Hockey Night

I am not allowed to use self-tanner. My addiction and subsequent orangeness led J to encourage me towards skin cancer rather than look at THAT anymore.

But even at my worst moments I never approached the tangerine shade of the damn Oompa Loompa girl seated next to us at the hockey game last night. She may have been a lovely girl, I couldn't tell you because remember those tell all books about the Patridge Family and the girl that only ate carrots? This girl was kicking the shit out of that color. And she and her little boyfriend didn't watch a moment of the game they were too busy talking on their cell phones. WTF is that? I don't get going to an event and spending the whole time on the phone.

After the game we went to a bar with some of J's friends from work. One of the new gentlemen he works with, who is like fifty and British, spent the whole time staring at my tits and calling me "love"--normally I would find that charming but meh. Not so much YO. STOP LOOKING AT MY BREASTS OLD MAN.

Occasionally I would look over pleadingly at J who was engrossed with other people and for some reason they were feeling each other's underwear lines? Maybe I don't want to know actually.

It is a testament to how uptight I am that I would never go out like that with people from my office. Sure, I've gone out for drinks but I would never get drunk. Even though it was rather refreshing to see their bookish accountant start head banging her head to Guns and Roses. You can take the girl out of Bellingham but you can't take the Bellingham out of the girl.

Exhaling Slowly

I finally went the infertility specialist today. Something I have been dreading for about two years. I can't explain why I was so afraid to go some place where some one might actually help us. I suppose it is about shame and a fear that something is more wrong than we know.

It helped that the same doctor that did my D&C, who was so kind and funny, is the specialist. But I still ended up crying in her office for no damn reason.

Nothing unexpected happened during the visit. But just getting through it was an exhale of a lot of bullshit.

Plus the day was gorgeous and I didn't go to work.

Worrying About A Lot Of Things

The world is spinning. Well I suppose it always spins, at least according to science and all, but the sinuses are just fucking with me and I feel all light headed.

I suppose teenagers everywhere are stealing good pharmaceuticals and huffing all sorts of glues in order to get this feeling and I should just roll with it.

Of course I have been dealing with a massive project that has huge financial impacts for my job all week so being dizzy and out of it is just really excellent timing. Let me spend millions of dollars when I really shouldn't even be driving a car.

On the other hand, it is sort of awesome to feel drunk at work.

My performance review at work is coming up (what a segue! and awesome timing with the drunken feeling!). I'm a little panicked. I never once worried about my report card growing up but somehow the grown up version always makes my stomach drop straight past my knees, bounce off of the ground and whacks me in the nose. I am always semi-convinced that I am going to get fired even if I am doing a good job (long time readers will remember that this actually happened to me so I mean my nerves are not totally insane) and honestly sometimes it is hard to know how good of a job you are doing. So yes. PLEASE LET ME NOT GET FIRED AND ALSO A RAISE WOULD BE GOOD.

Tomorrow is my infertility appointment where I go and beg and plead and say please just help me I promise I will not let my baby drown in the toilet. Think that tactic will work? I'm worried that the doctor won't help me because obviously I can get pregnant or that something will be terribly wrong. I am just working myself up over the unknown of it all and even though I know that is pointless I am still doing it.

With all this working you would think I would break a sweat and wear leg warmers.

Why Are There No Snarky Old Ladies On The Muppet Show?

You know those old crabby men muppets? The ones that make snide comments about what is happens to Kermit and Piggy and all that foolishness? Well besides the fact that those men are my soul mates they have huge wrinkly crevices in their faces. So deep that I am sure the crumbs from their daily Twinkies get all stuck and nasty in them. At least they have a fucking excuse being old and made of foam and all.

So why do I have those same damn crevices in my face? My sinuses are SWOLLEN y'all. And J has a sore throat and we are the most pitiful couple in America. In fact he is chomping at the bit to go to bed right now.

It is eight thirty.

