September 2006 Archives

I can see my new body starting to emerge from the fat. I still have a long way to go, but I’m starting to build real muscle tone and I’m slimming down nicely. I love feeling stronger and healthier. I’ve gone from a size 16 to a 10 and sometimes even an 8. That’s single digit sizing! It's very exciting.

I’m stuck wearing suits to work almost all of the time now, because almost none of my work appropriate pants fit anymore. I have to admit, it's a problem I love having. And even though I’ve still got jiggles in some places and bumps in other places that I’d like to be flat, I can see how my body is going to look. I’ve always been short, but now I think I’m going to be small and compact. I’m looking forward to it.

And now I have to get your opinion on something. Tonight while I was at the gym working on said small and compact body, a woman in my yoga class did something which I thought was very rude. I’m not sure that I care, but still, I’m curious to know if other people think she was rude too. After class, as we were all rolling up our mats and putting on our jackets and shoes, this little middle aged woman came over to the woman sitting next to me and said in a very squeaky voice “Hi, I’m Suzy. I see you here every week and I just wanted to introduce myself and say hi.” The other woman seemed a little surprised, but said “Hi, I’m Joyce. Nice to meet you.” And then Suzy turned, looked me dead in the eye, and walked right past me to put her block away. Now I go to that class every week too, and have been for months. Am I wrong, or did I get dissed by squeaky voiced grandma?

I have just been exhausted for the past few days, suffering from unusually bad PMS. Each night this week I was so tired I could barely string two words together – hence the lack of posting. I wanted a donut so badly I practically started composing a Krispy Kreme Manifesto in my head, declaring our inalienable right to donuts, regardless of diet restrictions. I’m pretty sure cravings like that are what lead to things like fried Twinkies getting invented. Well, that and stoners with access to deep fryers. On top of that, yesterday, an OnStar commercial on the radio made me cry. And I was crampy and bloated and sore breasted and above all, bitter. Bitter because I thought I had four to six more days of PMS still to come, on top of the days and days I’d already gotten to enjoy.

Instead, for the first time since we started trying to conceive and I started paying attention to when my period arrived, I had a 28 day cycle. For those of you who don’t know, that’s what’s normal. Could it be that the Metformin and the weight loss (I’ve lost 28.4 pounds to date) are really working? Obviously one month of normalcy isn’t even a trend, but it could turn into one. All I know is, this time the arrival of my period has left me feeling hopeful about my fertility.

I just started watching Felicity. Yes, I know I’m several years late, but for some reason I didn’t watch it when it was on TV. Plenty of people have told me they thought I would like it, though, so when one of my friends at work offered to loan me her season one DVD, I said yes. So I finally got around to watching a few episodes this weekend, and I do like it! But I am confused. Obviously she’s going to hook up with Ben or Noel at one point, and I just can’t decide which one of them I like better. Sometimes I think I prefer Noel, because Ben seems a little full of himself. Plus Scott Speedman, who plays Ben, looks like Scott Stapp, and I hate Scott Stapp. Well, I hate his crappy music anyway. But sometimes, Ben does something sweet or says something that makes me think maybe there is hope for his character after all. Noel is probably more my type, although neither one of them is the bad boy type that I usually go for personally. Hopefully as I watch more episodes, it will get easier to pick a favorite.

Either way, I’m good and hooked on the show now! If you watched Felicity, who was your guy?

One of my co-workers is thinking about applying to graduate school, and she and I were talking about the various programs she’s considering. It got me to thinking about graduate school for me. I’ve considered going to grad school off and on since college. Just before I got the job with my current company I actually applied to a bunch of programs, because at the time, all I knew was that I was miserable doing what I was doing and something about my life had to change. Lucky for me, I did end up in a job that I loved, and have continued to love as it has evolved over the years, because I never did get the whole grad school thing sorted out.

