick in California had octuplets. Which is bizarre enough, but as additional details trickled in, and we learned that this woman ALREADY HAD SIX KIDS, my antennae went up. Way the hell up.

WTF is up with a woman getting so wrapped up in her pathological desire to have children (and ostensibly to be World’s Best Mommy) that she’s willing to risk the health and safety of fourteen of them? No one – certainly not me - is suggesting that anyone should interfere with her right to choose the size of her family. That said, I am judging this woman. (Which is OK. I’m already going to hell for a myriad of other offenses.) What in the hell was she thinking? Unmarried, no partner, six kids already and lives with her parents? And she thought another baby was a good idea?

OK, fine. It’s not what I would do or how I would do it. I can get past that. What I can NOT get past is that there is a doctor out there who indulged her twisted fantasy. What is the point of having ethical and medical guidelines? This woman does not make decisions based on anything more than the voice in her head going ME WANT BABIES. Which means that it was someone else’s responsibility – namely, a medical professional – to talk some fucking sense into her. Instead, that professional decided that a woman with six children, no partner, no job, and no home of her own would be the PERFECT PERSON to impregnate with an additional herd.

C’est le bullshit.

Sunday Seven

2009-01-11T23:03:00.004-05:00

Now that 2008 is over, I’d like to strongly – very strongly – suggest that a few fashion trends from last year might want to make their way off the edge of a cliff.

1. Giant bug-eye sunglasses

The funny thing about these sunglasses is that they have a magical ability to cause the wearer to appear to lose 75 IQ points the moment they put them on.

2. Leg warmers

I did see this coming. The 70’s came back in the 90’s (and I had a slammin’ pair of striped, hip-hugger bell-bottoms), so it was only a matter of time before the 80’s crept back into clothing options. Save it for your re-enactments of Fame, peeps. They look retarded. Unless they’re these:

3. Uggs

In the dead of winter, worn while trudging through a ski lodge, maybe. With a skirt while walking around LA? No.

4. Skinny jeans

I bought eyeshadow from Benefit a while back with the same name, realizing that it was the only way I’d ever get skinny jeans anywhere on my body. The whole world is not a size 2, DAMMIT. I know this because I went shopping last weekend and every size 8 and 10 was gone. That went a long way to making me feel content with my current shape.

5. Gladiator sandals

Y’know what? Go ahead. And when summer rolls around again and you’ve got irreversible, stupid looking tan lines on your feet and ankles, I’ll be the one pointing and laughing.

6. Leggings

These aren’t so bad, but like so many things they have a tendency to fall into the wrong hands. These hands are often attached to brains that seem to think that it’s ok to wear them as regular pants. With short shirts. And full-sized underwear. GAH. The BEST is when the ass inside the leggings is too big, and pulls the fabric tight and thin so you can see the flowery pink undies underneath. Klassy.

7. Celebrity get-ups

What, because you’re famous you no longer have to adhere to any kind of standards? Holy hell, Courtney. Might wanna try getting dressed BEFORE getting high, honey:

Happy 2009

2009-01-01T16:38:00.001-05:00

Bonjour, mes amis. My resolution for the new year is to think about trying to work on writing a little more often. I think that’s broad enough to cover even the slightest twitch of a finger in the general direction of my MS Word icon. I don’t do well with resolutions. I prefer to think of this as the rebel in me, but really it’s deep-seated apathy and sheer laziness.

On that note, I can pretty much copy and paste my post from last year at this time. It goes like this:

I hope you're not expecting me to get all profound or anything about the new year, about new beginnings, or things to come. Some serious shit went down in ~~2007~~ 2008 and frankly, I'm glad this year is over. I suppose I'm thankful that none of the aforementioned serious shit happened directly to me, but watching people you love suffer and/or self-destruct isn't that much fun. I am simply hopeful that the new year brings more happiness, wiser choices, and a whole lot less chaos to everyone.

So that makes two years straight of standing by while loved ones lose their shit physically, mentally, emotionally or all of the above.

People. Seriously. Knock it off. It sucks. KTHXBAI.

Although it's been said many times, many ways

2008-12-25T18:41:00.001-05:00

I hope he likes Funfetti.

Eff those effing bread stick thingies

2008-12-16T22:52:00.002-05:00

Dear Chex Mix,

More Chex, less mix.

Thanks.

Uncovering the mystery of Jojo

2008-12-14T21:30:00.003-05:00

We’ve finally nailed down our travel dates and mode of transportation for Christmas. (FYI: We’ll be there December 26-30, and fully mobile. Woo!) We can’t stay any more than 4 days because Basement Cat can’t be left home alone any longer than that. He gets needy and starts yowling and stress-eating.

That little fucker tore the shit out of my hand last night. I went into “his” room to tell him that we figured out what kind of cat he was. Like he gives a shit, I know. We had been watching Cats 101 on Animal Planet, and it turns out he has several characteristics of an Egyptian Mau. If you Google this breed, all of the images are of a long, sleek, leopard-spotted beauty. Obviously this is not one of the characteristics Jojo has retained. Neither does he possess the “delightful personality” boasted by the Cat Fanciers’ Association. But solid black is a widely accepted color for Egyptian Maus, though not sexy enough for showing at the championship level. One of the key characteristics he possesses is his white undercoat. According to Animal Planet, this is one of the rarest physical attributes. His fur is black, but only at the tips, Underneath, he’s snow-white. Another is his bitch tits, although they are called “flaps” and they are meant to increase agility and speed. Riiiight. Ain’t nothin’ gonna increase the speed of his lard-ass. This discovery also explains his terror at the sight and sound of plastic grocery bags, but does nothing to explain his propensity for stealing socks out of our laundry basket.

Anyway, I started scratching one of his ears, proudly telling him all about how he was once an object of worship by ancient Egyptians. He curled up like a scorpion on my hand and jack-rabbit-footed me, then sunk his teeth into my wrist so hard he drew blood. My hand still hurts today. He’s apparently half Egyptian Mau and half cocksucker/dickwad mix.

A Gas-Guzzling Extravaganza

2008-12-11T22:52:00.003-05:00

Sniff. I had to return the rental car. I’d had it since last Wednesday, in preparation to travel to the client in Pennsylvania on Thursday, Monday, Tuesday and again just this past Thursday. The boss man decreed that it made more sense for me to rent a car for the week, rather than pick up, drop off, pick up, drop off, etc. A whole weekend with a car! There are very few people who understand the unadulterated glee of being mobile. All you people take it for granted. Have you hugged your car today?

Saturday, we went to the Palisades Center Mall. It’s four levels of mall-y fabulousness in West Nyack, NY. We managed to check a several gifts off of our respective Christmas lists there, and then headed a few miles down the road to Toys R Us. Check and check. Wee! Where do we go now? Because, you know, WE CAN.

Whole Foods! Every time we watch Good Eats, and Alton Brown takes us into his local Whole Foods in Atlanta, we practically have to wipe the drool of our chins. Towering piles of perfect-looking produce, fresh fish and meat – it seemed like a magical place. And it was, it was. But they don’t call it Whole Paycheck for nothing. Eek.

Due to some Google Maps retardation and the infuriating lack of proper signage, we got wicked lost on the way home. (Seriously, WTF is up with having a sign that says New Jersey Turnpike → and then never, ever posting a single other sign? Sonofabitch.) We eventually (read: 45 minutes later) made our way to something recognizable and took it from there. Once we were out of the woods (or, in this case, out of the rat’s nest of unlabeled roads they call “Hoboken”) I said that it would all be worth it, and I’d be willing to forget about this whole getting lost thing if we could just get a parking spot in front of the house. Usually, this would be a horrible jinx, destined to screw us into having to park at the unlit end of the street in front of an abandoned warehouse. Not this time. Same block, same side, almost directly in front of the house. BOO-YA.

