"There are notes between notes, you know." -- Sarah Vaughan

Friday, October 31, 2008

Voting problems on election day?

You can let NPR know by going here and washingtonpost.com know by going here.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Reasons why I won't/don't read your blog

lacochran's bloggery covered all the reasons here in this blog post, saving me from having to do it: "You can't always get what you want..." --The Rolling Stones

I got it bad and that ain't good

I have a major case of baby fever.

Everywhere I look there are babies. They smell good. They're cute. They wiggle and smile their little gummy toothless smiles and shake rattles and lose socks. One cutie even sucked on my thumb as I guess she couldn't access hers. And maybe mine tasted better.

It doesn't help that babies love me. I hold them and they settle in for the longhaul, clinging to my neck. I'm not making this up, either, other people have noted my baby magnetism.

But, whatever, I need help as this is driving me crazy. Is there an __ Anonymous for this one? What's the cure?!

sits Indian style in corner rocking and sucking thumb

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Stumbling on a colleague's blog...

Let's say, you stumble on the blog of a colleague and, being the nosey person you are, you read a little bit and it's, um, disturbing. You have a meeting with said colleague later that day and all you can think about is the craziness on that blog, which has colored your opinion of this colleague.

This is why I write anonymously. Use the veil of anonymity people.

Use.

The.

Veil.

Ugh.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I got nothing for you

I'm way way WAY behind on a project. Amuse yourselves.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

What I do when the mister ain't about...

The military has Mr. SLS this weekend, so I've taken advantage of his absence to buy the bedding I wanted to buy last week that he vetoed. It's on the bed now, so we own it!

I also cleaned up/shredded/threw away the stuff I can't get to when he's here because he hates to put any scrap of paper in the trash on the off chance it might be important later.

Now all I need is one more weekend and I can get into his room and clear some of that junk out...

People get ready!

Saturday, October 25, 2008

I'm reading 9 books right now...


We get advance reading copies for review at work and I feel compelled to pick through them and take a new one home almost everyday.

As a result, our house is overrun with books. I fully intend to read them all, along with the growing stack of magazines and mail. I'm going to get to the mail!

And the comics. I'm going to read the comics!! I have to be really quick about that, too, because the resident comic archivist will file them away before I even take them out of the bag and I'll never even know what it was I didn't get to read. And I'm not allowed to touch the comic archives.

reading, reading, reading...

Friday, October 24, 2008

Thursday, October 23, 2008

David Sedaris on undecided voters

I pink puffy heart David Sedaris. This is from his latest New Yorker piece about undecided voters:

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

Blog shoutout

I just want to direct you all to my latest favorite blog: To Blog Or.....

Dude is HIGH-larious. Between him and lacochran's bloggery I get at least one good gut laugh a day.

I am officially a nerd

I read the D.C. Voter Guide in its entirety.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Race and politics

Watch this video. (I embedded it earlier, but they have it set to auto-play in the code and that was making the blog load too slowly).

Delusional dreams

The last few Sundays Mr. SingLikeSassy has been working with a vocalist and it reminded me of this time an old, old, old friend of his bumped into him and was like, hey I wrote a song and I was hoping you could help me out with it.

Mr. SingLikeSassy told him to come on over. And hilarity ensued.

First, dude could not sing. At all. Secondly he had written the equivalent of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and lastly, he was DEAD SERIOUS.

So he was singing with his awful, awful voice and bragging about how good his really awful song was and how he was going to be a star and I was upstairs laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Every few minutes or so Mr. SingLikeSassy would excuse himself to come upstairs and laugh with me, then go back down and try to break it to this dude that he was not going to be the next Marvin Gaye, so let that dream go.

Mr. SingLikeSassy asked the guy about reading music and chords and notes and dude was like, yeah, I don't know about all of that, but this song is a winner, right? I actually commend my husband for his diplomatic and gentle manner of dealing with this situation 'cause I wanted to just yell down the stairs like Adrian did to Rocky: "YOU CAN'T SING, YO!" and throw him and all his stuff out onto the sidewalk.