I’ve kind of always thought I would go to grad school at some point. I mean, I liked school, for one thing, and there’s still plenty of subjects I find interesting and don’t know nearly enough about yet. But I’ve never known exactly what I should go to grad school to study. I could get an MBA, but have you seen the classes you have to take to get an MBA? Snoozeville. I get way more out of just showing up for work every day. I thought I might be interested in a creative writing program, but I just checked out a couple of the ones at the schools around here, and I’m not sure I’d be a good fit there either. Improving my writing skills and doing more with my writing is high on my list, though. Maybe I just haven’t found the right program yet. Or perhaps I could try something like a writer’s workshop. I like history, but I can’t picture myself doing anything with a history degree, so that would be a whole lot of work and money just so I could have a Master’s or a PhD. I don’t really have that kind of free time or money. I’d really have to be going back to school for a reason.

Of course, right now I am quite happy where I am, doing what I do every day. I suppose one day that could change, but for now, I’ll try not to worry about it. Those of us without a graduate degree call that the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” philosophy.

My friend Jules asked me to babysit her little boy Malcolm tonight. I said I would do it, but I think she could tell I was a little reluctant. I also think she thought I was reluctant because babysitting him on a weeknight is a bit of a hassle, which it is. It’s not so much of a hassle that I wouldn’t do it, though. I love hanging out and taking care of Malcolm. He’s a sweet and smart kid, and a lot of fun.

No, the problem goes way beyond missing my workout and having a long drive and a late night. I’ve been feeling rather fragile about my infertility lately. Just when I think I’m fine and life is rolling along, then wham! I get thrown off balance. The other day I was returning something to Kohl’s (in a fit of temporary insanity, I bought a vest. I’m way too short-waisted to pull off a vest. I don’t know what I was thinking.) and I had to walk through the baby section to get to customer service. As I passed by all those cute little clothes, this overwhelming wave of longing and sadness washed over me. I almost burst into tears right there in the middle of the store. Sometimes it is just so hard to keep waiting and not doing anything but working to lose weight. I want so badly to be taking action, to be getting closer to having a child. At least when we were trying and failing there was a chance each month that I’d get pregnant. Not much of a chance, even when we threw in thousands of dollars of fertility drugs, but I usually had a glimmer of hope. Now I’ve got nothing. Just eating healthy and working out and losing weight at a snail’s pace and being patient. I hate being patient. We’ve already tried to conceive for more than three years, and I wanted to have a child even before that. Isn’t that enough? When will my turn come?

Anyway, because I’m feeling touchy about the infertility right now, I wasn’t sure about being so vividly reminded of all that I am missing out on by not having children (for now). But at the same time, I didn’t want to say, I’m sorry, you can’t count on me to help you out because I’m infertile. That would be lame, and it’s not the kind of person I want to be. I want to take joy in my friends’ children and in my nieces and nephews. It’s important to me to be connected to their lives, and I don’t want to lose that to infertility too. So I won’t let it.

Population: Me. My day was so lousy it’s like I was the victim of some conspiracy of craptacularosity.

First, there was the argument with LabCorp over the latest bill they sent me. They felt I owed them $110. I felt they were mistaken. Three phone calls and one very annoying tussle with a malfunctioning voice recognition system later (it kept asking me for my birthdate, and then repeating it back to me, over and over. Just what I needed in the midst of a frustrating battle over benefits) I finally got someone at LabCorp who was a) not an idiot and b) actually helpful. I managed to convince them to actually submit the claim to my insurance company with the correct information, rather than just sending me a bill.

Then everyone at work was in a bad mood. I don’t know what the problem was, but my co-workers were a cranky bunch today, and I waded right in to the mix with my own personal black cloud hovering over my head.

Adding to the storm clouds: a crowded trip to Whole Foods for lunch and frustrations over trying to line up a vacation place for our trip in October. I don’t know what was up at Whole Foods today, but the place was packed with morons, cluttering up the aisles and not letting me get by, going through the salad bar at a glacial pace, and generally annoying the hell out of me. Also annoying the hell out of me? The Outer Banks.

