It Can't Be Avoided

Well, I have yet another pregnant being in my life. My new foster dog.

Jason found her out where he works and told me to come get her and take her to the shelter. He has tons of dumped dogs by his work, but he only calls me for the really good ones. And she is a good one. She's part beagle, part basset hound, part chihuahua and one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met. Oh, and very pregnant. I took her to the shelter, all the while debating whether it was the right thing to do. The shelter takes puppies, but if they are born at the shelter, they generally put them to sleep. So I asked God if I was supposed to take her home, let her have the puppies and then find homes for all of them. When I got to the shelter, it was completely full. They would have probably put her down immediately. So that was that. She's mine for the next couple of months. So if you want a great dog and/or puppy, then let me know!

Anybody watch "Friends" last night? It's a good thing that dadgum show is ending, because I think I am finally "Friends"-out. Last night, I was like, "Good. Just get Ross and Rachel together and END THIS THING." In my opinion, they jumped the shark with the whole "Rachel's pregnant and, by the way, Ross is the father because they slept together when we didn't know about it." That is cheating, by the way. You aren't allowed to make up events after the fact. Geesh. Anyway, I've kept watching because...and this is sad...they have been my friends for ten years. Yes, I admit it. I am emotionally invested in fictional characters. When the show started, they were about my age and in the same spot as me. Didn't know what they were supposed to do with their lives. Drinking way too much coffee. Lookin' for a significant other. They kind of progressed as I progressed.

Now, I am finally to the point where I just want it to hurry up and resolve. Have your baby, Monica! Move to the suburbs, Chandler! Move to Paris, Rachel! (and by the way, why isn't Ross in the least bit upset that Rachel is taking his child all the way to Europe?) Resolution and maturity! Maybe that says something as to where I'm finally at in life.

But I still want Rachel and Ross to get together.

The Big Battle

Yesterday was my husband's birthday and I was a real toot. He is always so nice to me on my birthday (six days earlier). I had a bad day yesterday and I came home and basically took it out on him. On his birthday. We worked it out but I still feel bad.

I went researching yesterday with two members of my team. I always end up in a bad mood after a research day. I figured out why. One) Materialism exhausts me. We flitted in and out of five or six gift shops and such, researching gift bags and journals. Every store had adorable little knickknacks arranged to entice you to buy them. When you are in a cute little boutique, you start drifting into a trancelike, and completely false, mindset. "If I buy this tube of sparkley pink lip gloss, then my life will really be better." I usually come away from these research trips with two or three new pieces of useless doodads. But yesterday, I fought it. Every time the trance began to come over me, I shook it off and tried to think of the estate sale that we had after my grandmother died. Boxes and boxes of my grandma's "precious things" that were essentially fodder for flea marketers.

Two) All day long, I listened to my coworkers badmouthing everyone else we worked with. Hey, I am no saint. It's so easy to participate (especially when you have nothing else in common with your coworkers besides other coworkers) and, for a fleeting moment, it makes you feel better than everyone else. But after awhile, I started feeling icky. So in addition to battling my materialistic tendencies, I spent half of the day struggling to keep from tearing other people down behind their backs. I was completely emotionally exhausted by the time I got home.

I don't know if anyone else struggles with the "talking bad about other people" disease, but I have come to realize that it is one of my greatest battles. I know that pretty much everyone does it, but that doesn't make it right. I've known that it was a problem for a long long time, but I've sort of convinced myself that it wasn't so bad. "Not as bad as being an alcoholic!" I secretly thought. But that's a big fat lie. It is bad. So, this is me, standing up and saying, "My name is Ellen and I criticize other people to make myself feel better." I truly wish that there was a 12 step program for something like this.

A Political Side Note

Jason brought home this survey that "they" (I don't know who "they" are) handed out at his work. You answer all these questions that are reworded from the official Democrat and Republican platforms, whereupon you find out what party you are deep down in the cockles of your heart. I fully expected to come out in the middle. Wrong. I guess I'm a Republican. 15-6. I am one point more Democrat than Jason. I went into the test completely unbiased and I thoroughly thought through every question. I can't remember which questions I differed on....I think they were the health care thing, welfare environmentalism and something to do with social security.