After about an hour he gathered up the scraps of paper his song was written on and told us to look for him at the Grammy awards.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Misty water-colored memories

I wrote this (unfinished) essay during the first year Mr. SingLikeSassy and I dated. I forgot about it until my (still fairly damn new!) laptop crashed recently and I was searching through my external hard drive (I was backing up my files when it crashed) to see if anything was trapped in the laptop that I really needed. Anyway, this brought back some sweet memories and I thought I would share. Feel free to critique. I've wiped it a little to get rid of things that might identify anyone. And, again, it's not finished.


Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
By [SingLikeSassy]

We met late one drizzly Sunday night at a jazz club in Adam’s Morgan, a blind date of sorts. [Mr. SingLikeSassy] sits in with the band sometimes and had hopes of wooing me with his musical prowess.

But when he rushed into the club 15 minutes after our agreed meeting time -- I’ve since learned he’s always just a wee bit late -- we forgot about the band, the club, the music, the people. The [instrument] stayed in its case. [Mr. SingLikeSassy] wouldn’t take the stage that night. Instead we talked, laughing over, around and through the music, a soundtrack to our rhapsodic connection.

Music turned out to be our common denominator. My dream of chucking the reporter’s notebook and taking my fledgling cabaret act on the road was one he knew personally: his mother was a successful cabaret singer for many years. My ability to dissect a song by each chord and instrument surprised him. The role music played in his life -- music teacher, musician, graduate student of music -- impressed me.

Reluctant to end our second date, [Mr. SingLikeSassy] talked me into stopping at his house and sharing my instrument -- my voice -- with him as he accompanied me on piano. Before taking me home we chatted. He stared into my eyes as I nervously prattled on about some fluff.

Once at my house he walked me to the door, squeezed my hands and left –- no kiss, just the promise of it floating between us. From there, our relationship moved forward with the smoothness of a cantabile, but it would be some time before I heard him play the [instrument] that went everywhere with us -- movies, dinners, plays -- and was akin to an appendage.

One Sunday as we snuggled and watched the characters on the corner outside his window, [Mr. SingLikeSassy] asked me to go with him to a performance scheduled that afternoon at a church.

[Mr. SingLikeSassy] and I got there 15 minutes later than we intended, both of us flustered from struggling to be on time. The slip in schedule was my fault: A last minute run for pantyhose took longer than I had planned. We parted just inside the church doors as he rushed away to find [event organizer].

A small snag almost left me standing in the church lobby instead of sitting in the fellowship hall with the rest of the congregation, but a kindly gentleman relented and let me pass through the gaggle of mink-clad women.

Once inside, I survey the room, looking for a place to sit in the back, worried about being in the way. Instead, the event organizer grabs me and leads me up front to a table of elderly church members, where she introduces me and then leaves me with whispered instructions to "take care of them."

I look at everyone and smile, they return the gesture.

The tiny caramel-colored man with the shaky hands sitting on my left is not a member, he tells me. No, he attends a church down the street. However, as a former vice president of a major corporation, former football coach at a nationally-known HBCU and World War II veteran, he had many, many friends -- some of whom attended this church -- so he often participates in its activities, he says.

The peach-hued lady sitting on my right swathed entirely in Afrocentric cloth, joined in 2003, she explains, after a 4-year search for a church home following her move to the District from Detroit.

Once the introductions end, we sit in polite silence waiting for the program to begin.

"Where's Francisco?" Afrocentric asks, her Charlie Brown-like face twisted with displeasure over a change in the event lineup. "This guy is OK, but I like Francisco." I smile at her, and because I'm a southerner and we never treat our elders unkindly, I say, "Oh, you'll like this guy." In my head I tell her to shut up, the program hasn't even started yet.

The pastor gets up to greet the congregation and announces that a red Dodge Neon blocking the alley is about to be towed. No one 'fesses up to owning it, so he repeats himself, waits two beats for a claimant, then moves on to other business.

Tiny man next to me pops his head up. "What kind of car did he say?" he asks. I tell him and he struggles to get out of his chair. It's his rental car. His BMW was stolen last week, he explains. He stumbles toward the door, dropping the car keys and struggling with his coat. I sigh inwardly as too many years of good southern breeding kick in and I mouth to Afrocentric lady that I'm going to help him, stand up on my 4-inch heels and the two of us totter out into the frigid cold to relocate his illegally parked car.

When we return to the table, the band is playing. I'm barely back in my seat before the queenly octogenarian lady two chairs over starts to choke on a peanut. I get back up and walk to the kitchen in what I now painfully realize are too high heels to get her some water.