Sunday was CHRISTMAS TREE DAY. I say that in all caps because that is how I heard it in my head from the moment I woke up Sunday morning. We got a big fat balsam fir with a nice long spiky bit on the top. We brought it home and got it into the stand, but when Ben crawled underneath to water it, he noticed that the bark had been cut almost all the way around the trunk. There was only one small section that had bark extending from the bottom all the way up in the branches. No bark = thirsty, dead tree. Shitfuckdamn. But wait! We have a car! A quick Google of the location of the nearest Home Depot and off we went again in search of a handsaw. Done. Christmas tree standing (though now a good 10 inches shorter) and decorated, sucking up water like a champ.

It was a glorious weekend and we were both rather enamored with the whole thing. Sunday night while I was forcing Ben to sit through a double episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, an ad for the Nissan Versa came on. They are mad cheap. Like, under ten grand cheap. Further investigation, however, exposed the truth. $9,990 gets you four wheels and an engine. It does not get you air conditioning or ABS, nor does it get you a radio. For the last week, Ben and I (mostly Ben) have been constructing a spreadsheet organizing all of our research about every car we can think of that is reasonable for us to consider buying, ranging from the Versa to a Volkswagen CC. Um, except for Column B, which contains information for the Lotus Elise. He just couldn’t help himself. Someday, sweetie, someday.

And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

2008-11-30T23:24:00.002-05:00

Move over, Dyson, you tossy, expensive British thing, you. We got us a new Hoover, and it’s everything we wanted it to be. And more.

Ben had an upright Eureka Sucktastic from his bachelor days and we’ve been struggling for the last four years to get it to pick up any-fucking-thing. It took several consecutive Saturdays of being horrified by what remained on the living room rug after a vigorous vacuuming to convince Ben that the best choice was buying a new ~~rug~~ vacuum.

And lo, it arrived from Amazon.com – a Hoover canister vacuum cleaner, with a telescoping wand and not one but two (two!) secret compartments for its included attachments. We fired it up and flicked on the patented “WindTunnel” action in the motorized vacuum head. And holy shit, my friends, the damn thing took off on its own. Admittedly, it did so because the pile on our rug was so squashed it posed no challenge. After a few passes over the down-trodden fibers, they were a bit more of an obstacle to the rotating brush-thingie and it actually required a wee bit of human power. Two days later, it still looks clean. And you can feel it squish between your toes again.

Unfortunately, we can not possibly know all the places that Jojo has used this rug as his own personal butt-scratcher and dingleberry-remover. They don’t make a vacuum for that.

For my family:

2008-10-28T19:46:00.002-04:00

The video is broken! Sad face. If you haven't heard or seen it before, it goes like this:

One time, I hired a monkey to take notes for me in class. I just sat there with my mind a complete blank while the monkey scribbled on little pieces of paper. At the end of the week, the teacher said, "Class I want you to write a paper using your notes." So I wrote a paper that said "Hello, my name is Bingo. I like to climb on things. Can I have a banana? Eek eek." I got an F. When I told my mom about it, she said, "I TOLD YOU TO NEVER TRUST A MONKEY." The end.

You should ask me to recite this for you sometime. It's worth it.

But since you can't see that video, here's one that's almost as good:

Monday morning rant

2008-10-27T10:30:00.004-04:00

The right turn on red law needs to be revoked. My fellow humans are far too stupid to follow the spirit rather than the letter, and use some frickin common sense.

PEOPLE! That red light is not green. It is RED. Red means STOP. You can not treat it like it is green. You get to go if there is NOTHING else preventing your forward progress. If there are pedestrians standing in the crosswalk you can not beep at them to move out of your way. THEY have the right of way. They even have the right of way if they're crossing against the light. But that is beside my point. My point is that the fact that you are surrounded by a ton or so of steel does not give you carte blanche to drive wherever, whenever and HOWEVER you damn well please.

Ben can't vote. But she can:

2008-10-22T11:41:00.001-04:00

Le sigh.

There, I said it.

2008-10-21T14:06:00.001-04:00

Phooey

2008-10-20T09:56:00.000-04:00

C is for Cookie

2008-10-19T09:52:00.002-04:00

Betcha wish you worked in my office.

Check out teh kyoot

2008-10-18T09:51:00.000-04:00

I love it when they don't realize you're reading over their shoulder

2008-10-17T07:56:00.002-04:00

Because then you have a chance to memorize weird shit like this:

She wakes me at exactly half past two. I don my coat, scarf, gloves and hat.
"Guard the accordion," I say to her.
She takes up the accordion, as if to weigh it in her hands, and sets it back down.
"It's safe with me," she says.

An omniscient God would also know that this is retarded

2008-10-16T13:13:00.004-04:00

Legal case against God dismissed
from the BBC News

A US judge has thrown out a case against God, ruling that because the defendant has no address, legal papers cannot be served.

The suit was launched by Nebraska state senator Ernie Chambers, who said he might appeal against the ruling.

He sought a permanent injunction to prevent the "death, destruction and terrorisation" caused by God.

Judge Marlon Polk said in his ruling that a plaintiff must have access to the defendant for a case to proceed.

"Given that this court finds that there can never be service effectuated on the named defendant this action will be dismissed with prejudice," Judge Polk wrote in his ruling.

Mr Chambers cannot refile the suit but may appeal.

Mr Chambers sued God last year. He said God had threatened him and the people of Nebraska and had inflicted "widespread death, destruction and terrorisation of millions upon millions of the Earth's inhabitants".

He said he would carefully consider Judge Polk's ruling before deciding whether to appeal.

The court, Mr Chambers said, had acknowledged the existence of God and "a consequence of that acknowledgement is a recognition of God's omniscience".

"Since God knows everything," he reasoned, "God has notice of this lawsuit."

Mr Chambers, a state senator for 38 years, said he filed the suit to make the point that "anyone can sue anyone else, even God".

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried

2008-10-15T19:48:00.002-04:00

The scene: My four-year-old nephew, Jackson, took the rug that my mom keeps in front of the kitchen sink and wrapped it around him like a tube when my dad came to take him to bed.

Dad: You can't wear that to bed.

Jackson: But its my chrysalis and tomorrow I'll be a butterfly

Dad: You're not putting a dirty rug in your bed.

Jackson: Well, GRANDMUMMY LETS US

Dad: Ya, well, that's 'cause Grandmummy is a democrat.

Jackson: SHE IS NOT! Grandmummy is a NICE O CRAT!! You're the one who's a DUMB O CRAT.

What he said

2008-10-14T23:44:00.000-04:00

Because I'm actually a 12 year old boy

2008-10-13T21:22:00.003-04:00

Go to Google.

In the search field, write: gift from God

Hit Enter

Check out the first result

Caution: Skateboarding Cows

2008-10-12T16:25:00.001-04:00

(stolen from Google Earth, somewhere in New Zealand)

I don't think this is what they had in mind

2008-10-11T22:42:00.000-04:00

So much for decadence...

2008-10-10T11:09:00.000-04:00

A visual synopsis of the candidates

2008-10-09T10:57:00.002-04:00

(from Pharyngula)

When they asked me why, I said "because I'm a big girl now and I don't care"

2008-10-08T07:34:00.000-04:00

Greedy greedy piggy piggy

2008-10-07T07:55:00.001-04:00

Visit the site for the video, I couldn't embed it here.

After Bailout, AIG Execs Head to California Resort
Rescued by Taxpayers, $440,000 for Retreat Including "Pedicures, Manicures"
By Brian Ross and Tom Shine
October 7, 2008

Less than a week after the federal government committed $85 billion to bail out AIG, executives of the giant AIG insurance company headed for a week-long retreat at a luxury resort and spa, the St. Regis Resort in Monarch Beach, California, Congressional investigators revealed today.

"Rooms at this resort can cost over $1,000 a night," Congressman Henry Waxman (D-CA) said this morning as his committee continued its investigation of Wall Street and its CEOs.

AIG documents obtained by Waxman's investigators show the company paid more than $440,000 for the retreat, including nearly $200,000 for rooms, $150,000 for meals and $23,000 in spa charges.