Suicidal Birds and The Third Eye

I think that cardinals are suicidal. I don't know how many of those dadgum birds I have gotten stuck in the grill of my car, but it's been alot. They divebomb the highway! It's like they are headed straight for your wheels. I always feel horrible after I hit one, but I am to the point where I kinda think it's their own fault. I mean, even crows know to fly away from roadkill when a car is coming.

I am supposed to have yoga tonight, but I think that I am quitting. Over the past month or two, Lori, the yoga leader, has gotten increasingly new-agey. I thought that I was the only one noticing it, so I've just done my warrior poses and kept my mouth shut. But I missed last time and Shelley told me this weekend that Lori started talking about "the third eye" or some crap like that. Lori hadn't gotten quite that far the last time I was there, but she was talking about "finding your center and letting it guide you for the rest of the week." And "Let the divine in me greet the divine in you." It would be different if I was going to a yoga center or even a health club. But my yoga class takes place at an Episcopal church. It also bothers me because she's the wife of a Bible professor at the university in our town. It reminds me of reverse Stepford Wives. I don't really know what to make of it. I really like her but I am growing increasingly uncomfortable. It's pretty impossible to relax and do yoga when you are squirming inside. I think I am just going to bow out.

I had a weird thing happen last night. I woke up and thought I saw a figure standing next to the bed. I mean, I seriously thought it was there. I gasped (my natural response to fear) and threw my arms and legs up to protect myself. Jason said, "What's wrong?" About that time, I came to my outward senses and tried to say nonchalantly, "Oh, I thought I saw something." He chuckled at me and fell back asleep. But my inward senses were still very convinced that something tall and creepy was in that room. I peered out of my blankets at the spot where I saw it for about half an hour, fully expecting to have a knife-wielding maniac jump out and slash my chihuahua (who was sleeping peacefully on top of me) in half. I know that people have weird night things happen to them all the time, but this is the first time it's happened to me with that intensity.

Cool Toys

I have the best boss. This morning, he brought in my birthday present. He bought me two new Muppets figures and a little sculpt of Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. She's covered in blood and mad as hell. I put her on the shelf next to my Lance Bass marionette that Shelley bought for me several years ago. I guess the toys officially make up for the fact that he told my whole category I was infertile.

Toto, I Don't Think We're in Arkansas Anymore

XM Radio this morning: (sorry guys, but it's my new toy and I'm obsessed) Michael Jackson's "PYT." He's a creepy weirdo now, but boy, could he ever sing back in the day. I love this song! It brought back 3rd grade memories at the roller rink. We little girls would wait excitedly for the part of the song where he sings, "Pretty Young Things, repeat after me...sing 'na na na na'!" Then we'd all stop eating our cotton candy from the snack bar and repeat "na na na na" for Michael. And I'd always feel slightly embarrassed at the part of the song where he grunts really loud. I knew it was sexual and therefore bad.

It was a good birthday yesterday, save for the tornados swirling all along the perimeter of my town. About 7pm, I gathered all four of the animals and threw them in the bathroom in the middle of the house, and waited for the sirens. Those of you who have not ever lived in Tornado Alley probably don't understand the procedures. In the spring, when the sky starts turning a sickly green color, that's when you turn on the TV. If the newscaster says, "Tornado Watch," you kind of blow it off. "Tornado Warning," that means a tornado has touched down somewhere, so it's time to open the windows (to equalize pressure in case one comes close to your house, so the window panes don't explode all over your living room). "Wall Cloud" means that it's time to gather your pets into the safest room in the house (basement is best, next is a windowless bathroom in the middle of the house.) If you hear sirens, then it's time to go to the safe room, sit in the bathtub and put pillows over your head. If you hear what sounds like a freight train ramming your house, duck and pray.

So that's Twisters 101. I'm sure they have a similiar course called Earthquakes 101 over in California.

Law and Order

This article exactly describes the addiction I feel for Law and Order and all it's spinoffs.

Hey Shorty, It's My Birthday!

To quote 50 Cent (well, sort of, because I don't really know all the words to "In Da Club"): "Hey Shorty, it's my birthday, we're gonna party like it's my birthday, we're gonna sip Bicardi like it's my birthday and you know we don't give a [bleep] cause it's my birthday!"

For some reason, it's always beautiful outside on my birthday. Well, duh, it's April in Arkansas, so that is the prettiest month of the year by default...but I'd like to think that it is due to nature celebrating the birth of Ellen! heh heh

Rebekah just came in and gave me gifts! Woo hoo! I love gifts!

