December 30, 2004

And to Think, I Never Had PMS When I Was on the Pill

Despite the fact that my temperatures haven't been really sluggish about reflecting it, I guess that positive OPK I got last week was right, because I am definitely premenstrual now. I was totally exhausted when I got home from work yesterday. I was far too tired to work out, but not too tired to eat a bagel sandwich with egg and cheese, most of a pepperoni and chicken pizza, and half a package of hot wings in three hours. How gross is that? Plus, I have spots. Or rather, pimples, but the British way is so much nicer, don't you think?

Military Romance

This article is fantastic, and I'm thrilled to hear about it. It's almost unbelievable how stressful it is on a marriage when one of the members of the couple is away at war for months on end. The uncertainty, the never knowing if he's okay or when he'll be home, is devastating. I'm glad the Army is trying to help. Although the idea of "romantic getaways" to Opryland is hilarious--only the Army could think of that. What, was Dollywood all booked up?

And I can't help being a tad bitter about the couple in the article who managed to have three kids in three years, despite the husband being away for almost the whole time. Geez, folks, grow a little self-control! Or at least get a diaphragm or something. One of their kids was conceived while he was home on two weeks' leave, which really makes me grit my teeth. Although I guess I shouldn't be too bitchy--my husband was conceived while his father was home on two weeks' leave from Vietnam.

December 29, 2004

Counting the Dead

I've been feeling like I should say something about the earthquake and tidal waves, but I've been completely unable to think of anything to say. Honestly, it's so big, so overwhelming, that I have a hard time feeling anything about it--it's practically impossible to even grasp it. I watch the news and it feels like, well, watching tv. Like it must be a new re-make of The Day After Tomorrow, because things like this don't actually happen in real life, right? Every time I turn on the news, the death toll has leapt upward by 10,000, or 15,000, or 20,000. It stands at at least 80,000 right now. See, that's just too many. That's up there with Rwanda, and Hiroshima, and Bergen-Belsen--things that are almost mythological, things that could never happen to anyone you know.*

So, I've finally figured out how to have an emotional response to it; I've found my handle. It's this, from CNN: Bush also announced that the Pentagon is 'dispatching...the aircraft carrier [USS] Abraham Lincoln and the maritime preposition squadron from Guam to the area to help with relief efforts.'"

How selfish am I to be thinking that I don't want my husband sent over there? There are so many people going through inconceivable pain, but I want him to come home and stay here. You see, although the pres didn't mention it, the King is a Seabee, which is a Navy construction worker. One of their specialties is going to the locations of natural disasters and rebuilding, bringing in electricity and clean water and working sewers, and building homes for those who are homeless.

That all sounds great, and I really am so proud of him for it, but the thing is, the last time he was sent on a major humanitarian mission, Somali soldiers tried to shoot him and blow him up, and just a few days after he was allowed to come home, Black Hawk Down happened. It was probably the most dangerous mission he's ever been on, including when the embassy in Kabul was bombed while he was inside it.

I know, it wouldn't be that way this time, and the chances of him going are very minimal, but I still worry. Please don't think I'm a total jerk for it.

*Ironically, unlike Rwanda and Hiroshima and Bergen-Belsen, I actually do have an acquaintance who is involved. He grew up on the beach where the movie The Beach was filmed. His entire family still lives there, and as far as I can tell, that beach no longer exists. I hope he and his family is safe, but there's really no way to know.

December 28, 2004

Fourth Post of the Day, But Who's Counting?

This is the best search term I've gotten so far. Even better than "nomenclature labioplasty."

Something I Liked

I recently watched the movie Jersey Girl, and I thought it was surprisingly sweet and endearing. I say "surprisingly" because who would have thought that a movie starring Ben Affleck and J.Lo could be anything but dreck? Of course, that was before I watched it and discovered that J.Lo gets killed off in the first ten minutes.

Of course, finding out that George Carlin, who plays the gruff but lovable grandfather, is in rehab kind of killed the magic for me a little bit.

Two Gross Things

My skin is so unbelievably dry from the cold weather that it hurts. Would it be totally disgusting to fill my entire bathtub with hand lotion and just wallow around for a while?

