Mean Girl to the Rescue!

How'm I gonna save the world when the world ain't ready?

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Green apples, eh?

I just have to share the spam I just got on my work account with you guys. Mostly I get boring spam, but this one is almost poetic.

I gotta tell you something. Some years ago I used to watch porno often. I always admired those guys cumming. They splashed out so much sperm on their girls, it looked so cool, so manlike.

Now I have a girlfriend.. but quantity of my sperm was so scanty, that I felt ill at ease.
I was advised to eat green apples but even this didn't help.

A month ago I was hanging around at the bar with my best friend. And he said that I should try MAX LOADS. Well, - I thought, - sounds interesting.

Next day I came to know that it was really a highly effective all-natural dietary supplement,
which not only increases the sperm volume but also improves the sperm quality and the mobility of spermatozoa.
Having ordered and tried I was shocked how cool it was.
I'd even say, it changed my life. I'm happy. I even became a better lover, knowing how it all would end.

God only knows what's going to show up on my referring stats after this one. That'll be another blog post.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

In which my heart grows two sizes

My internet pal, Tits McGee, was kind enough to send me something super-cool in the mail. I sent her a jar of hot pepper jelly a week or so back, after she jokingly said I should send her some for her birthday come Fall. And hot damn if she didn't turn that shit right around and send me something back! I have to say, it really made my day.

Here is the package, carefully wrapped and sent the quick way.

Here is the opening of the package, stage one (I used to be one of those kids who tears the paper off presents and flings it with glee, but in my dotage I've become one of those annoying slooowww openers of items, not to mention a saver of pretty giftwrap. I about drove the folks at my wedding showers nuts. I was insistent that I would line my drawers with the paper, though of course I haven't yet. Too l-a-z-y.)

And inside that cute little tissue paper envelope with a baby Easter egg on it? BUNNIES! According to Tits, the bunnies are a sort of fetility good luck charm used by her and her sister-in-law. Within six weeks of obtaining the bunnies, she was preggo. And since I am already wearing a Saint Gerard medal in order to spook God into zapping me with child, why not add to the superstition? The bunnies are resting comfortably at my bedside on the window sill, away from the madding crowd of the kitchen and the furious paws of Bailey the cat.

Thank you, Tits! I am very, very touched. And my stony heart doesn't thaw too easily these days, so this is quite a coup.

People, people who hate people

I was just reading Melissa's comments on hating the general public and their assy ways, and it struck me that I should take a moment to share my most recent people-hating experience, mostly because I back-talked a guy in the supermarket, for once, rather than letting him be rude to me without a churlish response.

I was in my local grocery store, returning my glass milk bottle for a $1.75 deposit and waiting for the tall, heavyset man in front of me (and his shopping cart) to pass through the aisle and out the other side, where he could go down the back aisle and exit the store. He had been waiting for a new "Fresh Club" card, and had already asked repeatedly about getting a card for his wife (oh my God, someone is chained to you for life, sir?) and grunted in dismay that the check cashing privileges were for employees only (though, in fairness, that fact was not evident on the form).

But anyhoo, he didn't sally forth to the back aisle when he was through, he did a little shimmy with his cart, trying to squeeze past it and advancing towards me. There were people behind me, too. Was he going to squeeze past all of us?

"Are you looking to get out?" I enquired of him.
He stopped shimmying for a second. "Well, hmmmm ... I don't know yet. I guess ... I am." The shimmying recommenced.
I stared at him for a second, waiting for him to say something, anything else. But that was it.
"'Excuse me' works," I shot at him, as I stepped to the side. He and his cart bobbled past me without a word, or even a dirty look. Sheesh. People need to learn the Supermarket Code of Behavior.

Thursday, April 20, 2006


So, yesterday Booby and I went to New York to see a taping of The Colbert Report. I know a few of you out there are fans, so I thought I'd recap the glorious event. In the grand TV Guide tradition, I thought it might best be summed up by "Cheers" and "Jeers."

CHEERS to Arabella and her husband, who cheerfully agreed to accompany us to the show after Booby's friend had to bag out last-minute.

JEERS to the asinine P.A. who refused to let Arabella join her husband, Booby, and myself in line at two minutes after six (the line closed at six; her train sat at a platform for several minutes, rendering her a little late). Way to be drunk with power and fuck up my outing with my friends, sister. Our friends had to miss the show and go home and hang a lamp instead of hanging out with us.

CHEERS to getting a seat in the second row, right alongside the little hallway from whence Mr. Colbert emerges. He's not as boyish as he looks on TV, ladies. But he did wear a nice suit.

JEERS to the five frat boys who repeatedly shouted WOOOOOOO!!!, YEAH!!!, DUDE!!! and WE LOVE YOU STEPHEN, at the very top of their beer 'n' whiskey soaked lungs. Seriously, do you need to bring a fifth of rotgut into the taping of a TV show?

