In the Weeds

If I were waiting tables today instead of swimming through policy and legislation and databases and to do lists filled with emails to draft and people to call, I would take a moment, just a moment, and shout:

I'M IN THE WEEDS!

And all of my waitress pals would drop what they were doing or the gossip they were spouting near the soda machine and come to my aid if they could. Help me clear my tables. Run dinners out to my tables before it got cold. Basically, help me get my shit together and let me return to normalcy.

Well, um, at least in theory (and in my still-recurring waitress dreams (really? WTF)) that's what happens. And in some places, it did. In other places, your weeds were the least of the other girls' problems. They had weeds of their own.

Now, you could see being in the weeds a matter of poor time management, general slacker-ness, an inability to handle yo' bidness. And yes, ok, fine. In some instances, that is the case. The weeds would definitely creep up on you faster after an all-nighter, or too much fun or simply too many double shifts attempted in one week (git that money).

But other times, it just happens. Shit happens. An 8-top gets seated the same time your meal for 4 AND your flaming dessert for the couple in the corner is ready to go. The credit card machine busts its gut right as the impatient family wants to leave before their kids start to cry and yes, as soon as another 8-top gets seated.

Being in the weeds isn't necessarily bad. It means you've got a full section and hell, that means odds of you walking home with coin just got that much better. Sometimes, it's actually fun - just how many plates can I balance on this arm without them falling, running into another server or getting yelled at by the boss? How many hours can I deprive myself of sleep and still function on the floor? Just how many bus boys can I piss off by leaving my empty plates out and requiring them to, you know, do their job?

BTW, the sum of the latter will always be higher than the previous two stats combined. Bus boys, for the most part, are bitches.

Being in the weeds isn't bad. But it is always overwhelming.

All of this to say, dudes, I am in the weeeeeeeds.

Work is kicking my ass and depriving me of time to play my (borrowed) bass, blog, comment, you know, give you all of the mundane minutae of my life. I kid. But seriously, it's kind of bumming me out. I want to show you pics of the girls' trees and of my tiny balcony garden and of me kayaking this weekend (ahhhhhh) and tell you about the great day I had with S. and baby C. and most importantly, let you know that after a rocky, rocky week, our weekend was actually very nice. Some tears on Sunday night (damn, you No. # 1 Lady Detective Agency and your baby grave at the end of the show) but they were more like quiet remembrance, not full on freak out.

But I can't because every time I think about uploading things from the camera, or spending some dedicated time telling y'all how much I dig you (because I do) everything else that I should be doing goes rushing through my brain so fast I can't think straight. That's what being in the weeds is like for me now - not a physical, sweat-inducing overload, more like a my head is so full I need to shake it out and start over. I couldn't even give you a table to clear or food to bring out if I wanted to. I can't ask for help because I don't know where to start. (and, in most cases, if I were to ask for help now, my boss would require that I write up a "project scope" and a full set of instructions or worse yet, "Procedures" and fuck, after all that I might as well have just done the damn this myself.

BTW, as you can see, I've recently given myself permission to swear more freely on my blog. And fuck. Yes. It feels good. Kind of like taking your bra off at the end of the day. Ahhhhh. Fuck yeah.

ALL of this to say, I'm here. I'm ok. Much better thanks. But I DO wish I had a kitchen full of bitchy cooks and a dining room full of hungry diners (and tippers) to deal with right now instead of the things that are currently on my plate.

Because if I were waiting tables, my pal S. would have a 40 waiting for me at the apartment for the end of my shift. And we would shed our stinky, crusty old-bay-scented clothes, dump our aprons on the beds, stuff some of the dollars away and stick as many quarters in our pockets as they would hold (ok, maybe just me. I like arcades, ok?), dress in something completely ridiculous (this might have been my layering phase) and run off to the boardwalk and the pier looking for trouble. And we would find it. And the weeds would be forgotten. At least until tomorrow.

A Bad Joke and a Dinner Plan

The "which came first?" question, in my case the infection or my cervix opening, is one that had plagued me for almost 2 months now. I think, with the help of the "kindest doctor ever" (who I really will write about, I promise) I am finally ready to accept the fact that we won't know. Won't ever know.

And maybe the question is just a silly question anyway.


Feeling good today. On a whim invited my brother, his lady and my cousin to dinner tonight. Nothing fancy. I just didn't feel like being by myself while M. is at work and I really didn't feel like leaving the house either. I always forget one can have people over for no other reason than you want them to come over. On New Year's Eve, my cousin had confessed that she had really hoped that the babies would bring us closer together. We had been incredibly close when she was a little girl but then I moved away, she grew into a teen. Things happen. She said when Iso.bel and Jo.vita died, she saw that opportunity, that chance for closeness fade as well.

But it doesn't have to be that way, does it?