Also, last night when I got home from the airport, it was 47 degrees inside my house. I had shut the heat off while I was on vacation. It was so cold, that when I went to take a shower, my shampoo had solidified. I had to melt the glop in my hands before I could rub it on my head.

More Boring Alzheimer's Crap--I'll Stop Emoting Soon, I Promise

Because my desperate, pathetic plea for comments seems to have worked, and because no fewer than fifteen people visited my blog on CHRISTMAS DAY, I figured I'd get my lazy butt up and post. (For those of you reading on Christmas, don't feel bad--I checked all my regular blogs on Christmas too.) So, as I mentioned, my holiday was very up and down. My mother was very, very sick, and it was hard to keep myself upright, much less offer my dad much support as he changed her underwear and wiped her off. However, there were good points too. She was feeling much better on the day after Christmas, and I watched her go into the kitchen, open a sealed bag of bagels, get one out, and eat it. And then she saw me, smiled, waved, and said hi. Just like a real person. I was so happy I almost cried. Okay, I actually did cry, but I managed to do it quietly so Dad wouldn't hear.

Also, my sister, the human resources director, and her husband, the race car driver (yes, really), came for Christmas. My sister is smart and funny, but she is possibly the most self-involved person in the universe. I don't mean she is vain--she isn't, not by any means. And she is kind--she once paid my rent for six months when I was in college and couldn't support myself, and then she wouldn't let me pay her back. But she can be very blind to things she doesn't want to see. Like, say, her mother's dying. Her husband told the King that she has never cried since my mom got her diagnosis. Not once. She has completely ignored the entire thing, somehow managing to pretend that her mother is perfectly normal, despite the fact that she hasn't been able to hold a coherent conversation in more than two years. It's bizarre.

However, that all changed on Christmas Eve. She and the Race Car Driver arrived just as my mom had her accident, and I was freaking out while my dad was getting her cleaned up. I guess that somehow shocked her into sensibility, because she said, "Dad, you've got to let the Race Car Driver and I help out. I can come stay with Mom, and you and the Driver can go out and have fun. We'll have to do that sometimes." I almost died of shock, and I think Dad did too. It's just not in her nature to do something like that. I hope she follows through with it.

This post was supposed to be about our Christmas gifts and stuff, but it seems to have gotten swallowed up by my personal emotions, which I know make for the most boring posts ever. So I'll end here, and write a more entertaining post about cool electronics and my retarded basal body temperature in a couple of hours, after I've avoided doing some actual work.

December 26, 2004

Christmas Mood Swings

Merry post-Christmas, blogworld! I've missed you the past couple of days. I'm heading home to Virginia at the ungodly hour of 4:00 am tomorrow. It's been a really long, draining few days here with my parents. There've been a couple of really good times, but there was also my mother losing control of her bowels for the first time ever, during Christmas Eve dinner, because she got a bad stomach flu that aggravated her Alzheimer's symptoms terribly. That was not a good time, and I'm still trying to get my balance back from it.

On the other hand, just about an hour after that, I peed on an ovulation predictor stick, and it came back...POSITIVE. Holy shit. Positive. I've never gotten a positive response on any test I'm ever peed on of any kind. I was so shocked I almost dropped the damn thing in the toilet.

So it's been a long Christmas, and I'm looking forward to getting home and writing a long post about it. But first my parents are taking me out to Mongolian barbecue for lunch. I'll eat some lovely baby lamb for all of you.

December 23, 2004

Airport Etiquette

In an airport, everything is acceptable. Diets are out of the question--there's only gorgeously greasy fast food available. Think eight dollars is outrageous for a slice of pizza and a soda? Hah! It's not your fault, don't feel guilty--you're a captive audience. Desperate for a beer because you're on your way to spending four nights in your childhood bedroom, in the twin futon your parents bought after they sold your bed, but worried that it's only 9:30 in the morning? No problem! Everyone else at the airport bar thinks it's midnight, because they just flew in from Norway. Buy a round and sing a rousing round of the Norweigian national anthem with them!