Cat Poo and Looming Motherhood

Love the XM Satelite Radio. Just this morning, heard The Police, "Live at the BBC," Pornos for Pyros "Pets" and Primus "Jerry Was A Race Car Driver." More wheel slapping "Where have these songs been for 10 years?!" type self-muttering.

One thing about getting closer to it being possible that I might actually get pregnant and have a baby....I've discovered that I am kind of freaked out by the thought of it. Couple of thoughts on that. Last night, I had an awful night's sleep. First, before I went to bed, it was discovered that my handi-capable cat, Atticus, had horrible "stinky butt," as I like to call it. So had to give him a bath. It's always traumatic for both him and me. He is the sweetest, easy-going cat in the world. I've never even heard this cat hiss. But when you get him in the tub, he makes this horrible gut-wrenching cry that seriously sounds just like he's saying, "Owwww!!!" Then, during the night, it rained, which always freaks Squirrel out, so he woke me up about three times, thinking he needed to go pee outside. Upon trotting outside, he decided that it was too wet to pee and wanted to go back to bed. AND my cats spent the night pawing at my door, then sleeping on my head purring. Ugh. I was so tired this morning and cranky. Jason said, "If you weren't so nice to them, they'd probably leave you alone more." (He spends alot of time harrassing my animals). Then he said, "You sure you want kids?" And I said, "Bleh. I don't know anymore."

I'm also reading this new book called, The Mommy Myth, and it's getting me pretty riled up. Has anyone else read it? I'm interested to discuss it. It's pretty controversial. For one thing, the writers are no-holds-barred flaming liberal feminists, which doesn't bother me necessarily, except that it's so different than everything that I'm used to. I consider myself a....personist, I guess. I truly believe in equality between the sexes--I was raised to believe that I could do anything a man could do (except perhaps pee my name in the snow.) But I'm not very angry about it. Probably because the women did all the hard work for me in the 70's and I've just reaped the benefits. I'm just not angry at men. I've tried to be angry at men, but I generally like them and don't particularily feel oppressed by them, or the right-wing Republican conspiracy that the writers seem to think is out there. They pretty much suggest that if you aren't a Democrat, pro-choice, working woman, then you aren't a thinking person. You have been duped by the patriarchal conspiracy. Well, I am a thinking person, but I just happen to not agree with some of their beliefs. I wish there was a new category....Republicrats. Sort of a liberal version of Republicans. Pro-environment, pro-life, pro-universal health care, pro-military, pro-education, pro-welfare. I wish it didn't have to be one or the other. And I'm sorry, I just can't throw my vote away on the Green Party.

But I digress. The Mommy Myth. While I may roll my eyes when the writers go off on a sarcastic tangent against Dr. Laura, I agree with most of what they are saying. They are against what they call "The New Momism." Which is basically post-modern motherhood/feminism. Basically, it's smart thinking women saying "Well, I can have it all. But I don't want it all. I just want to be a perfect SuperMom, since that is the only thing good and holy about being a woman." The writers imply that the media has set it up this way. With celebrities like Madonna getting on Oprah and saying, "Motherhood is the only thing that fulfills me." Or Elle MacPherson on the cover of People proclaiming that "Motherhood is sexy." Or Martha Stewart implying that you are a crack whore mother if you don't grind up beets for your child's baby food everyday. Nobody, except maybe Deborah on Everybody Loves Raymond, is telling the truth, which is "Motherhood is HARD" and often thankless.

It opened my eyes, for sure. But it's scaring the crap out of me, because I see it everywhere now. The message that "Your life is fulfilled if you are a mother." When deep down, I know that's crap. The few people that I know that are rebelling against this message (like Shelley or Stacey) seem to feel like they are the lone voices crying in the wilderness. It scares me because I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be one as well.

One more thing, I really love this new website, Natalie Dee. It is not for the faint at heart, but it is one of the few things that has actually made me gasp with laughter.

I went to the Reproductive Endocrinologist yesterday. After I got home, I realized that it felt like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. Partly because of the ease of my doctor. She really listened to me, then she ended up agreeing with my little self-diagnosis. "Sounds like endo. We'll do a laparoscopy and check it out." PLUS, because it is technically checking for the endometriosis, not fertility, insurance will cover it. I just feel so much better. Even if this doesn't result in me getting pregnant, at least I will feel like I am on an even playing field as most other women. That's kind of how I felt when I first went on anti-depressants. "I might not get happy, but at least I have as good a chance as other people."