John and I wanted to go there for our vacation. After a number of fruitless searches on the Internet, I finally decided I wasn’t going to find a hotel that meets my standards and allows pets, so we started looking at renting a condo or house. It’s the first real vacation we’ve taken in forever, so I want it to be nice. I found a little condo right on the beach in Kill Devil Hills that was pet friendly, and only $400 for a week. I sent the property management company an email with some questions and got a bunch of satisfactory answers back today, so I went to make the reservation. Imagine my surprise as I watched the $400 cost turn into a $760 cost with the addition of a $100 pet fee (not mentioned in the listing), a $100 administrative fee, a $75 security deposit waiver fee, taxes and some sort of required travel insurance fee. Just include all of that in the upfront price, you assholes. And let me tell you, for $760, I want something a lot nicer than that crappy little condo. So if anyone has any Outer Banks recommendations, I’d love to hear them. Otherwise, we may very well end up taking our vacation in Rehoboth. At least that’s closer.

I thought I was going to get to hang out with Jules and Laila this weekend, but it looks like that isn’t going to work out as planned. Hopefully I will still get to see Laila at least.

When I got to the gym, I had to dodge 800 parents circling the parking lot to drop off or pick up their kids from the Karate school. Those people are a menace. And their kids just wander through the parking lot not paying any attention to the people who are trying to drive. Then my ponytail holder snapped as I tried to put it on my hair, and I kept having coordination difficulties with the stupid elliptical machine. At least Becky was there to provide excellent conversation and sympathy about my day.

And hey, just to put a cap on my day my fucking blood sugar was 180 when I checked it after dinner. To give you context, last night it was 113, and it is frequently lower than that. I guess they aren’t kidding when they say stress can raise your blood sugar. Well, stress and a piece of apple cake. It’s not fair. I should be able to eat a damn piece of cake every once in a while. Particularly after 4+ miles on the elliptical machine. Let me eat cake!

All I have to say is if tomorrow knows what is good for it, it will be a better day.

I had Friday off of work, so I’ve spent the last three days catching up on my sleep, tucked into a little cocoon of rest and relaxation. I stayed off the Internet, and I barely watched TV. I read a lot. I did stuff around the house. I ran errands. And it was exactly what I needed. I’m feeling much less overwhelmed and much more ready to take on the world again.

One of the places I visited on my rounds of errands was the local hippie food co-op, where I finally tracked down a furniture polish made of beeswax and oil instead of a mess of chemicals that aren’t good for older wood. One of the websites I visited for tips on furniture restoration said that sometimes all an older piece of furniture needs is a good polish with some beeswax, and wow, were they right. I wish I had taken before and after photos, because putting that beeswax on made an impressive difference. Another website has suggested using watercolors to touch up scratches, but that didn’t look at that great in my opinion. The polish, on the other hand, worked miracles.

Behold my beautiful cabinet:

And here’s a close-up so you can see the details on the drawer:

I spent a large chunk of my day today unpacking, washing and drying the china and glassware that is now stored in the cabinet. It all belonged to my great-grandmother, which may conjure up images of ancient family heirlooms, but it seems to be a fairly standard issue 20th century set of china and some depression glass. The china is incomplete – eight dinner plates, eight tiny dessert plates, but only three bowls and seven cups, and of course, a gravy boat, along with various other serving pieces – and not really my taste, as my great-grandmother was partial to flowers and gilt. She liked it a lot, in fact. There’s a second set of dishes, 12 in all, that appear to be part of an older set of china, also with flowers and gilt, but a much less sophisticated design. That’s not to say that there aren’t touches that I like, particularly on the main set of china. The dishes all have an interesting fluted edge to them instead of just being boring and round, and there is a little teal detail painted into the back of the floral design that flirts with your eye in a subtle and interesting way. But what I like best is feeling a connection back through the generations to a woman who died before I was even born.

I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. Unfortunately, I’m one of those people who is really not at their best when they get too tired. My focus suffers, and I do stupid things like driving up to the wrong side of the gas pump, going to the kitchen to make myself breakfast but forgetting to actually make the breakfast and wandering through the grocery store buying a bunch of food that doesn’t really add up to meals. Not that I did any of those particular things yesterday or anything.

And when I get really, really overtired, I start with the melodrama. For example this morning when my clock radio turned on, I almost burst into tears because I was so tired and didn’t want to get up.