"They're getting their pedicures and their manicures and the American people are paying for that," said Cong. Elijah Cummings (D-MD).

"This unbridled greed," said Cong. Mark Souder (R-IN), "it's an insensitivity to how people are spending our dollars."

Appearing before the committee, Martin Sullivan, the AIG CEO until June, said the company was overwhelmed by a "financial global tsunami," and that "no simple or single cause" was to blame.

I wonder what would happen if I threw Jojo in the tub

2008-10-06T23:47:00.000-04:00

Probably not this:

Why I deleted my Facebook account:

2008-10-05T23:42:00.001-04:00

You knew this was coming

2008-10-04T23:39:00.000-04:00

I can see Russia from my house!

2008-10-03T23:30:00.000-04:00

You betcha!

2008-10-02T23:24:00.000-04:00

We'll start with the return of Tina Fey to Saturday Night Live, playing a role she was born to play:

Breaking radio silence

2008-10-01T22:48:00.001-04:00

It was bound to happen eventually. A family with so much potential to implode couldn't keep its collective shit together forever. But the things that weigh heaviest on my mind are the things that I absolutely can not plaster all over cyberspace. And so, I give you Garbage Post Month. Every day for a month, I will bring you something stupid - a video, a picture, a haiku, who knows. What I do know is that each will be short and hopefully funny. It's either this or go off the air completely for an undetermined amount of time, and I prefer to attempt to amuse you all with the random crap I find on the internet.

Two words

2008-09-20T19:18:00.003-04:00

Bounce house. My house. In NH. Next weekend. Come one. Come all. Kick ass. So excited. Could explode.

Further proof that wine reviewers are full of shit

2008-09-10T23:30:00.003-04:00

Wine.com On a Cabernet Sauvignon:

The personality of the local terroir is skillfully captured - inspiring a handsome, earthy wine that is packed with power and concentration.

Violet, leather and blueberry aromas float in the glass, wrapping the palate with black licorice, minerals, fig and dark chocolate. Bold texture eases into a lovely send-off of exotic spices.

"...smells like a bowl of cocoa and blackberries cloaked with the scent of violets and tar. It's juicy and delicious with explosive black cherry and black raspberry fruit..."
-Wines & Spirits

"Crisp and juicy, this is almost preternaturally focused to show off its blueberry, plum and blackberry fruit, shaded by hints of mineral and cream as the finish lingers effortlessly against light, crisp tannins."
-Wine Spectator

"Heady aromas of raspberry, plum and mocha. Ripe cherry flavors with a peppery, acidic edge. Lengthy finish with youthful, rough-hewn tannins."
-Wine News

Nothing sells me on a wine quite like the promise of the scent of tar.

I should be wearing tin foil on my head

2008-09-07T14:55:00.001-04:00

Mondays are “home days” for Ben now, dedicated to data analysis and software programming and other nerdy endeavors. Tomorrow, though, Home Day is earmarked for reading over every line of all six forms required to apply for a green card. The original plan was to let a potential employer pick up the tab (and the headache) of making it legal for him to work in the US. But it seems like a big risk to assume that the tab and the headache would necessarily be worth it for a company to take on. One of Ben’s friends recently graduated from law school, and his firm applied for his green card. The general rule is that you have to prove that you are applying for a job that you can do better than any American. The phrase used by the law firm to prove this was to say that Gavin is “an alien of extraordinary ability.” Last night I asked Ben what his extraordinary ability was.

Ben: Ummmm, I can play a banjo with my penis.

Me, wrapping my head up in my pillow: I don’t know what to do with that!

Ben: Give me a banjo.

Me: Oh, that is sooooo going on the internet.

I'm feeling lucky

2008-09-01T15:27:00.002-04:00

Someone Googled “What was the hardest part of your spiritual awakening” and found my blog. And for about 30 seconds, I felt a little guilty about posting my Ramalama story. Until I thought about what the hardest part of a spiritual awakening might be, and decided it was most likely that you stop getting invited to any parties.

In other news, despite many months having passed since I posted this picture:I’ve gotten an absurd number of hits from people image searching on “track marks” in the last couple weeks. They come from all over the country, as well as Canada, the UK, Poland and Germany. What gives, people?

I’ve also been Googled by name by someone in Los Angeles. Clive Owen, is that you???

Stolen from Slate.com

2008-08-29T18:53:00.004-04:00

Word for word. That's not terribly original of me, I know, but it's funny as hell. Here you go:

The Truth About Barack Obama
RUMORS THE OBAMA CAMPAIGN SHOULDN'T TRY TO CORRECT.
By Christopher Beam
Posted Tuesday, June 17, 2008, at 5:47 PM ET

The Barack Obama presidential campaign introduced a new site last week, FightTheSmears.com, that it hopes will debunk persistent myths about the senator: that he's a Muslim, that he won't say the Pledge of Allegiance, etc. As we have argued before, restating the myths often reinforces them, no matter how persuasively they've been refuted.

Rather than restate untruths about Obama, the campaign would do better to start some rumors of its own. Here's a template e-mail the Obama campaign might consider disseminating.

From: [Redacted]
To: [Redacted]
Subject: WHO IS BARACK OBAMA?

There are many things people do not know about BARACK OBAMA. It is every American's duty to read this message and pass it along to all of their friends and loved ones.

Barack Obama wears a FLAG PIN at all times. Even in the shower.

Barack Obama says the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE every time he sees an American flag. He also ends every sentence by saying, "WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL." Click here for video of Obama quietly mouthing the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE in his sleep.

A tape exists of Michelle Obama saying the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE at a conference on PATRIOTISM.

Every weekend, Barack and Michelle take their daughters HUNTING.

Barack Obama is a PATRIOTIC AMERICAN. He has one HAND over his HEART at all times. He occasionally switches when one arm gets tired, which is almost never because he is STRONG.

Barack Obama has the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE tattooed on his stomach. It's upside-down, so he can read it while doing sit-ups.

There's only one artist on Barack Obama's iPod: FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Barack Obama is a DEVOUT CHRISTIAN. His favorite book is the BIBLE, which he has memorized. His name means HE WHO LOVES JESUS in the ancient language of Aramaic. He is PROUD that Jesus was an American.

Barack Obama goes to church every morning. He goes to church every afternoon. He goes to church every evening. He is IN CHURCH RIGHT NOW.

Barack Obama's new airplane includes a conference room, a kitchen, and a MEGACHURCH.

Barack Obama's skin is the color of AMERICAN SOIL.

Barack Obama buys AMERICAN STUFF. He owns a FORD, a BASEBALL TEAM, and a COMPUTER HE BUILT HIMSELF FROM AMERICAN PARTS. He travels mostly by FORKLIFT.

Barack Obama says that Americans cling to GUNS and RELIGION because they are AWESOME.

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

2008-08-27T23:41:00.002-04:00

I’ve been dressing like a grown up this week. Every time I go in to work not wearing jeans or a barely dress-code-abiding dress (both with flip-flops), my coworkers ask me what the occasion is. Is there a client meeting? Nooo. Are you interviewing someone? Nope. Monday it was because I was too lazy to shave my legs, so I had to wear pants. Yesterday, the high for the day was – gasp – below 80. Today was sheer whim.

Dress-like-a-grown-up days often coincide with positive-self-image days, those days that I feel like I look nice and “fit in” with the rest of the cool kids in my office. Things were good this morning. And then.

Just after pulling out of one of the subway stations along the way, the woman sitting down in front of me got up and insisted I take her seat. Was she watching me struggle to turn the pages of my book while keeping a death grip on the pole? Nooooo.

Bitch thought I was pregnant.

I tried to politely refuse, but she moved away from the seat, so I was left to either stand in front of an empty spot or just take the damn thing and read my book in comfort and ease. I took it, begrudgingly, looking up at Ben with a big wrinkle in my forehead. When we arrived at 42nd street and parted ways, he warned me to be careful today in my delicate condition. Hardy har har.