Couple of thoughts (maybe "Too Much Information" for some, so watch out):

1) Most of the other women in the waiting room looked perplexed and their husbands looked uncomfortable, so Jason and I fit right in.

2) I've never had a female doctor be an actual female before. I've always had male doctors, and never thought twice about it. A doctor is a doctor, no matter what sex. Besides, I thought, a male ObGyn has to look at vaginas all day, so mine is no different than anyone else's. However, I found that I was a lot more relaxed with a female doctor. I had an internal ultrasound done. With a male doctor, I would have been physically uncomfortable (from the slight pain) and a little embarrassed. But with this female doctor, I was just uncomfortable. It's not a pleasant experience in any regard, but it does help a little to have the embarrassment taken off.

3) I've never had Jason go with me to a doctor's appointment before, because I am a big strong independent woman and don't need him, etc. etc. But I found that having him there, just sitting out in the waiting room, was comforting.

Anyway, that's that.

Jason really spoiled me for my birthday (which is Thursday, by the way, Happy Birthday to Moi). He got me the complete Far Side Collection (which I have been drooling over since Christmas) and XM Satelite Radio for my car! I don't know if you guys have tried this, but it is incredible. It's like 200 channels, commercial-free, and you can listen to absolutely anything you want. He's had it for several months and I am addicted to it. My favorite is the 90's station (they have every decade from the 40's to now). I like it because they play all the crap that I remember from my high school days, but radios don't play anymore. Oh sure, radio stations play the "hits" from the 90's, like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" or Hootie and the Blowfish songs. But do they play "Do You Really Want Me" by Salt-N-Pepa? NO. "Round and Round" by Tevin Campbell? NO. But XM does. They play every random song that you can remember. I am constantly startling Jason by yelling "OHMYGOSHITOTALLYFORGOTABOUTTHISSONG!" Now I can yell it by myself in my own car.

Hello. I have two new reviews, thanks to Jason's and I's movie day extravaganza yesterday.

Lots of news. Guess I've been busy.

I can now talk about something that overtook my life for about a month. My sister, Karen, is now engaged, as of Saturday night. She is marrying a lovely, yet obsessive, man named Bill. This Bill emailed me about seventeen times a day for the past month, needing advice, opinions and planning for the said engagement and post proposal party, involving about 30 people at my house. There was alot of lying and throwing Karen off track. Now, I was all for it, but by Saturday night, I was a wee bit glad she finally had the ring on her finger. After all was said and done, I told Bill, "Please do not get me this involved when you decide to have children."

I had a four day weekend. Friday was Good Friday. I work for a Christian company, so we always get it off. I figure that it makes up for the fact that we don't get Martin Luther King Jr. Day off. Mondays are my day off. It really only felt like a two day weekend, because I spent most of Friday and Saturday planning and worrying and cleaning for the party. Parties don't come easy for me, as I wrote about after the baby showers. I'm usually all for "Let's just meet at Red Lobster and let them wait on us." Then, if you are on neutral territory, you are free to leave when your introverted self gets overloaded.

I went to see my ObGyn yesterday. I have an RE (Reproductive Endocrinologist) appointment set up for next week, but I guess I wanted permission to go or something. I felt disloyal because I love my OB so much. He is so cool. He sat down and talked to me for 45 minutes. He basically said that he could help us through infertility and do tests and treatments and all that, but he would feel alot better if we went to an RE. He doesn't want us to ever feel like he wasted our time and money. I felt a little better afterwards and a little worse. Part of me wanted to hear him say, "You know, I think we should try this little magic pill that I keep hidden over in this drawer, that I only give my special patients." But I knew he wouldn't. He just told me, "Obviously, something is wrong. With everything that you are doing and we've tried, you should be pregnant by now. You need to see a specialist." I knew that was the truth, but it was still hard to hear. I had just had a really hard weekend. I had one more cycle before I saw all the doctors, and it was my first in awhile without the drugs. I guess I was hoping for a miracle. You hear stories like that. "I was almost ready to give up and BAMMO we got pregnant on accident." So I kept thinking, "Maybeeeee....." No dice. AF ("Aunt Flo") visited on Saturday. Ironically, she was discovered right as I was taking a pregnancy test. That seemed especially cruel.

