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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 

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.

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@ hotmail.com. 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.

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.

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??

Oops

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.

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.