Trouble again averted, I sit back down and wait. He's next.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Men, women, relationships, love, marriage

Every Tuesday, the blogger CreoleinDC hosts an Internet radio show called "Word on the Curb." I've never had the opportunity to join in, but today I listened to an old show where men were the featured guests and they talked about dating, relationships, marriage etc.

It made me think about my dating life. I was too emotional as a dater. I was never really the kind of woman who could meet a guy and roll around with him and walk away with no regrets or second thoughts. Thankfully I realized that early on, but it took me a long time to get past the "this is the one!" mindset at the beginning of all my relationships. None of them were the one, obviously, and I might have saved myself some grief if I just had chilled out.

People always ask how I knew Mr. SingLikeSassy was "the one" and I tell them this story: the day I became friends with my stepmother was the day that I asked her what made her marry my father. She told me that no man had ever loved her the way my father did.

That's the way I feel about Mr. SingLikeSassy. Everything was easy. We met, we clicked, it worked, there was no struggle, no games, no subterfuge, no wondering what he was thinking, no rules. Everything was easy.

We have fun together, even doing simple stuff like going to Target and looking for bedding (which we didn't get because we couldn't find what I wanted and I wasn't getting the random non-matching bachelor-looking stuff he was picking out). We laugh A LOT. Together and at each other. We're grand friends.

The best part of each day is in the morning when he kisses me before he leaves for work. He leans over me in the bed and kisses me several times on the mouth and cheeks and forehead and chin and I giggle. Sometimes I throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him while he laughs and says "I have to go teach the kids, I have to go teach the kids!"

But really, to steal from my stepmom, no one has ever loved me like he does. No one. That's how I knew he was "the one." I'm sure some of you tire of me talking about how much I love Mr. SingLikeSassy, but for real, I didn't know it could be like this. So get used to me celebrating it.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Tag, I'm it. Damn!


OK, lacochran's bloggery got me! And I'm going to get you, too. Ha!

RULES
1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.


7 FACTS/True Confessions:

1. When I was 2 my cousin slammed a window down on my hands and I had to get stitches to keep my left middle finger from falling off. You can still see the scar from the stitches.

2. Eleven years ago a dog put my whole face in its mouth then let me go and licked me cause it thought we were playing. I have a scar on my nose from this incident.

3. In college I had a friend with a crazy stalker ex-girlfriend and once when he came to pick me up from my dorm, she followed him and we had a highspeed chase through my college city. We were in an old Beetle and everytime we turned a corner, I thought it was going to turn over. I had the time of my life (told you I love fast cars!).

4. I have to work at being nice and friendly, which is funny because everywhere I work people think I'm *so* nice when I'm really hateful and bitchy.

5. When I was a kid I wanted to be a cash register. Not a cashier, a cash register, cause the register had all the money.

6. When I was in college I was in a sports car with a guy and he revved the engine for like 10 mins, then took off driving as fast as he could toward a brick wall and then at the last minute he turned the wheel and we swerved around 180 degrees and drove off. If he had been cuter he could have gotten it after giving me that adrenaline rush. (I told you I like fast cars!) I realize now that I could have died or been horribly mangled.

7. I sneak food into the movies. I've taken a dozen Hot Donuts Now! with milk, buffalo wings, chili dogs, sandwiches with chips and pickle -- anything I can fit in my purse and I feel like eating goes to the movies with me.

I tag the following people: Prince of Petworth, photocynthesis, AverageBro.com, FreeMan Press, Isolated: Stories of a Black Professor on a White Campus, The Breaking Point and Black and Married With Kids.

Today I am Just Fine!!!!

Thursday, October 16, 2008

VROOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

I got my baby back!! I peeled out of the body shop parking lot with the top back just relishing all the things I love about my car. It was so funny to have all the men in the garage sweatin' my ride and tripping over the fact that I can drive a manual shift.

One guy said, "I knew you were from the country when I saw that stick shift. City girls don't drive stick shifts." Well "city girls" don't know what's up. You haven't really driven a car until you've learned what your friction point is and can stop and start on a hill without rolling or downshift to give you that burst of power you need to cut in front of that car speeding up in the next lane arrogantly thinking they are going to overtake you and your horses.

So I am happy again. I feel at peace. My car is back. Yay!