I know in my heart that something is wrong, but I just deluded myself this last time that... "maybe."

I've been feeling pretty angry at God lately. I used to think that it wasn't allowed to be mad at God. But I figure if God can love mass murderers, he can still love me if I screech, "I am MAD MAD MAD at you!" and throw pregnancy tests against bathroom walls. After alot of thought yesterday, I realized why I have been angry. I have had some faulty assessments about him in the back of my head. I believe in grace and all of that, but I think that deep down, in the dark recesses of my mind, I have been believing that if I am a good, perfect Christian girl, then God will take care of me and give me all the good things in life. A fabulous career, sweet little babies, a clean home, a debt-free life. And after more thought, I realized that is completely wrong. For one thing, I know plenty of people, who God loves, who have really shitty things happen to them. Disease, infertility, loneliness. And I know plenty of people, who are fairly selfish and rotten, who seem to have all their heart's desires. Our relationship with God does not have anything to do with shit happening or not happening.

I guess I acknowledged this in my head, but not in my heart. It's probably pretty basic knowledge to most people. I think that I didn't want to accept that shit happens and I don't know why. It obviously doesn't have anything to do with whether or not you are on God's "good side" or how much he loves you or whatever. Everytime someone told me about their new pregnancy, I think my brain processed it as "God must love them more than me." It just hasn't been making sense in my head, why I can't have what I want the most. It hasn't seemed like an unfair request-- having a baby. Other people have them. It hasn't seemed fair. But life is not fair. I can't control it and I don't understand it.

So shit happens. And I don't know why.

Jason bought me the "Starsky and Hutch" soundtrack. It has the song, "Afternoon Delight" by the Starland Vocal Band on it. While we were listening to it, Jason asked, "What does that mean....'afternoon delight'?" I told him that it meant sex in the afternoon. He listened some more and asked, "What does it mean 'sky rockets in flight'?" I thought about it and I really don't know. I think that it might mean something really unladylike to talk about. Anyway, it truly is a bizarre song. It's talking about hot and heavy SEX and it's this little peppy song with what sounds like the Mandrell sisters in the background.

We cut Squirrel's nails last night, Jason and I. Boy, was it ever an ordeal. Jason got him and held him down on a pillow while I cut his nails. He thrashed and screamed. Seriously. It sounded like a baby screaming. I'm sure the neighbors heard and thought we were killing someone. But those nails are cut.

I think when he jumped off of the groomer's table yesterday, he hurt his little leg. He's been hopping around on three legs so pathetic. It makes me feel awful. I ended up giving him pepperoni because I felt so sorry for him.

Well, I quickly got my come-uppance from my parental skills-judging last post. I took my awful chihuahua to the groomers over lunchtime, to get his nails cut. The last time his nails were trimmed, it was Christmas, and it was such a harrowing experience, Jason and I have been avoiding it ever since. He now looks like Lady Deathstrike from X-Men, and there's no avoiding it.

So I took him in, and warned the lady that he probably needed to be muzzled, and she might need a few extra people to hold him down. She took one look at my 6 pound dog and, with amused eyes, told me that she'd be fine. She left the room with him, so I went to the Post Office.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrived back at the groomers, peeking my head cautiously around the kennel door. She practically pounced on me. "Has anyone else ever cut that dog's nails before?!" "No...." I said, wondering what atrocities had just occurred. She said, "I've never seen anything like him in all my years of dog grooming!"

Apparently, Squirrel wouldn't even let her get the muzzle on him. He almost bit her, got loose, ran into a corner and peed all over everything. He basically went ballistic. I groaned. She managed to wrangle him into a cage, where he stood cowering until I picked him up. She said, "Good luck with that" and pretty much hinted that my little 6 pound tornado wasn't welcome back to her shop.

I called Jason and he said, "Well, you're his mother. You must have made him this way." I know he was joking, but argh!!! I am the worst dog mother! I am so mortified! I guess it was justice.

Yesterday was my day off. I could really really get used to it. So nice.