And manners are not an issue. Running at top speed in a crowded public area while shoving people out of your way and hitting small children with your luggage is no problem. Not only will people not get pissed, they will often cheer you on. They know that is if wasn't for getting that last space in the good parking lot, they would have been relegated to the holiday overflow lot nine miles away like you, and it would have been them running.

In other news, I still miss the King. I haven't heard from him in several days, which means he is either (a) off work and therefore unable to reach a phone or computer, or (b) working insanely hard 22 hours a day because there is only one of him and they need about four of him. Either way, I'm at my parents' house, my mother is worse than ever (her Alzheimer's symptoms have been worsened by a bad flu), and if I don't get some vodka soon, I might kill someone.

December 21, 2004

What a Downer I Am

I was going to post the most boring blog entry ever, but then I went over to visit Grrl, and she has good news! For once! And despite the good news, I cried. But they were happy tears, because she deserves some good news finally, after so very, very long. Her husband doesn't get a lot of space on her blog, but I know he has got to be absolutely ecstatic too. I hope they're both doing well, along with their wonderful surrogate and their TWINS!

And now to the boring part. You may have noticed that I haven't mentioned my own husband much lately, or my cycle. That's because both are pretty much doing nothing interesting. The King is well, but very busy, so I don't hear from him much, but I know he's safe. He's getting pretty sad because Christmas is only a few days away, so it's really starting to hit him that he's going to be spending it all alone. I hate that, and I hate hearing him sad. We just keep trying to think that this is hopefully the last time we will ever have to be apart for the holiday, and that next year, we will be enjoying the beautiful sandy beaches and ocean waves of Hawaii on Christmas. A Christmas palm tree would be just fine with me.

My cycle is even more uneventful--last month's possible ovulation seems to have used up all my fertility juices, because this month is going nowhere fast. My temps have been totally flat, which is sort of interesting in itself, because normally they're all over the map, but they make for a really boring chart.

Tomorrow I'm flying home for five days to celebrate the holidays with my family. I'm dreading it. My mother's Alzheimer's is definitely getting worse, and seeing her is devastating. My father, who has been caring for her by himself ever since this started, has begun to have to take her to the bathroom. I've suspected that he's been having to do this, but he confirmed it yesterday when he told me she has a bad flu and described her vomiting and diarrhea in detail. Of course, I also feel totally guilty both for not wanting to see her and for not being there with him to care for her. It pretty much sucks.

I miss my husband. I wish he was here.

December 19, 2004

Experiments in the Visual Arts

I thought I'd try to figure out how to post a picture to my blog. Here's my first try, a photo of my dumb dog, the one the King and I are giving away soon because we are horrible, horrible people.

If you're wondering what he's doing, he's exercising his skills as a brilliant hunting dog by destroying a pillow. He's scared to death of cats, rabbits can outrun him, and squirrels are smarter than him, but pillows? Pillows he can beat the crap out of any day of the week.

Orion, the Dumbest Dog Ever Posted by Hello

December 18, 2004

The 80s Are Officially Back.

iVillage has this to say about this fall's newest fashion trend: "This fall, dig your heels into midcalf-length boots. Slouchy suede (a.k.a. ruched) leather styles...are the best of the bunch. " Please, God, no. First legwarmers are coming back, and now those slouchy, ugly, wierd boots that look like an alligator ate your legs and then died there? Wasn't 80s fashion bad enough the first time around? I mean, the 80s were the decade of my youth, so I secretly love it, but I'm smart enough to know that, really, it was bad ugly. I distinctly remember wearing skintight, acidwashed, Guess jeans--pegged! of course--tucked into hightop black Reeboks with pink, black, and white laces. On top of that I had an oversized tee-shirt (probably Bedazzled from here to eternity) tucked into an enormous black belt. I then would carefully apply pink and blue eyeshadow (blend, girls, blend!) and top it off with green mascara, and then would tease my spiral-permed hair until it was near death and enamel it in place with AquaNet spray. Of course, you couldn't finish your look until you had curled your (permed!) bangs into two tight spirals, one curled down toward your forehead, and one pointing up to the sky. Oh yeah, I was hot. Yes I was.