Then I logged on and checked the results from the local primaries that were held yesterday, and when one of the races didn’t go my way, I launched into a tirade about how the deck is stacked against the little guy and nothing will ever change, so we might as well all chuck everything and go live in a log cabin, Unabomber-style. (Interesting sidenote: Word knows to capitalize Unabomber. I wonder how Ted Kazcynski feels about that.) (Less interesting, more bitter sidenote: To the residents of Montgomery County who didn’t support my candidate – way to vote for an elitist, out of touch, developer-supported stooge just because he was the incumbent. Enjoy your steadily worsening traffic, increasingly overcrowded schools, and disappearing agricultural reserve. Don’t come crying to Frederick when your county becomes completely unlivable, you shortsighted losers.)

Then there weren’t any bowls in the kitchen at work when I went to make my oatmeal for this morning’s breakfast, and I almost burst into tears again.

And that was all before 10 am. There’s a whole lot more ridiculous behavior on my part that happened today, but I think I’ll spare myself the embarrassment of sharing all the gory details. Let’s just say that I exaggerate and carry on in my mind when I’m over tired and leave it at that. I’d better wrap this up so tonight maybe I can get some damn sleep and return to my normal self. Frankly, I find myself annoying when I’m like this.

Ok, an episode of Futurama just made me cry. It was about how Fry’s dog missed him after he got frozen, and it was really sad. Still, I’d say it is definitely time for me to get some sleep.

Well the auction trip was a complete and total success. John’s record and book lots ended up having a number of cool finds, so I retract my previous statement where I referred to it as crap.

We wedged the china cabinet into the trunk and made our way home slowly on the country road, crossing our fingers and hoping we’d get back to the house before I succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning from the fumes pouring into the back seat through the open trunk (we did have the windows open for fresh air). I had to be back there, see, holding on to our new purchase, watching closely for any signs of movement that might indicate it was coming loose. The emergency plan was that at the first sign of trouble, I would yell, grab on with both hands and fight against the forces of gravity with all my might, and John would immediately pull over and stop the car. It wasn’t a great plan, and I’m glad we didn’t have to put it into action. I may be stronger now after all my working out, but if that cabinet had decided to make a break for it, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

Luckily, we made it home without incident. I spend a chunk of the afternoon gently but thoroughly Murphy’s Oil Soaping the cabinet, because it was filthy. It didn’t look all that dirty, but when I went to wipe it down, it was disgusting, which leads me to wonder how much of my furniture is secretly coated in dirt. Given my indifferent housekeeping habits, I’d have to guess that a lot of it is. There was this episode of the British version of Coupling (I think it was Coupling) where the characters had a pact that if one of them died, the other would go to their house and clean up all of their porn before their mother could see it. I don’t need that service, but if I do kick the bucket, if one of my friends would just come clean my house before my mom sees it, that would be great. I wouldn’t want her to be shocked at the state of my bathrooms. Of course, if I’m dead, does it really matter? Does death free us from worrying about what our mom will think? Eh, probably not, at least in my case. My mom’s guilting abilities probably extend beyond the grave.

But I digress. For some reason cleaning that cabinet made me totally morbid, and I actually was thinking about how dirty my possessions might be after I die for part of the time. What the hell is wrong with me? Anyway, we got the cabinet, which is now clean, home, and it has already grown on both of us even more. All it needs is a little touching up, and then a nice polish, and by this time next week, it should be tucked into the corner of my dining room/office, chock full of my great-grandmother’s china. I’ll post a photo once it is ready so everyone can share in its glory.

I am sitting at that auction that John and I go to from time to time, feeling triumphant because we just got a china cabinet for $90. It is on the small side, but I didn't want huge one. I particularly like this one because it is old -- possibly even an antique -- and doesn't look like your typical china cabinet. We need to polish it up a little, but it is cool. And such a bargain!

Unfortunately, I'm also feeling just a bit bored, too. John also bought a bunch of other crap, so I'm sitting here watching over our cabinet while he takes his new books and records home and unloads them. Then we can (hopefully) cram our new cabinet in the car and take it home. I had brought a book with me, but I stupidly left it in the car.

I'm entertaining myself with my beloved Sidekick instead. I'm so glad I bought this gadget!