After cleaning the house, I went over to the town that is thirty minutes away to hang out. My town is very small. Not even a movie theater. (But, of course, a Walmart. I also live forty-five minutes away from Walmart Headquarters, so our area has a Walmart on every street corner.) Anyway, I went and had lunch in the food court of the mall. I've discovered that, when you've got to eat alone, malls are good places to do so. Not that I am afraid to eat alone, but in a mall, most of the people are eating alone, I've noticed. You don't even have to have the required "reading material" to shield you from prying eyes ("Why's that poor girl eating alone? Oh, she's reading. Well, that means she wants to be alone, so that's socially okay.") It's also fun to people watch. The boyfriend/girlfrind duo with his hand on her butt, the butt that has been yanked into too-tight jeans. The tired stay-at-home mom with her kids, out at the mall to simply get out of the house. The beauty counter ladies in their little black smocks, on break from Dillard's, smoking and talking on a cell phone.

I also went to Target. (WARNING: Parenting skills rant ahead) Everywhere I went, it seemed that these two moms with their two kids were five feet away from me. Their kids were horrible horrible horrible. After awhile, I became curious, so I started dropping eaves. Here is the basic whatnot of it:

(Kids basically act bratty)
One of the moms (I can't really tell them apart--one is blonde, the other brunette): Do you want to go to the bathroom?
Kid: No. Why?
Mom: To get a spanking.
Kid: No. I don't want a spanking.
Mom: Well, you're going to get one if you don't stop it.
Kid: I'm gonna take YOU to the bathroom.
Mom: What?
Kid: I'm gonna spank you!
Mom: That's it! You're getting a spanking! You're going to the bathroom!
(Mom keeps looking at comforters.)
(Kid continues to act awful. I notice that the scene is repeated several more times, different mother each time. Blonde mom's cell phone rings and she answers.)
Mom: (yak yak yak)
(Kid hollers)
Mom: You be quiet or you're going to get a spanking right now!
Kid: No, you're gonna get the spanking!
Mom: This is your father on the phone and he says that you are going to get a spanking when you get home.
Kid: No, HE'S gonna get a spanking.
(Mother continues talking, and it is obvious that it is not actually the child's father.)

Here's my problem with the whole scenario.

1) No follow-through. I know that it sucks to have to leave what you are doing to go spank or discipline, but these moms had no control AT ALL. Their kids had learned a long time ago that mom doesn't follow up on threats.

2) I felt my blood surge when that child told his mom that he was going to spank her. And she just ignored it! That sort of sass talk would last one round with me. He would get the biggest spanking with that disrespect.

3) Using Dad as the baddie. I'm sorry but I can spank just as well as a man.

Sorry, I know that people are probably saying, "You just wait!"

The baby showers are over, thank goodness. I've gotten better at enjoying social activities, but boy, do they ever wear me out. I could spend hours talking to one person in a coffee shop, but small talking with fifteen people at a shower almost does me in. After the shower yesterday, I got home at 1:30, crawled in bed and fell asleep for three hours. (which I needed, but resulted in getting a crappy night's sleep last night)

It was a fun shower, if I do say so myself. My two friends are due about a week or so apart, in May. My biggest worry was that Stephanie (the gregarious extrovert) would get alot more presents than Sunny (very shy introvert). Stephanie had invited about twenty people, while Sunny only gave me two names. But thankfully, everyone who came shopped for both. They both seemed pretty happy and overwhelmed by all of it. An artist friend of mine painted Stephanie a little picture with her future daughter's name on it, and Steph started crying. I remember feeling that way at some of my wedding showers. Like, "You guys did all of this for me?"

I realized something, also. Rebekah and I officially threw the party, but my sister, Karen, helped tremendously. She made the punch, planned a shower game and made these little cheese puffs. I thought back and I remember now that when I helped throw Steph's wedding shower a year ago, Karen came and helped me also. I think that I really depend on her to help get me through "girlie stuff." I just don't know that stuff; it doesn't come naturally for me. Throwing showers, buying clothes, picking out nail polish. All that crap. Karen is usually the one who has to forceably take an old article of clothing from my possession and say, "You are not allowed to wear this anymore" or "Ellen, you cannot leave the house wearing an orange sock and a pink one." During college, I went through a stage where I cut my own bangs. Karen finally told me that the scissors were off limits and to go make a hair appointment. Looking back on the pictures, it is a good thing that she did, because if she didn't, I'd probably be bald to this day.

On the other side, she depends on me for important useless knowledge and blunt life advice. Sometimes I get calls at 11pm from Karen, needing me to solve an argument with her boyfriend. When she needs to know who sang, "Hold Me Now," I can tell her, "The Thompson Twins, and no, they were not related, and yes, there were actually three of them." And when she is having a nervous breakdown, I can tell her, "Dude, you need to quit working at SteinMart because it is full of soul-sucking society women in cheap name brand clothes."