Either the universe is trying to tell me something, or people really are just that fucking stupid, because THIS IS NOT THE FIRST TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED.

Sunday Seven Five

2008-08-24T21:35:00.002-04:00

We lived here for over a year before crossing paths with our downstairs neighbor, Ron. He works nights and our schedules rarely align. When the weather is nice, he can be found sitting just outside the back door, chain smoking and downing Bud Light by the gallon, while grilling himself some dinner. Every so often he’ll be down there when I’m doing laundry, and I stop and chat for a few minutes. Now that Ben grills pretty much anything, any chance he gets, he has run into Ron a few times himself. Last weekend he and I both sat outside for a bit, listening to Ron tell stories about his life prior to driving UPS trucks.

1. When he moved in to this house, the neighborhood was, shall we say, a bit grittier than it is now (and that’s saying something). Our house in particular had been a crack house, and all the 3 of the front doors to the apartments had been smashed in with battering rams.

2. Ron used to be a state trooper for the state of New Jersey. Used to be. Why isn’t he anymore? Well. Another trooper was searching for some guy with a gun, and Ron was behind him. The other trooper knocked on the door of a railroad-style apartment, and the aforementioned guy with a gun called out “Come in!” He entered the apartment into a narrow hallway and the guy came out of the bathroom with his gun, put it to the back of the officer’s head and marched him into the living room, intending to take himself a hostage. Ron somehow managed to wrestle this guy away, sans gun, push him through several rooms into the front bedroom and OUT THE SECOND-STORY WINDOW. He landed on his head and lived.

3. I don’t know whether he resigned or was booted from the NJ State Police, but his next position was working as a private investigator. One of his jobs involved tailing a mob boss all over the place. He had a special car rigged up so that he could flip switches and make the left or right headlight go out, parking lights be on or off, all in different combinations so it wouldn’t look like the same car driving behind the bad guy. Cool.

4. Most of these stories are funny in an OH MAH GAH, NO YOU DI-INT kind of way. This is the only one that made me squirm. He responded to a call with another policeman. A car had flipped over, killing the young woman in the front seat. Her boyfriend, the driver, was pulled out and sent off in an ambulance. As Ron and the other officer assessed the situation, Ron noticed that with the car upside down, the girl’s shirt had fallen down over her face, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. He suggested to his partner that he should “get her while she’s still warm.” Nice.

5. Then there was the call he answered that took him to a diner. A man inside had come in, sat down in a booth and ordered two pieces of pie and two cups of coffee. The waitress, assuming he had ordered for himself and for another person who wasn’t there yet, set one slice of pie and one cup of coffee in front of him and the other at the place across the table. When he finished his pie and coffee, he got up, moved over to the other seat and tucked into the other one. The waitress went over and asked him if she could get him anything else. He grabbed her, pulled her into the booth and said, “Yeah! I want you!” Enter Ron. All the manager wanted was for this guy to leave. Ron approached his table and told him so. Pie-eating guy responded with the tried-and-true “I pay your salary” line, so Ron dug a quarter out of his pocket, plunked it on the table, thanked him for his yearly contribution, and pulled him out of his seat and began marching him towards the door. Pie-eating guy didn’t take kindly to this, and became combative. Since there were no open windows to chuck the guy through, Ron shoved the guy into the backseat of the cruiser, and went back inside to speak to the waitress.

Ron’s back was to the car, and in the middle of giving her statement, the waitress said, “Hey, he’s trying to get out!” The dude had reached through the partially open window and grabbed the outside handle to unlatch the car door. Ron ran back to the car, grabbed the guy by the beard, and shoved him back into the car, ahem, accidentally slammed his head in the car door in the process. He took this opportunity to make sure that the guy, despite now being unconscious, would not try to escape again. The solution? Pulling the guy’s beard through the window and rolling it up, literally hanging him by his beard.

Ben says the darnedest things, part MCVIXMLMV

2008-08-19T14:38:00.006-04:00

Or, another reason why Ben is not a politician. Also, file under: people who have too much time on their hands.

Ben apparently got rather bored this afternoon, and took it upon himself to compare the current Olympic medal count with the CIA World Factbook. Here are his findings, in his words:

China has 1 medal per 18 million people
US 1 per 3.8 million
the UK 1 per 1.8 million
Australia, 1 per 0.6 million
FYI, NZ has 1 per 0.5 million
basically
we are better than you
and you should count yourselves lucky that there aren't that many of us
because if there were more, you would be our slaves

I don't think this would go over well in my office

2008-08-13T21:59:00.005-04:00

My last IM exchange with Ben this evening:

Me: all my stuff is with the editor. i am now powerless in my quest to get out of here

Ben: you can sit there and scream until you're hoarse

Ben: that's what I do when I'm bored

Me: but i'll never be a horse

Ben: have you screamed until you lost your voice?

Me: nope

Ben: so how do you know you don't turn into a horse?

Me: good point

Ben: i thought so

Sunday Seven

2008-08-10T23:39:00.007-04:00

Play ball!

1. Our final game at Shea Stadium ruined our perfect 3-0 record this year. Overall, we have an extraordinary knack for only attending games in which the Mets kick some serious ass. Not today, though.

2. During the national anthem, Ben could be heard quietly singing “God Save The Queen” under his breath. What? He took his hat off.

3. One of the reasons we like Mets games so much is that we aren’t subjected to the forced patriotism present at Yankees games. I just Googled “god bless america yankee stadium” because I couldn’t remember the names of the people who ~~make me want to poke sticks in my ears~~ sing it. Instead, I found an article from the New York Times from last spring commenting on the addition of God Bless America to the repertoire of the 7th inning stretch. Only Yankee Stadium plays it during every home game, a practice kept up after Major League Baseball mandated it after September 11th. During the song, the security guards block all the aisles off with chains, so you can't move around. Can't get a hot dog, can't go pee, can't leave because after 6 1/2, the Yankees are losing another one. File this under Things That Make Me Go GAH.

4. The Mets’ new digs, Citi Field, has a remarkable way of looking like an old-fashioned, traditional ballpark and a completely modern stadium at the same time. It’s absolutely beautiful and I really hope we get to go to a game there sometime.

5. When huge groups of fans are all hollering for dead foul balls to be tossed to them, they look like a bunch of seagulls begging for French fries. They sorta remind me of this.

6. We also had awesome seats, which allowed for some sweet photo ops:

7. Goodbye, Shea. May the new scoreboard not be as sinfully ugly as yours.

Holy crap! It's a

2008-08-08T11:39:00.003-04:00

GIANT SILVER COOTER!

No, wait. It's just one of the Olympic stadiums in Beijing.

I really wish I could have been in the room with whoever came up with the design for this one.

I was going to try not to say "fuck" today

2008-08-06T09:45:00.002-04:00

But then on my way into work, a mere half-block from my office, a bus rolled by, splashed through a puddle, and soaked my entire left side with dirty New York City street water.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

OH MAH GAH! I remembered it wrong!

2008-08-02T10:20:00.003-04:00

In my haste to finally post this story, I misrepresented some facts. This part:

As I walked away, she reassured me it would happen, that I needed to have faith and be patient. God could move mountains, she said. Yeah, but it takes thousands of years, I reminded her. Oh no, she said. It can happen overnight.

did not happen that way. I completely forgot how that “God can move mountains overnight” thing played out.

What really happened is that she told me to be patient and have faith, because after all, God said that we should be fruitful and multiply. I added in “within reason,” mostly thinking about the Duggars and their Canadian counterparts. I said that at some point, the number of people on this earth will be too great to be able to grow enough food to feed us all. Dudes, she looked at me like I had twelve heads. God will provide, she said. I was like, he can’t just make land appear out of nowhere so that we can grow food on it! Sure he can, God can move mountains. Overnight.