Thursday night is yoga night. I love yoga as much as I ever have, if not more so. It’s energizing and de-stressing and provides a nice balance to the rest of the exercise that I do. As I get more fit in general, I’m definitely getting better at yoga too. Still, the class is an hour and a half long, and she frequently runs over, which means oftentimes I don’t even get in the car to head home until 8:40. So sometimes on Thursdays I find myself not exactly looking forward to going. I generally do go, because I know I’ll feel good once I get there. And because I’m meeting my friend Becky for class. That tip they always give you in magazine articles about having a workout buddy for extra motivation really is a good one.

Anyway, depending on the day, I either grudgingly or enthusiastically present myself for yoga class. I usually get there a little early because I want to stake out the spot that Becky and I like at the back of the room. Every week there are people who think that they can go in ahead of me, even though they arrived after I did. I know it is going to happen, because they do it every week, but it really bothers me. I find myself getting all competitive, eyeing my fellow yoga attendees warily and edging closer to the studio door as the hip hop aerobics class winds down. I’m practically ready to start throwing elbows. It’s not a very yoga-appropriate attitude, which I guess just proves how very much I need the class. By the end of the class I’m a completely different person – all groovy and relaxed and smiling at everyone – with nary a violent urge in sight. Behold the power of yoga.

Have you ever gotten a song stuck in your head, one section of it on repeat over and over? Of course you have. How about two songs? Two very different, perhaps even diametrically opposed songs, duking it out for control of your brain? No? Well let me try to describe it for you.

In the left corner of my brain, we have Daydream Believer by the Monkees. In the right corner of my brain, we’ve got Holy Diver, by Ronnie James Dio. Yep, pseudo-Beatles pop vs. operatic metal. And, might I add, two of the most incomprehensible sets of lyrics out there.

“Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, for a daydream believer and the homecoming queen.” Followed almost immediately by “Holy diver, you’ve been down too long in the midnight sea.” Seriously, what do those mean? And why are they both in my head at the same time?

And then there’s the most interesting question of all – who would win a pitched battle between the Monkees and Dio? Your first instinct might be to pick Dio, thinking that metal made him tough, but John met Dio in the parking lot at Hammerjack’s once, many moons ago (greeting him with a nod and a “What’s up, Ronnie” because he’s cool like that) and according to him, Dio is really short. The Monkees are kind of short too, but there are four of them, and they do have all that experience with the madcap adventures from their TV show. They might jump Dio and stuff him in a sack or something. It’s a tough call.

I may have alluded to this here before, but my parents were big into control – control over what I watched on TV, the movies I saw, the friends I had, the places I went – they were in charge of every facet of my life. I spent years begging them to let me get my ears pierced. Years. And then I spent a few more years lobbying to get my ears double pierced. And then I got older and rebellious and one night I got drunk and got some girl at a party pierce my left ear for the third time. It seems silly now, but at the time it was a VERY BIG DEAL. I hid that defiant third piercing from my mom for months, but she caught on one night at dinner, and oh, the fun and shouting that followed. My parents did not look kindly on my attempts to break out on to my own path, but there was nothing to be done about this particular one – the piercing had healed and wouldn’t close over.

I was so proud of that disobedient little hole. It was my first real victory in declaring who I was as opposed to who my parents thought I should be. I spent most of high school sneaking around, hiding my clothes in my friend Laila’s car because my mom would snoop around in mine, lying about where I was going and what I was doing, but the ear piercing, that was out in the open.

This weekend, while riffling through the chipped little porcelain box where I keep my earrings, I came across the small silver hoops I used to wear in those second and third holes. These days I’m lucky if I manage to remember to put in one set of earrings, but for some reason, when I saw those little silver hoops, I thought I’d put them in. Nope. Those second holes, which I longed for so badly (and which were done by a professional) are still open in the front, but are totally closed up in the back. The earrings just wouldn’t go through. Ironically, that controversial third hole, done by a tipsy high school girl with a sewing needle and an ice cube, is still open, but the double piercing is a thing of the past.

I never did take the path my parents wanted for me, but I’ve built a good life on my own terms. I could re-pierce my ears, I suppose, but I don’t think I will. I guess I don’t have quite so much to prove as I did when I was a teenager.