CHEERS to the coffee place two blocks away whose delicious vanilla latte provided the caffeine necessary to free me from the bondage of my aching head after three acetaminophen and two advils failed as I stood in line.

JEERS to being made to wait in an anteroom of the studio for half an hour, where we all had to stand, and the only entertainment was Jeopardy! with the sound turned off and scathing people-watching/commentary (if you're me).

JEERS to the strangely surrendered Caitlin Flanagan, Stephen's guest last night. I haven't read Ms. Flanagan's book or her articles. In fact, bad feminist that I am, I hadn't even heard of her until yesterday. After seeing her odd performance on The Colbert Report, though, I am a little curious about her. Stephen tried to play off like she was kidding along with him when he addressed the crowd after the show, but I have to say, she seemed rather fervently serious while he was being sarcastic and playful. Maybe I'm suddenly a poor judge of sarcastic tone. And don't get me started about a writer who claims to be a stay-at-home mom (because she only writes while the kids are at school). I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks about this woman.

Fun Fact 1: "Bobby the Cameraman" isn't really a cameraman. He's Eric Drysdale, one of the show's writers. Ahh, all my illusions have been shattered.

Fun Fact 2: The crowd was warmed up by comedian Drew Fraser for half an hour before the show began. He was OK, and even rather funny at times. He also complimented my engagement ring, oddly enough, as he stood next to my seat when taping began.

Stephen Colbert to audience member who admitted, during the Q&A session prior to the show's beginning, to missing some of the shows: "There's the door, motherfucker."

P.A. to audience before she let us into the studio: "We really, really want you to clap and scream and yell while you're in there, OK, you guys? Stephen really feeds off your energy." That made me feel like he was going to suck out my life force and leave my corporeal body a dry, dead husk, but whatever.

**Update** Here's a link to a great story about Caitlin Flanagan in Elle magazine (Elle? Who knew?). After reading it, I'm pretty sure Ms. Flanagan is a hypocrite.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

God Mocks Me

Number of women affiliated with my workplace who are currently pregnant: 5
Number of women in my in-law family who are currently pregnant: 3
Number of friends who are currently pregnant: 1 (Congratulations, Stacey!)
Number of conversations I have about my own infertility each week with various people: at least 3
Number of times people with young children have sat next to me in the park this week: 3, and the week's only halfway done

Needless to say, the IUI I had two weeks ago wasn't a smashing success. I've crawled into a little hole and I might not be out again for awhile, until something happens to cheer me up. Luckily, the days are getting longer and warmer, so it probably won't be too long.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Keeping up the bad work

Work has been kicking my ass, and as much as I would really, really like to talk about that, I don't wish to be fired or sued for slander (libel? I always forget which is which), so instead I'll tell you a story about a past job that was one of the most awful professional experiences of my life.

Several years ago, I was working as an event planner of sorts for a small start-up that found itself in financial hot water, and I was laid off that December (while my dim but bouncy coworker, over whom I had seniority, finagled a job in another department). I had loved this job more than any other I'd had, and I was very distressed; my boss was great, my commute was great, my pay was decent, and I liked the work. I had endless visions of eating macaroni and cheese and ramen for dinner every night as I struggled to survive on minimal unemployment checks. Panic was setting in. I felt all itchy. Clearly, I had to get another job, and fast.

I then remembered an Association Management company my sister had worked for about 10 years before. It had been her last job before she got pregnant and she ended up never returning, but I knew she had freelanced for them a bit, and that she had really enjoyed the job. The work entailed a lot of travel and attention to detail, just the sort of thing I was used to. I sent them my resume and mentioned my sister's name in my cover letter. I got a call soon after, interviewed and accepted the job, along with a sweet little pay raise.

My first clue that something was rotten in Denmark was the conversation I had with the woman I was replacing.
"Why are you leaving?" I asked her, while she was showing me where all the files was stored.
"I have a better opportunity at [Competitor Management Firm], but ... well, I might as well tell you that Jon has something to do with it." Jon was the guy I was to be working directly under.

You know it's bad when this is happening on your first day of work.

She went on to tell me some stories about Jon's poor sense of humor, his insistence on discussing religion (he was an Orthodox Jew), his tendency to micromanage. He can't be that bad, can he? I thought. She mentioned her coworker, who had deliberately transferred to another department to escape Jon. Maybe they're just really sensitive, I told myself.

OH, HOW WRONG I WAS. Jon discussed his dietary requirements with me. We had the option of eating a catered lunch*, for which we paid a monthly stipend, and he informed me whenever the food wasn't Kosher, also giving me a detailed explanation of Kosher law. He also operated under the assumption than anyone who was Jewish also kept Kosher.
He mentioned that one of the associations we worked with sent us a fresh evergreen wreath every Christmas, and then invited me to take possession of it when it next arrived (it was then January, mind you, I had worked there for about a week), since he was Jewish. He repeated this offer about every two weeks.