A question of faith

2008-07-29T22:43:00.006-04:00

A woman at work (C, of free Mister Softee fame) has been good-naturedly harassing me about when I would have kids since the day I returned from my honeymoon. My answers were vague, but I’ve always been clear that I wanted children. The most recent time she asked me, I said something more to the effect of “it’s just not that easy.” The other day she called to me as I passed her desk, and proceeded to tell me that she was thinking about me, and that she was praying for me. I soon found myself engaged in a conversation that filled me with all sorts of mixed emotions. Not only am I at risk of turning into a blubbering mess if I talk (or even think) about what’s happened over the last six months, but for the love of Pete, I do not want to get involved in a God-based discussion with someone who is a devout Christian. I don’t want to give the impression that I can be won over, but I don’t want to offend her or be rude. Nor do I want to get into a religious debate that revolves around my fertility in the middle of the office.

What she told me was that she believed that the reason I haven’t been successful yet is because I haven’t asked God for it. My explanation that it wasn’t just crappy luck, but rather a medical condition that wasn’t just going to *snap* disappear was met with insistence that God can perform miracles. And all I need to do is ask him, that if I prayed for it, and had faith, that he would hear me. She is absolutely positive that because this is something that I want, that it will be given to me.

I’m not so sure. Aside from my doubt that God - should he exist in the first place - cares one iota about the woes of 1 person in 6+ billion, I can’t help but wonder if maybe God’s plan for me doesn’t align with what I want. Like Garth Brooks says, some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers. So what if God’s plan for me doesn’t include children? I can pray all I want, and ask him over and over and over again, but he can be sitting up there going, Uh-uh. You’re supposed to travel a lot and go back to school and if you really feel you need something small and cute to love on, maybe I’ll talk your landlord into letting you get another cat.

My position is that I do not believe in God in the sense that I don’t think there is an omnipotent being with control over anything that goes on in the universe. I don’t think there is a being that can be prayed to or asked for things, nor do I think that this being can hammer out rewards and punishments in life or afterwards. The closest I get to believing in God is that I leave room for the possibility that there is a force greater than people, greater than what science can explain, that we do not understand. Whether that force is willful, well, who knows? No one, that’s who. The one thing I am most sure of, that I feel I know in the very depths of my soul, is that if there is a God, he is not interested in helping you win the lottery or getting you a new job or into your first choice college. I do not think he’s in the business of meddling in the minutiae of the lives of humans.

Several times over the course of the discussion, C said she thought about me a lot, and prayed for me. I’ve heard many, many people say that someone is in their prayers, or promise to pray for others. Never once have I sensed sincerity in those statements. But when C said she was praying for me? I believed her. And I was so touched by the sentiment that I couldn’t be annoyed. She means well, and her intention is not to be rude or nosy or pushy. She honestly wants to help me get what I want. Today, I told her how touched I was, and gave her a hug. As I walked away, she reassured me it would happen, that I needed to have faith and be patient. God could move mountains, she said. Yeah, but it takes thousands of years, I reminded her. Oh no, she said. It can happen overnight.

Le sigh.

The sad part is, I wish I could believe her.

Sunday Seven

2008-07-20T19:01:00.004-04:00

The Silver Lining
Seven things I have done this week, or plan to do, because I can:

1. Had sushi for lunch

2. Lifted things heavier than 10 lbs

3. Ate soft-serve ice-cream

4. Went to Coney Island and rode the Cyclone and the Bumper Cars. Twice.

5. Had a beer. Or two. And a mojito.

6. Made a dentist appointment

7. “It.” For the first time in almost a month.

Wasting seventeen grand isn’t ALL bad.

A warning to friends and family

2008-07-19T16:42:00.002-04:00

Mostly family. If you choose to sell beat-up old shit at the bottom of your driveway, it may be immortalized on Google Street View.

Adding insult to injury

2008-07-15T23:10:00.000-04:00

Sunday Seven

2008-07-06T22:51:00.008-04:00

Seven ads on TV that have made me cry (or at least a little teary) in the last week. I blame the meds. I’m usually not quite this sappy.

1. By far, the worst offender is the ASPCA ad with Sarah McLachlan. I can not handle the sad puppy faces, I just can't.

2. Budweiser’s “Thank you” ad. The one where everyone is clapping as soldiers walk through the airport. Even though I’m opposed to the principle of the idea that they are being applauded for protecting our freedom. But whatever.

3. There's this Duracell battery ad - a distracted mom suddenly realizes her kid has wandered off in the park, and she frantically looks around for him but he's nowhere to be seen, and she notices this creepy-assed white child-molester van driving away. But he’s wearing a child locator device, comes back with a balloon all "What's up, Ma?" Sorry, no video.

4. The Kerri Strug VISA ad – “One More Vault." I remember that vault, the one she did on a broken ankle, and Bela Karolyi had to carry her off the mat. Gives me goosebumps and makes me wish I had the balls to do anything like that.

5. The Pampers ad narrated by Salma Hayek with all the different flavors of babies looking at each other. I think babies just make me cry, that's all. They're all really cute, too. Doesn't help.

Well, crap. I've only cried about 5 stupid ads, not 7. If it helps, I also got a bit misty during Deadliest Catch and when Mike Lowell hit a home run during the 5th inning of the game against the Yankees on Friday night.

I have come to realize…

2008-07-05T18:14:00.001-04:00

That every sentence that starts with “Jojo” ends with “… and then he bit me.”

Whore Moans

2008-07-03T21:51:00.004-04:00

Apparently my body just can’t get it together. I am not producing any of the hormones that a female should have. Even after injecting myself a few times with straight-up estrogen, my blood work came back too low. A delivery guy from the pharmacy showed up at my house with patches that I must now keep stuck to me at all times.

When they arrived, I busted them open and got started. I read all the directions first (doesn’t everyone?) and what struck me is that these things are only approved for use in menopausal women. There’s one line thrown in there about how they can be helpful for younger women with ovary issues, but other than that, the focus is on preventing the hallmark hot flashes and, erm, dryness experienced by the post-child-bearing-age set.

Also in the directions was a warning not to adhere the patches to the breast. Dude. It never would have occurred to me to stick something with adhesive strong enough to hold through three days’ worth of showers TO MY TITS. (It turns out that the adhesive isn’t worth shit, and I’ve got this thing attached to me with the sticky ends of some carefully cut up Band-Aid Tough Strips. It’s a sexy look, fo’ sho’.)

Once I satisfied my addiction to Patient Product Information, Ben ripped one of them open and pulled out the clear patch, taking painstaking care to only touch it by the edges.

“I don’t want to grow boobs on my fingers,” he said.

Coming soon to a uterus near you

2008-07-01T21:52:00.000-04:00

Sunday Seven

2008-06-29T23:28:00.006-04:00

My sophomore year of high school, my English teacher gave my class the best little grammar nugget ever with regard to using lay versus lie: You can’t lay yourself; you have to lay something else. He also flipped the hell out on the entire class after reading the answers to this question on a quiz on George Orwell’s 1984:

What was the main difference between the Oldspeak dictionary and the Newspeak dictionary?

Far too many people said “It has less words” and poor Mr. Gaucher just couldn’t take it. Never again would anyone use “less” when they should be using “fewer.” And now I have a complex about using “they” with “anyone.” Crap. Oh well.

So here are seven (more) nit-picky grammar/usage things that make me nuts:

1. Using then for than: She has bigger boobs THAN me, not THEN me.

2. Using than for from: It’s different FROM, not different THAN.

3. “He did a 360.” If he did, he’d be right back where he was, wouldn’t he?

4. I could care less. No, you COULDN’T care less. As in, your caring level is already at 0, and can not go any lower.

5. Orientate. IT’S NOT A WORD! IT’S JUST NOT. PLEASE STOP USING IT.

6. We sell “phone card.” Handwritten on poster board in the window of every deli in New York. Are they real phone cards? Do you only have one of them?

7. Per say, and segway. Um. It’s per se. And segue. Just sayin’.

Easing back into bitching about my ovaries

2008-06-28T11:53:00.006-04:00

It’s not often that the mailbox contains anything besides bills and credit card offers disguised as bills. Or in the case of American Express, disguised as the fanciest wedding invitation you’ve ever seen. (Guess we know where their annual fees go, don’t we?) On the rare occasion that I stick my hand into the rusted metal box and pull out something that is not soliciting my money in one way or another, I get excited.