Phase 3: Operation BabySingLikeSassy

So it's more needles and sonograms and people peeking and poking around in my hooha and bloodtests and bloat and hormonal craziness and cash out of pocket. Lots, lots, lots more of all that. And this time the doc wants to put back three embryos to increase our chances (we transferred two the first time and then our one little frozen emby-cicle during this last cycle). Somehow I have the feeling we're gonna end up with three babies trying to get the one. (I don't dare think about if all of the embies split and we end up with three sets of identical twins which is not that far outside the realm of possibility considering my great grandmother had two sets of twins).

I'm still not believing we are here at attempt no. 3. Back before we got started down this path we discussed doing one full cycle and then calling it a day. Then we decided since we had the one frozen embryo left we had to do a frozen cycle, but then we were definitely calling it a day.

Now I'll be damned if we aren't about to do this a third time.

An interesting element of all this is that the more epic fails we get on the fertility front, the more Mr. SingLikeSassy and I talk/dream about our kid as though it's inevitable we will be parents. There's less skepticism/pragmatism now that IVF has failed us twice. Ha!

We've emptied a room for this hypothetical BabySingLikeSassy. We're planning our finances with a kid in mind (c'mon, you knew I wasn't getting that race car though I do still have my eye on these shoes) as well as our vacations and careers. Don't get me wrong, nothing is on hold per se, but we're planning on two tracks.

So you heard it here first people: Operation BabySingLikeSassy will resume in 2009.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Season 5 of The Wire

Mr. SingLikeSassy wants me to cut this off because I keep yelling at the TV about what's happening in the newsroom scenes. The reporter who is lying and making up copy just makes my ass itch. He is one laaaaazzzyyyyyy bastard.

There is no shame in coming back to the newsroom without a story. OK, maybe a little shame, but sometimes it ain't there and you can't report the story that ain't there. That doesn't mean you make up stuff. You try harder, you change tactics, you report on the story that *is* there, which for the starting day game was that half of the people there weren't fans of the Orioles. That's an interesting story. Or it could be if written right. But, no, his lazy reporter ass couldn't do that. He didn't find the fan story he wanted, so he made one up.

Here's the thing that really burned me up. It's 2 p.m. and he asks the city editor who is doing the follow on a story that ran in the paper that day. At 2 p.m. A real reporter would have come in at 2 p.m. with a notebook full of quotes after he'd been out reporting all day if he wanted to do the follow up piece. Not asking about the follow up piece when the day is half done. He would have it already.

I love newspapers almost as much as I love cars. I spent a third of my journalism career at newspapers. It was hard. I hated covering the cops beat so much I used to cry driving to work everyday. But when I got to work, I got my face together and went in there and did the job. And covering the cops beat was just what I needed cause it teaches you to get facts right the first time. To ask all the questions the first time. To collect names and addresses and phone numbers the first time. It teaches you to write fast and to get the news high.

This dude's character just shit on all that is still good about newspapers. But I'll finish watching this season cause I keep hoping he will get found out and fired.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Babies and breakups

My friend who is pregnant broke up with her boyfriend last week. I actually think it's for the best because she's been unhappy for some time now. The pregnancy wasn't planned and helped things drag on through the summer but the other day she realized she did not want to be in a relationship with him, baby or no baby, and she broke it off.

Thankfully he's a decent fellow who supports everyone in his family (no one works, not his mom, his older sister or his older brothers!) and he really wanted to be a dad, so I doubt he's becoming an absentee father.

Monday, October 13, 2008

My car is not ready!

Why isn't my car ready??? I want my car back. Today was such a pretty day, probably the last top back day of the year and I missed it cause my car isn't ready. No, instead I'm still riding around looking like a midget in this big 1930s-style gangstermobile. Ugh!!

Sweet jesu!

I just checked one of our investment accounts for the first time since the height of the economic imbroglio and we've lost $10K! The DOW jump today better help me recoup some of my paper cause that's my babymakin' money dammit!

Survivor and Big Brother???

When I see commercials for the 13th season of these shows I'm thinking, how are they still on the air? The couple of times I tuned in to Big Brother I saw some people whispering on sofas. How is that entertaining?! I don't get it.