I need to go clean the crumbs out of my wrinkles before I go to bed. Girl has to take care of her complexion.

Where My Housewifery Bores The Internet

The one casualty in our move a year and a half ago was our microwave cart. All things considered I didn't care at all, since the damn thing was free to begin with, and I didn't have to carry one box during The Move That Ate My Brain, Spat Me Out And Made Me Swear With God As My Witness That I Shall Die In This House. By the time that move was over I was happy to prop up my now busted microwave cart with a roll of painter's tape and call it good.

But I really hated that microwave cart.

It was innocuous enough. Plain blond wood. Knife block on one side. But it wasn't very functional and the thing just bugged me for some reason.

In my tee tiny kitchen there are about five cabinets. You think I am kidding but then you probably are not crazy enough to live in a house from 1916 with the original kitchen. I mean we have new appliances and floors and countertops but the cabinets are original. And for some reason we cook differently then the Warehouser executives that used to stay in this home. I am far from a gourmet cook but even my pots and pans could not be housed easily in the cabinets with our food and other dishes.

You would think in a solid marriage that where to store pots and pans would be a minor thing.

You would be wrong. SO WRONG.

I will not go into details except to say that J was unreasonable on the subject just as he is unreasonable on the subject of french toast (I know most people were brought up as SAVAGES and savages put syrup on their french toast but one would think that once you see the light of sugar and cinnamon that savages would become civilized but NOOOOOOO) and we just threw the damn things around and crammed everything where it would fit.

We needed storage. And also a life because seriously, this bothered us entirely too much.

But I solved everything by putting up industrial metal shelving (assembled by my OH SO CAPABLE two hands) yesterday. Now there is a place to put the microwave and sodas and the crock pot and all the pots and pans and cooking utensils. It is like the heavens opened up and little angels came down to brush the tangles out of my snarly-ass hair (pain free!). Places to put things.

Until Buster started barking at it.

He did it a little bit last night but when I got home from work today Buster just started barking and barking at that wall. There is nothing else there so apparently it is a chrome alien sent to suck out our souls.

Which is fine with me honestly, as long as my soul continues to have a place to put my pots and pans.

Fine Internet, You Win

Please ignore the weird scab under my lip. That was a crusty thing that exploded on my mirror yesterday.

It is blended nicely now but notice the VERY BRIGHT and almost golden top vs the beige ends? If the whole caboodle was the end color I would be delighted but well. . .

FUCK YOU GARNIER.

Of Art and Awkward Moments

I know that there is nothing more boring than some one writing about their dreams on the internet but I am totally going to fucking write about my dreams on the internet.

I have a lot of dreams about Art Alexakis (for those of you not clicking he is the lead singer of Everclear). Many of them are wildy inappropriate and several are not exactly rated PG-13. I am not sure when I became such a freaking groupie but at least these are sex dreams about some one I find attractive (unlike the alarming number I have about Pavarotti, most of which I am struggling underneath his fat ass but not oddly not screaming NO as I should be). But two days ago I had the delightful dream that Art came over and baked cookies with me (he enjoys my butterscotch and cinnamon oatmeal cookies as WELL HE SHOULD). After we had made several dozen and drank a bunch of wine he leans over to me and whispered to me, "I really love your blog."

That's hot people.
***
We got free tickets to the beginning of the WHL playoffs tonight. And I had one of the most excruciatingly awkward moments possible. The other two people with J's company tickets were a couple that I spent a lot of time with at his company holiday party. Well actually just with the wife, and since J had told the world that I was pregnant she and I talked quite a bit about it. And I could tell she was a little puzzled that I am obviously no longer pregnant.

And I had to tell her. And she felt bad. And she kept saying over and over how sorry she was. And my urge was to tell her I was fine. I mean I am. I am certainly not happy about it, and it isn't really ok but I guess I am ok. But I just felt bad because I made her feel bad about making me feel bad and damn that is just a stupid situation.