So when there were two magazines stuffed in there one night, I was elated. Upon inspection, they turned out to be issues of Woman’s Day, and I thought to myself, What the fuck? Did my name end up on some sort of national registry the day I turned 30? I couldn’t figure out where the hell it came from but figured, hey, they’re not asking me to pay for it, so whateva. I brought them inside, and cracked one of them open.

It fell open to a story titled “I Thought I’d Never Have Children.” Well. Mayhaps the appearance of an old lady magazine might be worth something after all. I was, up until this very moment, convinced that someday I would read something somewhere that would explain this whole thing to me and make it all make sense.

What I wanted was a story about a woman who was completely normal until the time she decided to start a family, and it didn’t work. But it was not to be. This chick was seriously overweight, type 2 diabetic, had a history of irregular periods, and grew hair on her face. It took only about a half dozen sentences for me to start yelling at the page: YOU HAVE PCOS, YOU RETARD. PEEE CEEEE OH ESS. I skimmed quickly and sure enough, there were those magical letters.

And that’s when I was moved to chuck the magazine at the wall. (I also threw in a BITE ME for discovering the problem when she and her husband began to try to have a baby when she was twenty-freaking-one.) No doctor, no website, no magazine, no one can tell me why my endocrine system has failed me. I am not overweight. No doctor has suggested I lose any. I do not have diabetes or insulin resistance. Despite this, I’ve been on Metformin for a year, on the premise that it has some sort of mystical effect on fertility outside of the insulin resistance thing. Yeah, well, it also has a not-so-mystical effect on my GI system. I don’t have hair in unladylike places. So what the hell happened?

No one knows. My RE (reproductive endocrinologist) returned from a conference on PCOS and insisted that I would need to be watched closely for the long-term effects of the syndrome – heart disease and adult-onset diabetes most notably. But there is no reason to suspect that I would develop these conditions without the other underlying causes – I AM NOT OVERWEIGHT OR INSULIN RESISTANT, GODDAMMIT.

The moral of her story was that she went on Metformin, lost a bunch of weight and VOILA, she got pregnant. Yay for her. I, on the other hand, remain an endocrinological enigma.

File under: Accidental lolz

2008-06-24T10:04:00.003-04:00

On the right side bar under "Previous Drivel," one of my past entries has been shortened to "Sometimes the hardest part is coming up with a tit..."

So, so true.

Inspiration

2008-06-23T11:32:00.002-04:00

The last week of my sophomore year of college, my mom came down to visit. One might think that finals week would be a bad time for a parent to take up residence in one's dorm room, but seeing as how my organizational and time-management skills had made their usual mess of things, it turned out to be a very good idea. I was attempting to complete about eight different assignments in the space of about 72 hours, and it was not going well.

Mom helped me create a schedule and block out time to do each task. I was plugging along fairly well, and we decided we could carve out a couple hours for a diversion. Not too far uptown, an extraordinary man* was speaking. He'd been recommended by a friend of my mom's, and she wanted to check him out. I had only my final piece for my Comic Voice class to write, so I figured I could spare some time. If I was bored, I could at least plan out the story in my head while we were there. Little did I know, those two hours would write the story for me.

We went to see Andrew Cohen, who bills himself as an American guru. It was during this 120-minute exercise in tongue-biting that a woman raised her hand and asked him "What are you doing to me?? I am digging my fingernails into my legs as hard as I can, and I can't even feel it!" To my knowledge he did not distribute any candy, hallucinogenic or otherwise, but the grip he had on the majority of people in the audience was downright creepy.

At the time, my mom had been taking classes at the Harvard School of Divinity, and was deeply interested in theology and spirituality. At 20, I could not have given a rat's ass about either, but I didn't want to offend her by saying anything about the giant crock of shit I thought this guy was full of. So I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't until we walked out into the rain that we completely lost it. Words can not express the profound feeling of relief I felt that my mom also thought this guy was a complete feckin' tool. On the twelve-block walk back to school, we concocted Ginny, Fancy, Loretta, and of course Ramalama, so named because it makes you want to follow it with "ding-dong."

And so, my A in The Comic Voice was solidified.

*Extraordinary, especially if you consider that his own mother wrote an entire book about what an abusive, manipulative, arrogant prick he is.

Chapter Seven: Enlightened

2008-06-22T11:16:00.000-04:00

When I got home from school, Momma wasn't there, and Fancy was in the kitchen feeding Max.

"Hey, Kiddo," she said. "How was school?"

"Good," I said. "Where's Momma?"

"At a lecture downtown. Ramalama's back and he's speaking today. She said she'd be home for dinner. C'mere, sit down. Tell me about school today."

Fancy patted the seat of the chair next to her. I grabbed six cookies out of the package and sat down. I'm only allowed three, but since Momma wasn't there, I took as many as I could carry back to the table.

"We did division today. I hate it," I told her. "My teacher, Mrs. Fitzpatrick wasn't there, either. We had some old lady who smelled like bologna. Nobody liked her. She'd never taught second grade before, either. All she did all day was yell at us. But at lunch they had grill cheese."

Right then, we heard a car door slam. Out the window, we could see Momma being helped out of a cab by the driver. She looked funny, and tripped twice coming up the steps to the front door.

"Okay, get this," she said, once she got inside. "Ramalama spoke for four hours today. All about impersonal enlightenment. Some of us weren't quite getting it, so during an intermission, we talked to him, and he gave us each a piece of candy he said helped him when he couldn't clear his head. It worked great! I grasped everything, and by the end of the speech, I could practically see the inside of my mind. And afterwards, he told everyone how he and four other spiritual gurus are going overseas for a year to do talks and retreats. France, Spain, Germany, Switzerland, then India and on to Australia."

"Oh, that's too bad you won't get to see him for a whole year, Momma," I said.

"What? No!" Momma looked shocked. "Pack your bags, honey. We're all gonna go get enlightened!"

Chapter Six: The Freedom Cake

2008-06-21T21:24:00.000-04:00

Momma and Daddy got their divorce today. All us kids are living with Momma 'cause Daddy's too busy counseling other Mommas about their kids and stuff, so he can't take care of us.

Momma and Fancy were in the kitchen at the table talking and eating. Fancy brought over a cake for Momma. She called it a "Freedom Cake." It was shaped like a man's private parts, but I only know that 'cause of Fancy's doll.

Momma was drinking a beer, and Fancy had a glass of the red wine that one of the ladies Daddy helped had given him. There were three other empty beer bottles on the counter, and the bottle of wine was almost gone. Fancy was braiding Momma's hair into pigtails.

"Lory, go check on the Twinnies, would ya? And go read a book or something. Leave me an Fancy alone." I started to walk down the hall, but as soon as Momma couldn't see me, I stopped to listen. I could still see the table and Momma's face and the back of Fancy's head.

"That guy you sent me to is fantastic, Fance. Really. I can't believe it. Everything he says is so right on the mark. Especially that thing he talks about, the human need to be separate. His whole concept about ecstatic intimacy, getting rid of the feeling that you need to be unique or special so that you can achieve a higher level of existence. He is a god, I swear it. If I'd never been to see him, I'd never have had the guts to kick Bob out. I gotta find me some ecstatic intimacy, let me just tell you."

Fancy chuckled her drunk-voice laugh and poured herself another glass of wine. "You know how expensive this shit is? Bob must have been quite the preacher to get this out of her."

Momma scrunched up her face and gulped back the rest of her beer. "Yeah, well, he seems to think this was all my fault, not his. Did I tell you that one of these women he's been counseling has mysteriously become with child? She's been a single mother for seven years. Only one bratty eight-year-old 'til good ol' Preacher Bob came along. You know there's five years between the twins and Lory? Turns out he was gettin' it elsewhere. Only needed me to leave him leftovers in the fridge."