December 17, 2004

My Dumb Dog Is a Genius

I just came upstairs to write, and my dumb dog walked up the stairs with me. You heard me--walked. As in, accompanied me in a sedate and calm manner. As in, did not bound up the stairs, knocking me over the banister so I crack my skull open on the hard, wooden floor below in his enthusiasm to get to the second floor ahead of me so he can greet me, tail wagging and tounge lolling, at the top. I have never seen a dog walk normally up stairs, unless they were aged and decrepit. The dumbest dog in the world is officially a genius.

That said, this new talent of his makes me sad. I know, I should be thrilled, and my non-cracked skull is saying a small prayer of thanks for it. However [drumroll please], we are getting rid of the dumb dog. He will not be able to accompany us to Hawaii, where, if you remember, we are moving in five months. (Whoo hoo!) I spent last weekend doing a bunch of stuff to get ready for our move, and one of the things was finding out whether it would be feasible to take Orion with us. I knew Hawaii had a quarantine period, but they changed it to 5, 30, or 120 days last year, instead of the old 120-day minimum. I thought a 5-day quarantine would be doable. However, it turns out that there is a blood test Orion would have had to have gotten some time ago for him to qualify for it. We didn't know that, and so he didn't get it.

So he would have to stay in quarantine for 30 days at least (at a cost of $655). Then, if we still don't have Navy housing after that first month, he will have to stay in a kennel until we do get a house, which could be several months. I could handle spending the money on it, but he couldn't handle it. He's already extremely neurotic (and dumb, did I mention that?) and scared of many, many things. And when he gets scared, he doesn't eat. For days. The King and I talked about it, and we decided, sadly, that putting Orion through the trauma of a cross-country drive, a 5-hour plane ride, a quarantine, time in a kennel, and then a strange house would just be too much for him. I honestly think it might kill him. I think it would be far less traumatic to let him stay here in Virginia, with a new family.

That's right, we're getting rid of our dog because it's more convenient that way. Please direct your hate mail to blogqueenie@ Thank you.

Adopting Older Kids

Karen over at the Naked Ovary, recently said, "This is only the beginning. I don't have the luxury of learning how to parent this child as I go along--eight or twelve or fourteen months of her life will already be spent without me. I feel like I'll have to do things right by her from the beginning." That reminded me of a fantastic poster I saw at work recently for AdoptUSKids. They're an adoption group (obviously), and one of their things is encouraging people to adopt kids who aren't babies--babies are easy, everyone wants to adopt them. But after kids get to be about two, people aren't so interested in adopting them. I understand--it's scary to think about raising a child who, like Karen said, has already had a life without you. How do you fit into it, or fit her into yours?

Anyway, their poster was a big picture of a gorgeous little boy, about four years old, with curly black hair and dark eyes, and a big smile. The tagline read:

"You may have missed my first words, but I'll make it up to you."

I don't know why, but it just really got to me. It's true--you may not have breastfed them or had their birthmother hand them to you at the hospital, but they'll make it up to you. Because you're their mother.

December 15, 2004

In Which I Get to Use the Word "Salacious" Twice

So, Fox is going to be putting a new show on the air, "Who's Your Daddy?" In this show, an adopted girl will win $100,000 if she can correctly pick out her birthfather from a group of men. One Fox exec said, "You might get the impression from the title that it is somehow salacious or exploitive. But nothing could be further from the truth." Exploitive? Salacious? Fox Network? Never! I mean, who would think that the channel that gave us "Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire," "The Swan," and "Totally Outrageous Behavior Caught on Tape," would ever show something that is vulgar or tacky?

In the article linked above, the author of a famous adoption book is quoted (I'm not mentioning his name because I don't want Google searches for him to come here, because I'm sure he searches for himself, and he would totally have me fired). His quotes allow me to totally name-drop about all the famous people I know (okay, there are only two, and I met them both at the same time). Or semi-famous, anyway. This author, call him Mr. Bighead, came to a conference I worked at last month, and he took part in a book signing I ran. His book is a huge seller, and he was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for it. Which, naturally, makes him God. Or so he thinks.