It's not her fault. She wasn't trying to hurt my feelings. There is no right thing to say.

But somehow we just ended up sitting there, not really looking at each other for a long time afterwards.

Better Than Hair

Y'all are relentless. I didn't take photos of the damn tragic hair but maybe I will take a picture of the end result. And maybe you can reassure me. Since I made my pal L sprint down the stairs before my meeting in order to check it out.

I will say that he told me that it would look better as it grew out a bit and the colors blended with washing. So far that seems to be true (I washed it tonight) but I have to admit I am a little sensitive about it. One, I hate being the kind of vain-assed person who cares about her hair this much. Two, I spent a bunch of money on getting it fixed and even though it is immeasurably better (and FUCK dude he made miracles happen) it bugs me a bit that it doesn't look that great. And since I have been in a meeting for two days (including a late night nonsense thing last night) I am worn OUT. Which I think is making me obsess about this a little more than is healthy.

Moving on. MAYBE.
***
I was watching Clean House (which I mainline like it is some sort of home organization drug--or it will inoculate me from becoming my mother) and I feel guilty but there was this little girl on there, she's maybe eight and just DARLING. But girl had a unibrow. Is it appropriate to teach a child of that age to pluck? I mean my women's college self wants to teach kids to fuck the patriarchy and screw those who cannot understand our diverse appearance. But the larger part of me is like get that little thing some tweezers before she is scarred for life.
***
Why is it, since I work for the chickiest company ever and none of these women actually eat, that when we have these multi-day meetings we have nothing but tables and tables of food? And yet I am still eating some Nutter Butters. It has been a long goddamn week.
***
I am not sure I can make fun of J's cousin with the hardwood floors in his trailer anymore (well he doesn't live in that trailer anymore which hurts that), because we have our old washer and dryer hanging out on the front porch. I hope my friend that is buying them comes this weekend. It is a little Sanford & Sons is what I am saying.
***
Do you know what I hate? I hate picking out what to fucking wear every day. I just hate it. Even though I have some nice clothes it is just a chore to try to figure out the weather/fashion/what won't make me feel like a frumpy fat ass problem. I mean I need like an excel spreadsheet and a macro for that shit.
***
I promise to come up with something better than hair for later.

In Response To Comments

I cannot believe y'all think I took a photo of my hair. You think I want to remember that nonsense and foolishness?

Oh hell no.

Restored!

Y'all I fucking LOVE my hairdresser. Well actually his daddy. Who took one look at me and was like, "Girl, you are a challenge for me today."

Why yes. Yes I am. He counted more than six colors in my hair. All different tones. He buttered me up and then drove in the knife, "now sweetie, I don't judge anyone for coloring their hair at home but please tell me we are not doing this shit again."

We will not be.

It took more than four hours, a whole lot of color and I think he may have made some sort of deal with the devil. But somehow it made it work and bless him for it.

My hair looks like hair again. And it even still feels soft (in hairdresserspeak it has "integrity" which I love, my hair would NEVER LIE IN COURT) and doesn't look like straw. That is a fucking miracle.

I gave the man a giant tip and if he swung that way I would have flashed him my boobs.

In fact, I pretty much had a restrain myself from doing that.

If My Hair Was This Color And I Was Sixty I Would Be Rocking

I'm ready to confess.

Long time readers know that I color my hair at home. I have naturally light blond hair but I like to tweak it--with highlights or adding a little ash or a little gold to it as I go. I have certain colors that work for me and I am loyal to those brands and colors. I have it down to a science.

Except they keep discontinuing my colors.

I am guessing that colors that work for me don't work for people who are trying to radically change their color. And those lovely, very functional colors are pulled from the shelves. Bastards.

This just happened again and I was in search of another product. I decided to try Garnier. BIG MISTAKE. It dried the hell out of my hair and turned the ends a strange blue/purple grey. I followed the directions carefully, even though they seemed ridiculous and counter intuitive. If you do not want blonds to use your colors then label them appropriately GARNIER. Bizarrely enough, the color actually made my hair a darker blond. Even though it should have been lighter. Just a fucking mess.