Chapter Five: A Spiritual Awakening

2008-06-20T21:37:00.002-04:00

Daddy came back way, way later, after I was supposed to be asleep. But I heard him come in the house. He let the screen door slam behind him. When I went to bed, Momma had been meditating again, in front of the TV. She had one of her Ramalama tapes on, the one called The Unknown Can Only Be Unknown. He was talking about how he almost died once, and it brought him closer to his spiritual side. I got bored, so I went to go read Marvin K. Mooney, Would You Please Go Now! Dr. Seuss is my favorite, even though I can't read too good.

Right after I turned off my light and climbed in bed, Daddy came home and started yelling at Momma.

"I can't believe you bring them over there every day so you can help your slut friend talk trash to men on the phone! What kind of woman is this Fancy? And why have I never met her?" Daddy was yelling in his I'm-yelling-but-trying-to-be-quiet voice, but I could still hear from in my room.

"I don't have to have you check out my friends. But what's more, I've had an awakening. My spirit has been liberated. I see everything clearly. I've opened the door to a deeper understanding of what it is to exist. I no longer feel the need to see myself as separate. I am a new woman, Bob. You wouldn't believe what true enlightenment feels like. In fact, I—"

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I know what it is to be enlightened. I'm a goddamn preacher, for Chrissakes! You don't know what you're talking about. I've looked at those tapes you got over there. And your little Zen garden. It's all a bunch of shit, you know that,Virginia?"

"Don't call me that! You know I hate that! I'm not your little wife that just sits around all day baking bread and sewing quilts for the church fair. And I'm certainly not the kind who sits around doing nothing while her pious husband is out fucking his parishioners. At least Fancy only talks about it. And she hasn't been in a church since her cousin's funeral in the tenth grade."

I'd never heard Momma say the f-word to Daddy before. She always said it plenty to Fancy, but never angry like she was then. I pulled the covers up over my head and went to sleep.

The next morning, Daddy was gone.

Chapter Four: An Innocent Face

2008-06-19T18:15:00.000-04:00

When we got home from Fancy's house, Daddy was there. He says that since he's a preacher and all, he has duties, and can't always be home for dinner. Daddy was sitting in his big squooshy chair in the TV room reading the paper. It was almost dinner time, so Momma went into the kitchen to check and see if there was anything in the freezer that she could make for us to eat. There wasn't, so she ordered pizza. I hate pizza. We have it practically every night. Daddy hates it, too. He's allergic to cheese.

"That what you're gonna feed all them? Pizza? Shit, them little ones don't even have teeth. Jesus, Virginia, what are you thinking?" Daddy always calls Momma "Virginia." He's the only one who does. Not even Fancy calls her that. She calls her Ginny, and Momma likes it much better. She said once that she can't help it if she was born with an innocent face, that doesn't mean we have to label her. I think Momma looks more like a Ginny anyway.

As soon as our pizza came, Daddy said he got an emergency call to go help out a lady from our church. I didn't even hear the phone ring.

Chapter Three: Conscious Living

2008-06-18T15:56:00.001-04:00

Momma's been meditating in the TV room. She bought herself a big, green, fluffy, round pillow for the floor, and she's sitting on it with her legs kinda Indian style and her hands on her knees, palms up. She says that makes her receptive. So I ask her receptive to what. She said it makes her open to the power of the nature of her true self. She says someday she'll have her own spiritual awakening, but for right now she's taking lessons on how to get ecstatic intimacy from man Fancy knows, named Ramalama. Momma says he's a preacher, kinda like Daddy.

Momma got a whole set of video tapes from Mr. Ramalama. She watches one of them every day while I'm at school. There's ten of them, and every once in a while, she's still watching when I get home. Today, she let me watch with her.

"I love this guy!" Momma said. "He's so deep, it's like he knows exactly what's going on in my head and my body. I've got to go see this guy speak again. Last time, I could barely feel my body by the end of it. No, really, Lor, I dug my nails into my legs and couldn't feel it. The guy is amazing!"

Chapter Two: Twisty Parts

2008-06-17T15:27:00.000-04:00

Daddy doesn't know it, but every day when I get off the school bus, Momma packs up me, Max, Kenny and the Twinnies and we all go over to Fancy's house. Fancy's Momma's best friend, and she doesn't even go to our church. She doesn't go to any church. Not that I know of. Momma goes over there every day to help Fancy with her bookkeeping. She has one of those at home jobs.

When we got there, Momma went with Fancy into her office, and I stayed in the TV room with the babies. MaryAnne and Josephine like The Lion King so I pulled it off the shelf. Fancy has tons of movies, but a lot of them are up real high, and Fancy told me she'd break my arms if I tried to get at them. She talks like that all the time. I don't know what the big deal is. I don't even know how she knows what movies they are. Hardly any of them have the names on the fronts.

Sometimes, when the babies fall asleep, I go exploring. Fancy has all kinds of cool stuff in her house. In her room, there's a big blow-up doll on the rocking chair. All he's wearing is a pair of shorts. I know he's a he 'cause I checked once.

I was bored again, as usual, so I went hunting around the house looking for more cool stuff. I wandered back to Fancy's bedroom like I always do. The big doll had on a new pair of shorts that looked like an elephant's face.

I heard Momma laughing through the wall, so I crept around the house till I found the door to Fancy's office. Fancy's house is old and there are lots of twisty parts. I can never remember which door it is. I found it, and I could still hear Momma laughing on the other side. Fancy shushed her and she quieted down real quick. I pressed my ear up to the crack where the door touched the wall. The phone on Fancy's desk rang with that funny brr brr ring that it has. Fancy answered it in a low, low voice.

"Hey, honey," Fancy said. "What can I dooo for you?"

Momma was snickering again. Fancy shushed her again.

"What am I wearing? Well, I've got on a see-through black mini-skirt, a black bra, and a pink feather boa."

Fancy giggled, and got up out of her chair. I was afraid that someone was going to open the door, so I tip-toed quick back down the hall to the TV room to check on the babies.

Chapter One: A Good Christian Life

2008-06-16T17:58:00.000-04:00

[Ed. note: The original title for this story was The True Self. I don't like that title anymore. Got a better one? Lemme know. OK, here's Chapter 1.]

"Loretta!" Momma was callin' me from outside. I hate it when she calls me that. Usually she just calls me Lory, or sometimes Jitterbug. It was Daddy's idea to call me Loretta. He's a preacher and he said it was a real sophisticated and good Christian name. I like Lory better.

I'd just gotten home from school and I had a mouthful of cookies, but I went outside to see what she wanted anyway. Momma was waterin' the flowers by the sidewalk. She was wearing her pajama top with all the frilly, dangly things on the front that she calls her teddy, and a pair of jeans. Her feet were bare and there was dirt all stuck in her toes. She turned towards me with the hose still on. The water was so cold, it made me spit the cookies out all over the grass.

"Go wake up the Kenny and the Twinnies and check on MaryAnne's, I mean Josephine's, I mean MaryAnne's diaper rash, too while you're at it," Momma told me, waving me off with her free hand. "We gotta head over t' Fancy's soon."

I swallowed what was left of my cookies and ran back inside to Kenny's room. Kenny's only one and he already has to share his room with Mad Max, who's not even one. Momma let me name Max. She said she'd gotten to name enough babies and now it was my turn. I named him after the bad kid in Where the Wild Things Are. Momma said since I named him, I have to change his diapers.

The Twinnies were already awake and screaming so I pulled MaryAnne out of her crib to change her. The Twinnies are identical, but it's real easy to tell them apart. MaryAnne's got dimples and Josephine's got a little strawberry above her left eye. Momma still gets them confused, though. She says she'd got enough to think about, without having to trouble herself trying to figure out who's who.

I changed MaryAnne and put some goop on her diaper rash, then got Josephine out of her crib. I tried to put their shoes on, but they kept scrunching up their toes so their feet wouldn't go in. Then I went and picked Kenny up. I had to be real quiet so I didn't wake up Mad Max. Usually Momma and I get everybody ready to go, then go and be real quiet and pick up Max and carry him to the car. He almost never wakes up. It's a good thing too, because Fancy hates to listen to babies crying.