I want this shoe


I have nowhere to wear that shoe, however. But I like it and want it. Mr. SingLikeSassy says no more shoes until I wear some of those I have falling out of all the closets in both houses. Pooh on him! I don't have *that* many shoes, I just don't wear heels as much as I did before because I'm on public transportation and walking more than I did before. I will, however, start going through my shoes and see what I'm not wearing and donate them to some charity as someone should get some use out of these shoes.

Hopscotch with the neighborhood kids

The kids on my block love me. I think cause I pretty much meet them eye-to-eye since I'm so short. LOL!

The other day when I pulled up to the curb, they asked me where my car was and if someone had smashed it. They were playing a game they made up that was similar to hopscotch. They asked me to play, too, since I was sad about my car. So I went in the house, put my purse down and hopped around outside with them. Then I pushed the littlest ones (I think they are both 2-year-olds) along on their little car that had run out of gas or battery juice or something (or maybe they just didn't want to pedal anymore) while they squealed and laughed.

What's interesting about this to me is the neighbors these kids belong to (they are all attached to one house) don't know my name. They have never asked me my name or who I am or anything and they have seen me playing with their kids. They've watched the kids run up to me and hug me when I come out on the porch. They've seen them petting the cats and asking if they can play with them (my cats are very friendly and good with little kids). The other day when I got home, one of the little ones came up to me and said he had to use the bathroom, and I helped him get back to his door. The mom (I guess she's the mom) never said thank you or anything, she just let him in. Even earlier this year when I went down to ask if the kids could have some Girl Scout cookies, the mom(?) said sure, but other than that didn't acknowledge me for the most part.

The kids are sweet and mannerable, but after watching The Wire, I wonder what they will become in the future. So I think I'll add them to my prayers.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

My need for speed

I woke up yesterday in a foul mood. Foul. I was salty and rude and grumpy. Then I got teary. I wanted pancakes the way Granny made them and I'll never have those again because my Granny is blind now and can't cook anymore. When I was growing up she would make me her fluffy pancakes every Saturday morning when I spent the weekend at her house. On Saturday nights we would bake a devil's food cake for Sunday dinner dessert because that's the only cake I liked other than her pigpickin' cake (I still am not a big cake fan).

I decided I wanted to make some cupcakes in memory of those years spent in the kitchen with Granny. We went out for breakfast with an intention to go to the store afterward and get what we needed to make the cupcakes.

But then after we ate I was foul again (my body is still trying to realign itself from the hormones I've been taking) and decided I wanted a new car. So we went car shopping. We went to three different dealerships (there were like two people in them besides us. The economy is shot to hell) -- BMW (I like the new X6), Volvo (Mr. SingLikeSassy likes these cars because of their safety record) and then Nissan cause I wanted to see what the latest upgrades were to the 350Zs.

They have a little more horsepower now, but for the most part their bells and whistles are the same. But there was a Nismo on the lot and I decided I wanted to drive that cause it looked so hot. Like this one, actually:



Well, dude let me drive and I got my Danica Patrick on.

As I said earlier, I love cars. Love them. When I turned the ignition the engine rumbled to life telling me we were about to do some business!! Then I pressed the clutch and we rolled off.

I.
Want.
That.
Car.

The ride is SO DIFFERENT from my baby. More horsepower. Tighter suspension. It drives like a race car. I could barely contain it at red lights there was so much under the hood.

I like the limited edition cache of this car. There are only 2,500 of these and I was driving #714.

But what's most interesting is after driving at darn near 100 mph in this car, I felt better. The adrenaline rush helped push all that saltiness away.

I.
Want.
That.
Car.

plotting how to convince Mr. SingLikeSassy that we should buy the race car.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

New conversation thread

I took my car to the body shop Wednesday and they are going to make my baby beautiful again, restoring her to darn near brand new condition.



But in the interim, I'm driving this rental car:



Now, I like cars. I like the way they sound and handle and drive and look. My husband could care less about a vehicle as long as it cranks up and gets him from point A to Z. I, on the other hand, need more from my car owning/driving experience.

I don't like this rental car. It's too big. It has four doors. It has automatic transmission. It's ugly. And I had to put a pillow under me so I could reach the accelerator and brake. Yeah, I'm that short.

I don't like cars with four doors cause I ain't no taxi driver. I only need room in my car for my purse and my man. Yeah, I'm cute like that.