So I left a pleading message on my hairdresser's machine last night. I called in sick to work and am hankering down waiting to fix this mess. I feel ridiculous being so damn vain about my hair but seriously, I work in the kind of company that I will be working thirty years from now and some one would make a comment about it.

I guess I will need to stop tweaking my color. BASTARDS

At least our new washer and dryer were delivered today. They are GORGEOUS. As a result of the damn dog food recall (those cocksuckers trying to kill puppies!) we had to rush out and get an emergency replacement. The replacement caused the dogs to have some . . .er . . . issues on some towels downstairs. So I am trying out the sanitation cycle on the new washer.

There is a silver lining joke in there somewhere but I am a little too raw to enjoy it.

Hitting Fast Forward

Since protesters were hitting downtown Seattle this afternoon I took an early bus. Somehow I ended up sitting behind a guy holding a rock and stroking it lovingly. And he was somehow wearing both a crew cut and a mullet with some ALARMING rat tail action in the back. He was wearing a leather jacket under a canvas coat.

I am just having a fucking day. I can't explain why. But damn. Today sucked. Tomorrow is going to be worse.

And pet rock man tried to grab my ass on the standing room only bus. He is lucky to still have fingers.

March Madness

I don't actually know anything about basketball. I don't care about it much either. But I get sucked in by the tournament.

I think it is one part office-sanctioned gambling, one part liking to competing at anything and another part liking the opportunity to beat J at anything. Actually beating J at something that he has skill in and I do not is an irresistible opportunity. I cannot be held accountable.

Whatever it is, I was screaming FUCK THOSE MORMONS during the BYU game last night and was way too excited to see Duke go down. I am doing pitifully at my work bracket (I even lost a Sweet Sixteen team today) but kicking ass at J's bracket (which is the most important one even though it is worth less money).

I drove home from work with no coat on and the windows down. This has nothing to do with March Madness--or DOES IT?

I don't know why I get so sucked into these things. Fantasy Baseball doesn't hit me quite as hard because the season is so long. And I avoid Fantasy Football like the plague since I know eventually y'all would find me weeping into the rug about my sack category. It is just too easy to get obsessive compulsive about this stuff.

I saw a guy wearing fucking JAMS today. This has nothing to do with March Madness--or DOES IT?!?!?!

I should stop that.

It's Friday night and I am rocking jeans and a Ramones' t-shirt, in bed with scores flashing on the lap top and flipping between channels on TV (which, side note, CBS's feed just blows). THIS IS NOT NORMAL.

Some one check on me tomorrow. If I lose another Sweet Sixteen team I might found wandering the streets of Everett whimpering WHY DID I PICK ILLINOIS?!

Behavior Modification

J does some computer work on the side. People we know, or who know people we know, have him work on their machines and occasionally he gets an OH SHIT MY COMPUTER IS MELTING call. And a couple we know made such a call a couple of weeks ago. They just wanted their data back, they knew the machine was toast.

Which was pretty funny when J posed this ethical dilemma to me last night. It seems that the husband in this couple has an extensive file of porn (nothing freaky just normal free or cheap internet porn). And J wasn't sure if he should restore it or not. Since some women frown on their husbands looking at porn.

The husband was pretty glad that J checked with him first, just to avoid the discussion.

I don't care about porn. And am always surprised when I find out women I know do. If J started in on me about getting breast implants or if he never wanted to have sex because he masturbated all the time then we would have a problem. But if he just likes porn I don't see the problem.

But what I find more fascinating about it, is this idea that you can stop your husband from doing anything. I would like that power. Honestly. Women who are scary enough that they can just look at their husband and they snap to attention? TEACH ME. Because I am not scary. And I can't figure out what I could do to him that he would even care about. I mean, I wouldn't waste the look on porn but leaving tin cans on the countertops? That is worth some laser beam eyeballs my friend.