Sunday Seven

2008-06-15T23:33:00.006-04:00

My Seven Missed Callings

1. Meteorologist/storm chaser
I track red blobs on my dashboard weather widget instead.
2. Historian
I'll settle for the 90-minute tour through abandoned subway tracks in Brooklyn.
3. Advice columnist
I'm awesome at giving advice that I would be incapable of taking myself.
4. Britney Spears
Despite my complete lack of talent and horrific stagefright.
5. Private investigator
Sneaking around, taking pictures of naked people, wearing really big sunglasses. Sounds like fun.
6. Linguist
Fascinating to me, but I'm betting it wouldn't get me invited to any parties.
7. Wedding Planner
I could be the Bridezilla I always wanted to be. Over and over and over again, with other people's money.

Seven jobs I would or could never, ever do

1. Doctor
Too much school
2. Lawyer
Ditto
3. Taxidermist
Too icky
4. Motivational speaker
Please
5. Housewife
I'd suck at it
6. Politician
Also too icky
7. Stunt double
Too chicken

To Janine:

2008-06-14T23:33:00.002-04:00

Congratulations!

Sometimes the hardest part is coming up with a title.

2008-06-07T17:45:00.003-04:00

According to my statistics tracker doo-hickey, over the last six months or so I've averaged about 20 visitors to my blog every day. I know about 75% of the people who hit it, the rest land here from Google searches on terms like "cacahuate maternity," "Aishwarya's eyes," or because they're looking for this:
When I look back at my NaBloPoMo challenge, I can't believe that I managed to come up with 30 posts in 30 days. Not only did I manage it, but I did it without bitching and moaning about my lady bits, either.

I have royally sucked at blogging lately, and a large part of my reluctance to write is that nearly all of the stuff that pops into my head is my ovaries this and giant needles that. I have read many, many, many infertility blogs and the one thing they all have in common is that they are really. fucking. boring. However, my ovaries, their recalcitrance, and the fact that I could open up my own pharmacy with the amount of shit I've got in my house right now is pretty much the only thing I've got going on. So that's what I'm gonna write about, dammit. This thing is more for me than it is for y'all. That said, there wouldn't be much point in writing if no one read it, so I solemnly swear it won't turn into Broken Baby Makers Anonymous.

To that end, I'm going vintage this week. I've got a seven-chapter story I wrote back in college. You're getting a chapter a day while I pull my shit together and start writing some actual content. It's a good one, I promise.

Numbers

2008-06-05T23:03:00.006-04:00

12: Hours it takes for the side effects of one lousy dose of Lupron to crop up.

4: 1.5-inch-long needles that need to be poked into my iced ass cheek between now and the end of June.

22: .5-inch-long needles that need to be poked into my abdomen between now and the end of June.

2,800: Dollar amount of lab tests between 2/12 and 5/19 that my insurance won't cover

2: Embryos they will transfer

18,498,275: Times I have thought about having twins and freaked out. In a good way.

1 kajillion: Percent that I am absolutely positive this will all be worth it.

Cheers

2008-05-30T20:44:00.001-04:00

One more question

2008-05-26T15:02:00.001-04:00

Is there anything inherently wrong with washing down fertility meds with Smirnoff Ice?

Sunday Seven

2008-05-25T19:43:00.005-04:00

Questions

1. We just finished watching Sicko. My question is - would anyone blame us if we decided to move to New Zealand?

2. Why is it that no matter when I start the laundry, it's never done til midnight?

3. Whose idea was this?

4. Is the fact that I have begun to add more and more products to my face, skin and hair regimens a sign that I am getting old? Or just that I have more disposable income to throw at a problem money can't solve?

5. And when did Ben start making old-man noises when he moves?

6. Would it be inappropriate if we were to use "Or we'll put you back in the freezer!" as a threat against our future children should they misbehave?

7. Do cats burp?

File under: More things that make me go GAH

2008-05-13T22:49:00.006-04:00

So, the Vatican says aliens could exist. Father Gabriel Funes, the Pope's chief astronomer, has determined that not only might there be intelligent beings out there, but that they could even be free of original sin. Imagine that.

I suppose we should consider this progress. It took them a hell of a lot longer to concede that that earth isn't flat.

GAH!

Word.

2008-05-12T22:37:00.001-04:00

See also: where y'all're gonna make me go all out, act a fool, not to mention lose my cool.

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-11T15:49:00.002-04:00

For new mothers, old-hat mothers, wanna-be mothers and for everyone who remembers hearing every one of these words, at least a million times:

The Because I Am The Mom Song

Sunday Seven

2008-05-04T15:55:00.005-04:00

File Under...

Highlight of the week

Forty-six inches of pure, flat-screen sexiness in our new and improved living room. We went to Best Buy last weekend to do some comparison shopping, and then ordered it online. It arrived yesterday afternoon, just in time to christen it with a Mets game. Absolutely freaking amazing. Now, I hate basketball (don't like the squeaky noise their shoes make on the floor) but I'm tempted to watch now just because of the absurd detail. I can see the sweat on LeBron James' head!

How I know I'm a jaded New Yorker

A film crew was taking over the 7 train platform at Grand Central Station. Any normal person would have stopped to check things out. Me? All I could think was that they better not keep me from catching my bus.

First against the wall when the revolution comes

The fact that there was no consideration made for cost of living differences when determining the amounts of the "stimulus" checks; clients forgetting that they gave us particular directions, then treating us like we're retarded for following them; doctors charging $400 for an office visit then when insurance won't cover the full amount, billing the patient at a "discounted" rate; the pervasive use of u, r, NE1 and ginormous as words; tourists.

Department of Redundancy Department

A book in the check out line at Shop Rite today called The Complete Idiot's Guide to NASCAR.

Things that suck

We had our very first non-relative dinner guests over last Sunday night. My friend Katy from work came with her husband Josh and their 18-month-old daughter, Sara. It was such a nice night, just talking, eating good food, drinking good wine and watching Sara do funny baby things. The part of this that sucks is that a week later, they are now on their way to Hawaii, where Josh will be stationed for the next four years. Stupid Coast Guard.

Taking an analogy I took too far even further

Turns out it was the 2003 season. OHSS is the Aaron Boone of my IVF experience.

Things that make me go GAH!

I was meeting with a client the other day and mentioned using Firefox rather than Internet Explorer, and do you know what he said? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE SAID?? He said, "What's Firefox?"

Sunday Seven

2008-04-20T21:55:00.002-04:00

The Great Furniture Fuxing of 2008

1. Everything moved. Every freaking thing. When I got up this morning, even though I knew (and my body was painfully aware) that we had shuffled the whole place around yesterday, it still took me by surprise.

2. Jojo is seriously perturbed by this whole endeavor. He used to have a whole couch to himself in the front room. But we moved the TV out there, and now we take up all the available seating. Despite not being a people cat, he has found himself getting awfully cozy with us in an attempt to regain some ground. He is not succeeding.

3. These items were found behind the couch: a scarf, a dishtowel, a trial-sized tube of toothpaste (nearly empty), a bottle cap (belonging to a bottle of Pomegranate Fusion Smirnoff Ice), and a chocolate covered raisin.

4. Unbeknownst to Ben, the cord to the iron was wrapped around a couple coat hangers in the closet. So when he pushed all the coats aside to access the air conditioner, it pulled on the cord, resulting in the iron falling off the closet shelf, pointy end first, and hitting him in the head. Sore and lumpy, but not concussed.

5. It makes a lot more sense to keep a chest freezer in the kitchen instead of in the spare bedroom, does it not?

6. We are now set up perfectly for entertaining large groups of people. But no one will come visit us.

7. We now eat at the dining table instead of on the coffee table in front of the TV. Everything is clean and well organized. Things appear to be put together in a purposeful way. It officially looks like adults live here.