My company doesn't publish his books. We let him take part in our signing because we're nice. I had six authors that we do publish also signing their books, and they all needed much fondling and hand-holding. But Mr. Bighead, he definitely wanted me to know that he was the important one. He began by taking his books out of the neat stack I had put them in, next to the stacks of the other authors' books. He then put them on top of my authors' books, covering them up! Asshead. Then he told met that he'd done "many, many signings" and he knew much better than I did how to arrange books for maximum sales. Apparently his strategy primarily entailed hiding everyone else's books and saying the phrase "Pulitzer-Prize nominee" approximately eighteen times in ten minutes. What a prick.

The other important person, Ming Na, the Chinese surgeon on ER, I also met at that signing, and she was a totally sweet, perfectly normal chick, and I completely humiliated myself by acting like a thirteen-year-old girl who just met Justin Timberlake.

December 13, 2004

New Years Is Going to Suck

As if New Year's Eve wasn't irritating enough for those of us who sit at home and get drunk alone, they had to hire the only person in the world more annoying than Dick Clark to do the TV special.

I Must Be Out of Touch

I was watching the Comedy Central end-of-the-year show last night, the Last Laugh '04, which was somewhat funny, although not nearly as funny as I was expecting. I did notice something really odd, though. A bunch of times, whoever was on stage said "Goddamn," for whatever reason. Each time, the censors bleeped out the first syllable of the word, but not the second. So what you heard was, "Go-[bleep!]-damn!" You could quite clearly hear the word damn, which is ostensibly the "bad" word, but they bleeped out the word "God" completely. I prefer to think that the Comedy Central folks were just trying to make sure you could tell they were cussing, while sticking to the letter of the law requiring them to bleep obscenities, but it still seemed really odd that they would eliminate the name of God but leave "damn." Go figure.

They also bleeped "blowing," which is a perfectly normal word, although it was being used to describe a sex act at the time, but left "ass," although it definitely was not being used as a synonym for "donkey."

Also, I have two questions: Who the fuck are Modest Mouse, and why was one of them wearing the Where's Waldo shirt??

December 10, 2004


This post over at the Naked Ovary reminded me of a really dumb thing I did at Blockbuster while trying to rent movies one day. I was in a hurry and there was a long line, so by the time I got up to the register, I was already fairly irritated with the teenager manning the cash register. I slapped my movies down on the counter, with my Blockbuster card already pulled out and on top of them...

BlockBoy: [picks up movies and my card, and puts card back down on the counter] Ma'am, I'll need your card.

Me: [looking through my wallet for money, annoyed] I gave it to you.

BlockBoy: [looking embarrassed] Um, sorry ma'am, but I can't check these out without your card.

Me: What is your problem? It's right there! [still looking through wallet, gesturing to my card on counter]

BlockBoy: [stiffly] That's a library card.

Me: Oh.

December 08, 2004

My Eyes, Oh God, My Eyes!

Today while walking through the metro station, my eyes fell upon a horrifying sight: a girl in a skirt wearing legwarmers with sandals.

Read that again: legwarmers...with sandals. Picture it in your mind.

It's a sign; our world is about to come to an end. It is time to accept Jesus into your hearts, because lo! the Rapture is upon us.

Telephone Hate

Bank One Representative 1: Hello, thank you for calling Bank One. How may I help you?

Me: Hi, I just got a letter from you guys about my credit card, saying you're merging with some other company. But I don't have a credit card with you, and I wanted to make sure this is some sort of mistake.

BOR 1: Oh, yes ma'am, let me check. Can I have your credit card number?

Me: I don't have one. I don't have an credit card.

BOR 1: Oh, yes. Can I have your name?

Me: Queenie.

BOR 1: Oh yes, you have an account with us.

Me: I want to close it.

BOR 1: I'll have to transfer you, hold please.

[click, click, buzz]

BOR 2: Hello, thank you for calling Bank One. How may I help you?

Me: You mistakenly opened a credit card for me and I want to close it.

BOR 2: I'll have to transfer you, hold please.

[click, click, buzz]

BOR 3: Hello, thank you for calling Bank One. How may I help you?

Me: By not transferring me to anyone else. You guys opened a credit card for me by mistake and I want to close it.

BOR 3: Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am! I can help you with that. What's your account number?

Me: I don't have one. I don't have an account.