Short of a cattle prod I don't think I could do much to change J's behavior. I guess that is a positive thing. I trust him. I wouldn't be married to him if I had a smidgen of doubt about him. And it is a relief. I would think it would be exhausting to wonder about my husband, to worry about what he was doing at his computer late at night or in the bathroom for so long.

Just don't leave the nudie mags where my mom will find them.

Or the laser beams come out.

Pissed For No Real Reason

Ugh. Migraine. Pissed at husband (probably 50% him being a little assy and 50% me being an asshole). Dreading work event tomorrow that is supposed to be a treat but will just be annoying and a waste of time and money.

God. Am just unreasonably angry right now. ARGH

Shower of TERROR

I find showers (as in gift parties, usually for brides or moms-to-be) terrifying.

All of those women. In one place. Judging the guest of honor. Making things with crepe paper. FRIGHTENING.

And after my miscarriage I do great around little kids and pregnant ladies, but the idea of being trapped in a room with a ton of women and their kids and about half of them are pregnant? It was a bit much for me. But one of my friends moved to California a couple of years ago and was just coming back for a shower and I couldn't miss the chance to see her.

So I drove and drove and drove (note to southenders, I don't want to hear SHIT about where I live ever again, I live much closer than y'all do and there isn't traffic up here like that nonsense so fuck y'all). And once I was practically in OREGON there was this house, packed to the gills with women and their kids and their very pregnant bellies.

Fortunately, my pal L brought her little ones O and E and I held O for most of the shower. She wouldn't let me steal him (SELFISH) but just having him there helped a lot. I don't want people to not invite me to things because of kids, I appreciate that they trust me enough to know that I can handle it, but it's hard I am not going to lie.

Besides, they did all the horrible shower games. With melting baby ice cubes and cutesy necklace game. Someday I am going to have a baby (I AM WE ARE ABOUT BEING POSITIVE) and whoever throws me a shower (which I hate them but dude I will deserve it) will not plan those kinds of fucking games. Damn I hate them. I would just want a party, with food like fried chicken and nachos and about three people since I don't have a lot of girlfriends and somehow men get a free pass at these things (how does that work? fuckers).

I made it. And I'm gearing up to go to a fertility specialist at the end of the month. Positive thinking and bravery in one entry? It's like I'm not me anymore.

Shower of TERROR

I find showers (as in gift parties, usually for brides or moms-to-be) terrifying.

All of those women. In one place. Judging the guest of honor. Making things with crepe paper. FRIGHTENING.

And after my miscarriage I do great around little kids and pregnant ladies, but the idea of being trapped in a room with a ton of women and their kids and about half of them are pregnant? It was a bit much for me. But one of my friends moved to California a couple of years ago and was just coming back for a shower and I couldn't miss the chance to see her.

So I drove and drove and drove (note to southenders, I don't want to hear SHIT about where I live ever again, I live much closer than y'all do and there isn't traffic up here like that nonsense so fuck y'all). And once I was practically in OREGON there was this house, packed to the gills with women and their kids and their very pregnant bellies.

Fortunately, my pal L brought her little ones O and E and I held O for most of the shower. She wouldn't let me steal him (SELFISH) but just having him there helped a lot. I don't want people to not invite me to things because of kids, I appreciate that they trust me enough to know that I can handle it, but it's hard I am not going to lie.

Besides, they did all the horrible shower games. With melting baby ice cubes and cutesy necklace game. Someday I am going to have a baby (I AM WE ARE ABOUT BEING POSITIVE) and whoever throws me a shower (which I hate them but dude I will deserve it) will not plan those kinds of fucking games. Damn I hate them. I would just want a party, with food like fried chicken and nachos and about three people since I don't have a lot of girlfriends and somehow men get a free pass at these things (how does that work? fuckers).