So, I'm trying to take some time and reach back out to some folks who reached out to me and, if I think about it, have always been there for me. I am pretty sure I am guilty of not giving my family the time they deserve. I'm trying to get back some of that time tonight with some leek and potato soup and some homemade Irish bread.

Sticks and Stones

Let me know if this is a bad idea.

A few weeks ago, I met up with a fellow blogger who I found out lived just around the corner from me. She blogs about eating disorders. During the course of the conversation, we started talking about all of the assvice we've both received from strangers, friends, family regarding our respective situations. You know. You've heard it: "just adopt....", "it's in god's hands...." "if its meant to be...."
Well, we found it all to be hilarious and decided to make some videos with our "favorites." Because you know you can never think of anything good to say until days later.

Well, now's your chance. come watch the vids and say what you wished you thought to say to your sister-in-law, your pregnant neighbor, your well-meaning but clueless friend.

Angelique is the lovely actor saying all those words that raise your blood pressure. I return the favor over at Breaking the Mirror.

We had a lot of fun with this project. I hope it helps you vent some steam too.

Six Things (Tagged)

The Rules:

1) Link to the person who tagged you. (thanks, Stacyb for popping my MEME cherry!)
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.

Ok, here goes:

1.) I have always wanted to be in a sketch comedy troupe. In fact, I tried out for one in college and almost made the final cut. I still bear deep, deep grudges to those whom I believe voted for Eli* instead of me. (*Real name. H*ll yeah, I'm calling you out.)

2.) Every month, I anxiously await the arrival of my beloved Lucky, the Magazine about Shopping.

3.) I obsessively check my blogs, emails, MySpace, and Facebook throughout the day. As in, every chance I get.

4.) Like Daisy, when I was little, I used to pretend I was on a talk show. Only I was always the guest.

5.) I hate feet. My feet. Your feet. I almost started a riot when a few co-workers started wearing flip flops in the office last summer. Flip flops!! Get those toes out of here. Conversely, I love shoes.

6.) I have dreams of being a rock star, specifically, a bass guitarist. Never mind that I have never even held one, let alone played one. The subject of lessons and a purchase come up every now and again. Frankly, I think it's never too late to try, right?

I hereby tag wifethereof, drowned girl and Tracy.

How I Spent My Weekend

1. Went to a smoky bar to hear a loud punk rock band.
2. Enjoyed a Bell's Best Brown Ale with hubby.
3. Had a full cup of coffee and a BIG chocolate cookie for breakfast.
4. Had fantastic sex.
5. Rested my laptop on my lap without getting reprimanded by hubby.
6. Hung photos, curtains, lifted a ton of boxes and other heavy things.
7. Had a nice conversation with my parents (a rarity).
   
8. Ate smoked salmon and soft cheese.
9. Went to the gym and overexerted myself. Because I could.
   

And in a few hours, I will drink a lovely glass of Spanish red wine with my medium rare steak at my in-laws house.

What I didn't do this weekend:

1. mope.
2. my taxes (on my to do list).
   

Depending on how brave we feel, we may just bring FIL into our circle of "who knows." Because, frankly, I think MIL is about to burst and she needs someone to talk to. I think this failed cycle has been harder on her than us - at least we have each other to hug.

I want to thank all of you for your comments, your calls, your emails, and for adding to my repertiore of naughty words. I love this one:

“Sh*t the bed, Ethel!”

Monday is a new day. 6 am daily gym visits begin again. I now have a whole new opportunity to get into fighting form before the next transfer (I was still a few pounds over my target BMI this time). I really appreciated your feedback and your sharing your own experiences with failed and successful cycles. We will be talking with our doc and they may or may not decide to switch up our protocol for the next go 'round.

The way I see it, the next time 'round won't be such an utter and absolute shock to my womb, which has been barren for so long, that I am sure it had no idea what to do with those little guys. Here's my impression of my confused womb:

"What the F*ck am I supposed to do with this? What do you want? A pearl?"

Hopefully, next time, she'll know the plot.

Old Habits Dye Hard

I woke up this morning from a bad dream to a splitting headache, a huge zit forming on my right cheek and later, a dizzy spell that made me want to puke. Thank you, lupron.

Needless to say, I was feeling neither attractive nor functional. Useless. To myself and others. What could I do to get myself out of this nasty funk? I knew. Oh, I knew.

I broke open the bottle.

Oh no she di'nt.

Oh yes, she did.

And now my hair is a lovely dark chestnut brown for the holidays. Ms. Clairol, you saved the day, like you always do.

Shut 'Em Down

Even though my husband attended the same orientations, sat in the same little square room as me several month ago, he still gets confused over which injectable is for what purpose, what magic elixer will produce which results.

When he saw me prep for my lupron injection this morning he asked, "so, now, are you starting up or shutting down?"

"Um, shutting down, I suppose."