I hate automatic transmission because you turn over the decision-making to the car. I want to DRIVE my car, not ride in it. Yeah, I'm a bad azz chick, too.

On Monday I will reunite with my ride. The weather will be nice so I'll put the top back. Be off the road.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Reproductive endocrinologist says do it again

I'm not up to it at the moment. Mainly because I placed all my hopes and dreams on this cycle. I just knew this was it. The little embie made it to freeze and survived the thaw and all it had to do was implant.

I was relaxed, I ate well, I exercised some. I took all my shots and other meds. And the timing was perfect as the baby would have been born at the end of the school year and Mr. SingLikeSassy would have been able to participate in daily parenting with me for the first couple of months. Plus, I was going to give my mom the best bday present evah!

I don't want to hear shit about a NEXT cycle. This cycle was supposed to work. Damn.

I need a cool compress. :::lays head on desk and watches clock tick toward an hour deemed reasonable enough to leave work:::

There is no baby

Clarifying Mama SingLikeSassy's position

My parents supported Hillary Clinton. Her politics and experience resonated with them.

My mother was sad she didn't win the candidacy, but once it was all decided, she got right on the Obama bandwagon and began volunteering for his campaign. His stance on the issues she cared about weren't so divergent that she couldn't support him.

My father's vote ain't so easily won. He's wary of Obama for various reasons I won't get into here. However, his politics lean left and I'm guessing on election day he will vote for Obama because he will be voting, trust me.

My parents grew up down South during Jim Crow. They have voted in every election since they were old enough to do so and would never miss going to the polls. They get up early and make sure my grandmothers -- who have never had licenses or driven cars -- get to the polls. There's no sitting it out on election day and they have low opinions of people who don't vote.

Anyway, I realized I did need to provide some context to the earlier post so people would understand where my mom was coming from Saturday.

By the way today is Mama SingLikeSassy's birthday. Happy Bday mommy!

What I listened to on the way to take my official test

Sunday, October 5, 2008

The doctor is in!

I've had calls, texts and emails recently from friends seeking advice. I willingly obliged.

One is pregnant by her longtime beau. They live in a house she bought, but they pay for, and own other investment properties together.

Her note went like this: I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE! HE HAS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! I DON'T LOVE HIM! I'M MISERABLE!

My response: Call the sheriff and put his shit on the curb. You know what to do.

Mr. SingLikeSassy's response to my response: Damn (and he doesn't cuss!) there ain't no middle ground to be found nowhere? (<--he said this in a Chris Rock-type voice) They are expecting a child together.

He's right, there is middle ground but sometimes your girl doesn't want the reasoned response, she wants the "I'm throwing on my sweats grabbing the bat and will be over there in 10 mins I'll call Nene and 'em on the way and tell them to meet us there" response. That's what I gave. Tomorrow they will be in love again, painting the baby nursery and picking out names.

******

Friend two, who is single, wanted to know why when she goes to gatherings all the married and attached women give her the fish eye and clutch their men the minute she walks into the room.

My response: Cause you're too foxy for 'em. They know they ain't got shit on you and yo' badness.

Mr. SingLikeSassy's response to my response: You know that ain't true.

He's right. But she felt better, so my job was done.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

I have two more days of hope

I went to the blogger that I follow's Web site today and she's feeling real blue about her latest IVF cycle not working.

I used to be one of those people who didn't get it. I didn't get women who wanted to be a bio mom so badly they would stick themselves with needles and spend a $100K+ in the quest to make it happen. Now, I'm one of those women sticking needles in my ass every night, obsessing over every twinge and paying huge fees.

As I've said before, my husband has a condition that reduces our chances of conceiving naturally to less than 1 percent.

Less. Than. One. Percent.

Add to that the fact that I am on the right side of 38, making me in medical terms "advanced maternal age," and obscuring my left ovary are three fibroids that have grown in the almost year since we started our infertility quest.

My husband is a great guy. Those of you who don't know him would love him if you did. I've seen him with the kids he teaches and tutors. He's a natural. He should be a parent. All I'm asking for is one kid. Just the one.

So despite the four tests telling me to chunk the deuce, I'm going to stay hopeful. I have two more days of hope and I plan to use them dammit.

ARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. SingLikeSassy and I go outside to leave for a movie and DAMN IF SOMEBODY HASN'T SWIDESWIPED THE PASSENGER SIDE OF MY CAR!!!!!!!!! And did they bother to leave a note after dragging their car down the side of mine? HELL NO, THE BASTARDS DIDN'T LEAVE SHIT!

My mama on McCain's veep choice

"She is dead-ass-wrong." -- Mama SingLikeSassy

There you have it. There was more said but this pretty much summed it up so I figure no need to type the rest.

ClearBlue Easy test no. 4 says...

HELL NO


I guess it's time to stop wasting money, time and pee on these tests and accept that this thing didn't work. At least I won't be shocked on Monday when the doc gives me the results. Sigh.

I am irritated that I have to poke myself in the ass with needles for a couple more days and that I have to buy more baby aspirin because I only have one left and I need two to make it to Monday.

And I am especially pissed off that my bewbies hurt so terribly and I have all these lower abdomen pains and my stomach is all hard -- all symptoms of pregnancy -- to only get HELL NOs on these damn tests.

Friday, October 3, 2008

ClearBlue Easy test No. 3 says....

HELL NO


This where I'm at with mine right now...

So back up off me!!!!
(click on the photo)

Being an auntie

Mr. SingLikeSassy's brother has three daughters (a grown woman, a 17-year-old, a 2-year-old) and a son (he's 7). I have taken a shine to the baby. And she has taken a liking to me.

Last weekend we went to visit them (I had asked sis-in-law -- who is Israeli -- to make her lamb which is OUT OF THIS WORLD delicious) and that baby worked everybody's nerves but mine. I also got more hugs and kisses than everyone else.

But this made me think about being a mom. I haven't spent much time around babies in the last 20 years. My friends with kids don't live here and I haven't befriended anyone here in D.C. that's a parent. I was surprised that her antics didn't work my nerves as I undoubtably have a lower threshold than someone who is around kids all the time.

Interesting. Verrrry interesting.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Bad freaking news

THIS is not what I want to hear. At all. It's pissed me off this evening.

And while I'm typing, it ain't looking too good for me and Mr. SingLikeSassy either. My official test is sked for Monday, but last night and this morning I got a big HELL NO on the early home pregnancy test.

This is some straight bullshit.

The difference between what's good TO you and what's good FOR you

Now is the time to learn that lesson people. Insisting you can't do without Starbucks and cable is stupid if you don't have an emergency account with enough money in it to carry you for a minimum of 6 mths (preferably a year or more).

I like having money in the bank and try to adopt (and encourage) pocketbook and environmentally friendly habits. For example, I own a 4 year old car with less than 25K miles on it that I only have to put gas in about every 6 weeks. I can walk or bike to work or, if I'm lazy, ride the bus from door to door in about 10 mins. I don't *need* a car. I keep it cause it's a roadster, I look cute in it and I like to put the top back, but I could get rid of it and save money on tires, gas, detailing, insurance and still get everywhere I need to go. Plus since I own it, I can add the money gained from selling it to savings or plop it down on the principal of the mortgage on one of our houses.

I don't intend to be a slave to market fluctuations and employers' whims. That means we are working toward retiring our mortgages and positioning ourselves so that if a layoff, sickness or some other financial crisis beyond our control happens, we only need to worry about property taxes, utilities, maintenance and upkeep, other basics and health insurance.

So, no we don't have cable and yes I use coupons, take lunch most days, cook more meals at home and keep shopping to a minimum and even then we could do better.

I bet you can, too.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Wachovia again

I know I expressed some bad sentiments about Wachovia the other day, but it was more because I still miss my little First Union than it was about any bad experience banking with Wachovia.

In fact, back in the day, my dad used to work for Wachovia. This was in the early to mid-70s and I used to love visiting his office, playing with his Charlie's Angels-style speakerphone and bugging his secretary, Sally.

Anyways, just wanted to clear that up.

Big scary dogs

My brother-in-law just got a puppy and I hate it. The dog bites everything, is huge and will grow bigger (the breed can get as big as 130 pounds) and I can see now that I won't be spending much time at their house unless that dog is locked down outside somewhere.

I don't understand people who want/like potentially vicious dogs. It puzzles me. I was raised in a family where dogs were pets and companions. They never guarded anything or bit anyone. What is the allure of the massive mean-looking animals?

A big mean dog bit me in my face once and I have a scar from that encounter.