Rebekah just asked me what BFN meant. She was on a blog and read that. (it's when you take a pregnancy test and it's a "Big Fat Negative")

It got me thinking about all the fertility lingo I've picked up over the past year or so. It's like another secret language that you have to learn in order to communicate on the internet message boards:

BFP= Big Fat Positive
TTC= Trying to Conceive
2WW= Two Weeks Wait
PG= Pregnant
BD= Baby Dance (i.e. "Have Sex")
TMI= Too Much Information
DH= Dear Husband
DS= Dear Son
DD= Dear Daughter
OPK= Ovulation Predictor Kit
HPT= Home Pregnancy Test
FRE= First Response Early (the pregnancy test of choice)
CBE= Clear Blue Easy (also a popular brand)
TCOYF= Taking Charge of Your Fertility (the "bible" of fertility knowledge)
POAS= Pee on a Stick
BB= Big Boobies
O'ed= Ovulated
AF= Aunt Flo
DPO= Days Past Ovulation
M/S= Morning Sickness
IVF= In Vitro Fertilization
IUI= Interuterine Insemination
"caught the eggie"= you got pregnant
"sticky vibes"= not resulting in miscarriage
"baby dust"= Good luck getting pregnant
"Obsession Buddy"= someone who ovulated on the same day as you
SIL= Sister in Law (everyone trying to get pregnant seems to be in competition with their sister in law)

It took me a long time to learn all this stuff. And it's funny, because after you know it, that's the way you think. I've actually refered to Jason as my "DH" in a conversation. And I think that term is STUPID.

I know. It's totally nuts.

I think that one reason that I've been wanting a baby so badly is those intolerably adorable baby items. Rebekah, Karen and I went to Target last night to shop for the baby shower that we are throwing for our two friends on Saturday. Baby stuff in general is adorable, but when you add the style of Target to it, it's a cuteness explosion. I've never been one for licensed characters, but they have this Classic Pooh line that is precious (ugh. Did I just say "precious"?) And everything is so damn soft. Everything I picked up I wanted to throw in my cart and take home to sleep with at night.

During dinner, we discussed adoption. My sister, Karen, works for an adoption agency and she has a boatload of heartwrenching stories. She told us the story of this little Russian 4 year old who was finally going to get adopted. He was so excited that he asked the people at the orphanage if they would get him a little suit to wear to meet his new parents. The day that he was supposed to meet them, they backed out and decided not to adopt him. So there is this little expectant orphan waiting for them with his little suit, and they never came. ARGH. Isn't that horrendously heartbreaking?

Apparently, Orlando Bloom is shooting a movie in a little Ozark mountain town near where I live. On the radio this morning, someone called in and was screeching "I saw him! He waved at me! EEEEEEEEE!!!" Now, I am as Orlando infatuated as the next person, but only in fantasy make-believe land. Like in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. I would go through the little hole in the wall on the toy train and pop out in a world full of Orlando Blooms living in trees near my castle. But I started thinking about this radio listener's reaction. It struck me as really really weird in the general scheme of life. I mean, he's just a Joe Schmo like the rest of us. All of those celebrities are. They have to poop and shave and die like everyone else. I wonder how surreal that would be to have someone faint if I looked at them. It must be bizarre....and really difficult not to get a big head.

Would I react that way if Orlando Bloom waved at me from his limo? After much soul searching (or maybe a couple of minutes worth), I realized that, no, I would not. For one thing, I'm actually a fairly shy and easily embarrassed person when it comes to stuff like that. I would never approach someone who's famous, mainly because I know that I would just be another in the long stream of fans wanting to bask in their glory. Maybe it's because I'm vain and self-absorbed and I want to be "special." I don't like that idea of being completely forgettable. And what good is an autograph, really? It seems pretty silly, when you think about it.

I don't know, maybe there are a few people that I would approach....but people who had truly influenced my life and I'd want to tell them that. C.S. Lewis. Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss). Gary Larson. Oh, I know! Berkeley Breathed. I would totally make a nuisance of myself with him. He is the cartoonist of "Bloom County" which was an enormous influence on me, creatively.

It's interesting to think about who you would actually make a fool of yourself for.