And then he proceeded to perform his version of Public Enemy's Shut 'Em Down. How sweet. I'm guessing I'll get my share of the Rolling Stones next week when I begin adding estrace to my daily routine. Start me up, baby. Don't you ever stop.

So it's day 6 of lupron and aside from feeling pretty lethargic and short tempered, which, let's face it, could be me on any day, I'm doing just fine.

Funny Stuff

Last night I met a very cool girlfriend after work.

As part of my feminist book club, she is "in the know" as far as the whole trying to have a baby thing. I came out to them earlier this week. A handful knew (well, 2), but I was feeling kind of bad about whispering updates to them in the corner while other women in the room didn't know. Plus, another one of our members was recently diagnosed with PCOS and has been very open about it. Her honesty about her feelings and call to the group for support made me feel like a bit of a heel for not sharing more of myself with this group of women who came together in the first place to give each other a little bit of peace and moral support and fun and reasons to frolic and laugh on Sunday afternoons.

Oh yeah, we read sometimes too.

Anyway, me and one of the kegelettes (as we call ourselves) were sharing an afternoon drink and she asked for clarification on the whole egg donor process. I explained, "it's just like IVF but with someone else's eggs."

"Oh! So it's just like Taylor and Nick in the Bold and the Beautiful!" And then she gave a hilarious and succinct summary of the storyline thus far.

And I said, "um, yeah, but without the multiple divorces, remarriages, life threatening diseases and scheming ex-wives and eggs of said ex-wives."

Other than that, it is exactly the same.

Gosh, I never thought of it like THAT

Here’s a fun game to play with your partner – let’s try to pick out all of the things that thankfully won’t be acquired by your maybe baby since you won’t be using your eggs. For me, the obvious is my Hodgkin's Disease, which hasn't proven to be hereditary but then again there's no proof that its not.

But it seems that those traits also include:

• My crooked nose
• My bad temper
• My bizarre body shape which includes a lack of a waist that no amount of exercise seems to affect
• My snaggletooth

Hey! Isn’t this interesting and fun??

Fun for, like, a minute.

Have You Ever Done It in a Van?

So, as I was perched precariously in the back seat of a rented van, pants down to my knees and peeking out the window to make sure my father-in-law didn't reappear, while all around me, tens of thousands of tailgaters were grilling sausage, drinking beer, playing games and waiting for the first football game of the season to begin, I was wondering.....

What is the weirdest place/situation you have had to give yourself an injection?

Mine was just a tiny Lupron shot and since we left the house at the crack of dawn, I had to bring it along with me to administer it at the right time. Like many of my fellow sisters seeking fertility, only a few friends and family know about it and the processes involved. The rest, like my FIL, are in the dark and will stay there until there is something to report. I know that I am not the only person to be leading a little bit of a double life, pretending that life is totally 100% normal while toting along needles, pills, patches and lucky rabbit's feet.

So let's have it. 'fess up. I did it in a van in the middle of a cow pasture in the shadow of a massive football stadium. You?

H*ll, that's not so bad.

PrideFest took over our city this weekend. We drove past the riverfront celebration on the way to my parents house. It was rocking! Of course, there were the predictable protesters perched across the street, but not nearly as many as years past. One particularly pinched and angry looking woman held a sign with an arrow towards the laughing and amiable rainbow-swathed crowd. It said:

This Way to Hell.

Well, hell, hell looked pretty fun. And if hell has a beer tent and live music, I don't feel so bad about skipping out on church for the past, oh twenty years.

Occupational Hazards

Things to remember when working from home:

1. When you are writing an email and fuming over yet another last minute assignment/deadline that your boss has just given you, make sure you hit "forward" and not "reply." ***
2. Shades or curtains in a bathroom really are necessities. This is easy to remember when you are dashing to the bathroom and find you have to hold your pee because workers are waving hello to you as they fix the drainage pipes (har har) on your building.
   
3. Phone headsets should be removed before attempting said dash to bathroom. Failure to do so could result in toppled computer equipment, headsets tangled in hair and potential damage to earrings, clothes and other jewelry.
   

***Luckily, I was able to reach my co-worker who has access to my boss's inbox before the offending message was read. (we think). Thank you, L. You are the bomb.

To Put it Bluntly

Last night, hubby noticed some bruises on my leg and asked sincerely,

Honey, are you sure you're doing those shots right?

I had to laugh. Not at his concern but at the location of the bruises - my hip and my calf. nowhere near mid-thigh injection sites.

This goes to prove that after all of this angst about needles, its really me and blunt objects that have issues.

Day 6 of lupron shots. So far so good.

Classic

"Wow! The last time I came here they gave me porn and today they send me home with a bag full of syringes. I wonder what I get next."

-hubby, referring to our fertility clinic.

Lupron injections begin tomorrow.