BOR 3: Oh, yes. Can I have your name?

Me: Queenie.

BOR 3: Oh yes, you have an account with us. You have $10,000 worth of credit!

[Momentary lapse while I consider buying a horse. No, wait, stand firm.]

Me: I never opened the account, it was a mistake, and I want to close it.

BOR 3: Certainly, ma'am. First, let me tell you about our new package of personal loans...

Me: No, I just want to close the account.

BOR 3: I see that the account has been open for four years, and has a zero balance. That means we've
been keeping it safe and sound for you all that time!

Me: I don't care. I don't even have your credit card, it's a mistake and I just want it closed.

BOR 3: I'd be happy to send you a replacement card ma'am...

Me: You can't replace something I never had.

BOR 3: ...and we can even lower your interest rate to 6.5%!

Me: NO! Close it! Close it!

BOR 3: Certainly ma'am. [click click] I'm closing your account now. Be sure to destroy your credit card.


BOR 3: Thank you very much, ma'am. Have a nice day!

Why Dracula, What Nice Hair You Have

Last night, I watched Van Helsing. I expected it to be a vampire action/adventure movie, as promised on the box. Instead, I discovered the most hilarious Dracula movie ever committed to film. In in the opening scene, we find Dracula in 1887. He is wearing his long hair pulled back with a rather fetching banana clip, circa 1987, and he has two girlish tendrils framing his face. It looks rather like the style I wore my hair in for my junior prom. In the next scene, we are taken to Notre Dame. Rather than the expected hunchback, however, we find Mr. Hyde hiding in the cathedral. He fights Van Helsing, but is defeated when one of the bells tolls. Apparently, ringing bells are his weakness, the only thing that can hurt him. So I wonder, why the fuck is he hiding in a BELL TOWER?

Skip ahead. Van Helsing meets the lovely Princess Anna (Kate Beckinsale). Anna is supposed to be living in the 1880s, but she has the carefully plucked eyebrows and over-collagened lips of any porn star. Go Anna. At this point, I actually checked the box the video came in to make sure it wasn't listed as a comedy. Nope, action/adventure, that's what it said. So I continued watching, thoroughly enjoying myself and laughing hysterically.

Until I got to the plot climax. Van Helsing and Anna discover the Count's true goal, the secret he's been hiding--Dracula's wives keep giving birth to dead babies (seeing as they themselves are dead, that makes sense), and he's trying to develop a way to bring them to life.

That's right. Dracula is infertile. Perhaps he could be our mascot.

December 06, 2004

Doctor Hate

Akeeyu's volcanic death puppies (otherwise known as her anxiety about doctors not knowing what the fuck they're doing and not believing their patients when they tell the doctors there is something wrong) reminded me of a couple of conversations I had with a new doctor a few years ago.

Me (sniffling, coughing, sneezing, hacking up fluid in my lungs): Doctor, I have bronchitis.

[Application of freezing stethoscope to chest for a bare moment while doctor checks his watch in boredom, apparently anxious to get to the club for a round of golf and quickie with his mistress.]

Doctor: No you don't, you have allergies.

Me: Um, actually I have recurrent bronchitis. I get it about twice a year, just after I get a cold. I just moved here so you haven't seen me before, but it's quite normal for me. I just need some amoxycillin...

[WARNING! WARNING! Arrogant patient trying to act like they're the doctor, using fancy medical terms and such. Abort! Abort!]

Doctor: No you don't! That's just bad medicine, prescribing antibiotics willy nilly!

Me: I agree, the overprescription of antibiotics is the reason for the evolution of drug-resistant viruses, but...

Doctor: You have allergies. Here, take these sample medications some drug company sent me in the mail. You'll be fine.

[Patient chucked ignobly out of office.]
Ten days later...

Me (wheezing, barely able to breathe, turning blue): Doctor, I saw you ten days ago and told you I had bronchitis. You gave me some crappy sample drugs instead of an antibiotic. Now I have pneumonia.

Doctor (outraged): You certainly don't! You have allergies! Let's do a blood test and find out.

[Fingers painfully pricked a dozen times with needles, due to anemia and poor circulation.]