I made it. And I'm gearing up to go to a fertility specialist at the end of the month. Positive thinking and bravery in one entry? It's like I'm not me anymore.

Commuter

Notes to people I commute with:

All men within the range of my nose: those body spray commercials are not true. Women are NOT going to rip their clothes off if you coat yourself in that shit.

Lady in the large and ugly hat: your stupid, flower covered bag is not more important than people. A full commuter bus means that you hold that fucking thing in your lap. Giving me the stink eye just makes me want to punch you in the face. I hope you put your bag in gum.

Young men in the back of the bus: I DO NOT WANT TO SMOKE A DOOBIE. Goddamn, do drugs somewhere besides public transportation.

Bus driver: STOP STARING AT MY BREASTS.

FREE

We saw 300 tonight. Our friend works for a local radio station and got us press passes. Yay for freeness.

I am not sure I could say I enjoyed it. It was amazing looking, and a great story. The violence was upsetting and yet not too horrifying. I cannot believe that it was only an R rating though. Anyone who takes a child to that movie deserves something ugly to happen to them. It was so violent and porny and so much blood and nudity. One of the sex scenes was hilarious (unintentionally) and incredibly graphic the other one. . .well the director almost lost me with that one.

Not to movie directors. Rape is not a plot device. Stop including rape in movies just to make people uncomfortable.

I am not sure that I will ever watch it again but it is highly recommended. Especially for free.

What Dreams May Come

Last week (the night of the fucking snow storm) I had this vivid dream that J sat me down and told me he was deeply unhappy. In fact, he was so deeply unhappy that he could not longer live this way and was just leaving me and our life together. When we woke up the next morning I was so relieved that he was still here. But it didn't really register that it was a dream. I apologized to him for not understanding his unhappiness, for not seeing his sadness. I cried and told him how scared I was.

Dude had NO IDEA what I was talking about.

I don't dream much honestly, or at least I don't remember them if I do. And I recognize how dull it is to hear about some one else's dreams. But that was the most disorienting thing I think has ever happened to me. It was like having the wind knocked out of me. J and I, for the most part, just cruise along in married life. It feels like we have always been married and it is easy to leap ahead and assume we will be always married. It is almost impossible to imagine otherwise. But my subconscious did imagine it. And then had a meltdown while J was trying to figure out why the fuck I was so upset about a tree that didn't hit anything.

Anyone wondering why a great girl like me is with a schmuck like him should have the thought that it might be because I am difficult dawning on them right about now.

Bring On Spring

Since it was a blizzarding outside I felt safe last night thinking that I would not be heading into the office this morning. J and I were watching Monday's episode of How I Met Your Mother on Ti-Faux when the power went out and we heard a sickening crash. After a ridiculous, practically Three Stooges, run around to get boots we bolted outside to find half of a tree missing and through our power, cable and phone lines.

The best news? We had somehow gotten incredibly lucky again and the tree missed our neighbor's garage. Also, only our power and cable were out which was important because our neighbor's elderly mother lives with her and I do not need to even think about an eighty year old woman with no heat in the kind of cold that was happening last night. We sloshed around the house, gathering blankets, trying to find a phone book so we could call the power company and managed to get J's cell phone. I have to say I was massively impressed with the service of PUD and Comcast. PUD had guys out here at midnight and had our power on this morning. Comcast had the cable and phone up this evening. So other than the giant tree in the back there is no lasting harm.

Of course I didn't get to have a day at home doing work in my jammies. We had "Bring Your Wife To Work Day" and man. I don't like my office much but I love it compared to his. It's all quiet and the bathroom was in the middle (and damn it when you have Crohn's disease not shitting is not an option). And everything was working so slowly since I was connected remotely.

I don't know how we are getting so lucky not having huge damage to our property or anyone else's (or how we are so unlucky to have fucking trees dropping all over the place) but I am over winter. FUCK WINTER.