He regularly took medication for allergies in an ostentatious, slurping display which left drool on his chin. He discussed his ingrown toenail to anyone who had the misfortune to pass by, and even removed his shoe and sock to examine and tend to it. Sadly for me, my desk was about 5 feet away from his.

He reamed me out for being five minutes late on ONE occasion, and then two days later showed up twenty minutes late because he was dropping his daughter off at nursery school.

He eavesdropped on my personal phone conversations (which were few, believe me) and then fake-jokingly discussed them with me. This was especially nasty because the call in question had been about a current relationship. I remember standing next to my desk, saying, "You listened to my phone call?"
His reply? "I couldn't help but overhear you!" I had spoken in relatively hushed tones because we worked in an open-plan office which was basically a converted house.

It was not unusual for him to pop up over my shoulder as I worked so he could second-guess everything I was doing, from menu-planning ("You can't have bacon in the hors d'ouvres!") to faxing ("Are you sure you're using the correct codes?"), sometimes even going so far as to take the work away from me and redo it himself. He was the very definition of micro-management.

Finally, in a bid to keep him from looking over my shoulder every five minutes, I asked that my desk be turned around so that I faced out from my cube instead of in. This was a major undertaking, because it had to be approved by the powers that be, and then planned out and a date scheduled (for turning a desk! It had seemed simple enough to me). I suffered some more at Jon's hands, until at last my desk was turned.

Wouldn't you know that the next week I got another (really good) job offer? I can't tell you the soaring feeling of freedom I experienced when I wordlessly placed my resignation letter in Jon's in-tray, two months after starting the job.

*We were encouraged to spend our paltry 45-minute lunch hour (business hours began at 8:45 a.m., too, so they squeeeezed an extra half hour out of us - sneaky, huh?) in the wood-paneled lunch room, so we could "network" with our coworkers. Most of my coworkers were middle-aged and boring, and talked about their boring kids all the time (keep in mind, I was under 30 when I had this job, which may account for my poor attitude, but these people really were pretty lifeless). If I brought my lunch, it was a Big Event, and everyone would ask me what it was and how did I cook it. If I brought a book and tried to read, they would ask me about the book. Was it a good one? Who wrote it? What's it about? Eventually, I gave up and started eating at my desk, becuase I am a misanthrope, apparently. Shocking, no?

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Does anyone know how to determine what are "good" levels of estrogen and progesterone for two weeks post-IUI? I have been scouring the internet to no avail. The doctor gave me numbers and, of course, I wish to obsess over them.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Grand Funk Railroad

I've been in a rather long funk lately, not dissimilar to the funks you've probably seen all over the Blogosphere, and largely owing to the misery of an interminable winter. But now, it would seem that Spring has sprung, and so I must dust off my more cheerful self and force her to come out of hibernation. She's kicking and struggling all the way.

One way I've been trying to embrace the better weather is by gardening. At long last, we had decent enough weather for me to go out and dig in the dirt without 3 layers on. The orders I'd placed many months ago for bulbs and plants arrived within days of one another and forced me to deal with them. In the last week, I've planted muscari, "Black satin" viola and ranunculus (I've never been able to get them to grow, and I just found out you're supposed to soak the corms first, too late for this planting unless I dig 'em up), and held myself in check at Lowe's long enough to buy only a strawberry jar, 9 red leaf lettuce plants, 6 broccoli plants, and a "lemon boy" tomato plant. I know, buying the plants is cheating, but my seed starting has gotten off to a rocky beginning. I am having measured success with zucchini (damn, those things grow quickly!), cauliflower, cerinthe, and the Mr. Stripey, Brandywine, pink cherry, and regular cherry varieties of tomatoes (plus some roma tomato seedlings my cousin-in-law gifted me with). I failed miserably with pumpkin (absolutely ZERO seedlings! And the seeds are not old), radish (they grew faster than I could pot them up individually, also I am totally lazy), cucumber (only one sprouted, and I killed it with my love, evidently), and broccoli (hence the plants I bought). I'm still waiting on my seedlings from half a dozen of hot and sweet peppers (we are fans of hot food in this house, plus I want to try my hand at making hot pepper/fruit jelly this Fall). I also planted a mammoth (so-called, I reserve my assessment until I see the results) red raspberry, which I am hoping like hell the starlings don't get to. I've attempted these before and they've always been eaten by the birds - I guess this is the year I buy netting to keep them off.

I figure this is the best way to ensure a steady supply of organic produce for the season. The second-best way is a membership in the Red Earth Farm buying club. I've written about buying clubs before, and I have immensely enjoyed my participation in the Winter Harvest program I participated in this year (I'm now hooked on blue and brown eggs -- pretty! and Booby is addicted to apple snitz). My pal Tony has also written about getting a regular delivery of organic fresh produce, and he includes a link to Local Harvest, which will show you which farmers' markets, co-ops, and even online stores are available to you, nationwide. Score! I probably linked to this before, but what the hell, I think it's so cool.