Doctor (returning to exam room with test results, staring at results in a fury): You have pneumonia! Why didn't you come in sooner?

Me: I hate you.

Language Arts

I've been reading a really pretty good book called Tropic of Night, and I was quite enjoying it, until I came to a certain line in it. It's a man speaking about kissing his girlfriend, and he says:

"She really had an excellent mouth," he thought, "like a teacup full of hot eels."

Sorry, what? Eels? In her mouth? And a teacup? And the eels are hot because...they're like hot tea? In a cup? In her mouth?

It's shit like this that makes us editors look bad.

December 05, 2004

Cycle Day 2

That's right, folks, yesterday my period arrived with a bang. If my temperatures were telling the truth, that means I ovulated (!!!) and had a 14-day luteal phase, according to Fertility Friend, or an 11-day one, according to me. Eleven days is a bit short, I believe, but 14 days is exactly perfect. Ideal, even. A 14-day luteal phase, and a cycle complete with three days of EWCM*, would make me some sort of reproductive rock star. A cycling prodigy. Which is why I'm inclined to believe that this is all just a dream, and shortly Humpty Dumpty will show up and say, "Ha ha! You're dreaming! Your eggs suck, and they're even more broken than me!!" And then, snap, I'll wake up.

* Egg white cervical mucus, the mucus of the gods.

December 04, 2004


I just heard a funny commercial. It was for a spray that gets animal smells out of fabric. They guarantee that even the worst pet odor with disappear! "It's just like magic!" the happy housewife crows. Then the voiceover said, "Even if your carpet is continually soaked in cat urine, this spray will make the odor vanish instantly!"

All I can say is, if your carpet is continually soaked with cat urine, it's time to think about getting a different cat.

December 02, 2004

Fun with Missile Launchers

The King just called, yay! He's doing well. His boss has finally left, so he can actually do some work now. Apparently his boss brought along an assistant, a young woman who had never before left the United States. Lucky her, her first trip abroad and where does she go? Afganistan. They are flying directly from there to Pakistan, and then to beautiful downtown Calcutta. Nice.

He was very upbeat, but he mentioned that what with the whole Karzai inauguration taking place approximately ten feet from his office, people are going ABSOLUTELY BONKERS preparing for bombings, shootings, sarin gas attacks, and all manner of fun. I very momentarily freaked out when he tried to reassure me by saying, "Don't worry, baby, I'll be perfectly safe, everybody around here has a gun. Or a missile launcher." So do please keep your fingers crossed that all goes well this weekend, both for his personal safety and for and the baby democracy that is trying to be born in Afganistan. They deserve it.

December 01, 2004

Good News All Around

My husband is okay. I just got an e-mail from him assuring me that he was not on the plane that crashed yesterday. Thank God for that. He's doing fine; his boss is over there checking up on him and generally making trouble. No, really, they're having fun. Apparently they broke into a safe together, which is a bonding experience for a couple of old safecrackers like them. (No, I'm not kidding.)

And there is some other fairly momentous, and actually infertility-related news. (I figured since this is supposed to be an infertility blog, I should occasionally mention some sort of reproduction issue, otherwise they're going to throw me out of the Barren Bitches Brigade). Drumroll, please. For the past three days, my basal body temperatures have been high. Before that, I had the much-vaunted egg white cervical mucus. That's the good stuff, for you non-infertile folks out there. It is to conception what a big fire hydrant is to a dog. (Not that you pee on it, but that you really like it. You know what I mean.)

Anyhow, what the combination of EWCM and subsequent high temps means is that I may have ovulated. I can't be sure, because I wasn't checking my temps over Thanksgiving, but if I did ovulate, I'm about 10 dpo right now. If my period starts in a few days, I'll be ecstatic. I'm totally tempted to pee on a stick despite knowing full well that I can't possibly be pregnant, seeing as I haven't had sex for over a month. I almost can't help myself. This is the first sign of normal fertility I've ever had. In my life. Before I went on the Pill, I was totally irregular. Since going off it 14 months ago, I've had no sign of normal hormones whatsoever. This is a big thing for me. Would I be totally crazy to take a home pregnancy test? I don't think so. Which just goes to show that I am, in fact, totally crazy.