A ridiculous story. That's sort of two. But they are related.

Note 1: this started as an email to Jamie and Jo, but realized that this story must be shared with the world.
Note 2: Two posts in one day, MY GOD THIS IS ALL-CAPS WORTHY.

This has nothing to do with my idiot sister, BTW (ha!). Also, this is kinda squicky.

So we have had a roach problem on our floor at work for some time – this happens every year from spring to fall, and no matter how many times the bug dude comes and sprays, we still see them fairly often. This year it’s gotten a bit worse, and the vermin have been making appearances in the large conference room my division uses for most of their meetings. There was an incident yesterday in the middle of our division staff meeting (which of course I was not at, because all the notable stuff has to happen WHEN I’M NOT THERE), in which a roach was crawling on the back of the chair of one of our mid-managers who was at the head table. One of my coworkers decided the best remedy for this situation was to try to brush the bug off the chair with his foot without any explanation, so to anyone who hadn’t seen the bug, it looked like he was walking up to this manager and kicking the back of her chair. I’m told that his explanation of, “Oh, there was a roach on the back of her chair” caused my Big Boss, her Second, and Semi Big Boss to squeal, raise their feet off the floor, and push away from the table in one fluid, girly motion. (I got a very detailed play-by-play after the fact, complete with reaction shots and sound effects.) Eventually, the roach was located and destroyed, in very dramatic fashion, by a co-worker at the front of the room, mid-presentation. I think they may have thrown a parade in his honor. Anyway.

Sooooo, I came in to work this morning for my 6 a.m. telecon, in the same conference room. It is 6:20, and we are all bleary-eyed and quiet, waiting for the translator to, uh, translate the point just made by one of the international dudes on the line. Then all of a sudden, my (very pregnant and adorable) co-worker rises out of her chair, squealing, and my first thought is, OH MY GOD HER WATER BROKE SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE AND GET ME A BALL OF TWINE AND ALL THE CLEAN TOWELS YOU CAN FIND, AND THE SCISSORS, AND DON’T COME TELLING ME YOU CAN’T FIND THEM. Turns out there was a huge roach crawling on the arm of her chair. And so there commenced wailing and gnashing of teeth as we all tried to run away without looking like too much of a fool. Meanwhile, the international dudes are still on the line, and they are all, WHAT THE EFF IS HAPPENING OVER THERE. It took several tries, interrupted by more squeals as the roach changed directions in its skittering, to communicate that, Yes, we here in Texas are freaking out over the appearance of a bug in the conference room. Eventually things calmed down, and the roach was destroyed, but we were never the same. I couldn’t bring myself to put my feet on the floor, because I’m wearing a skirt and open-toed shoes and what if another one crawls over here and OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT BRUSHING AGAINST MY LEG. Also, the international dudes probably think we are a bunch of candyass wusses, but YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE SIZE OF THIS THING.

But some of them will be in town in a few days, for a week-long conference in this building, where they will (probably, unfortunately) be able to see for themselves that everything is, in fact, bigger in Texas.

Pic of actual roach in our actual conference room, although not of the actual roaches in either story - this was taken for a previous, uh, experiment. Mad props to C for actually getting close enough to take a picture of a roach, while simultaneously holding a pocket flashlight for better lighting, as I cowered in the opposite corner of the room and played lookout so no one would see we were taking pictures of roaches in the conference room.

UGH. GROSS. MUST GO WASH HANDS AND SCRUB SKIN RAW.

I was up at 4:30 this morning in order to make a 6 a.m. telecon here at work.
My first thought upon waking: "DUDE, it would be SO AWESOME if Glee did a version of George Michael's 'Freedom '90'!"

Can't you see Finn belting the shit out of this?




With the rest of the New Directions tearing it up with the "FREEDOM!'s" in the background? And Mercedes taking on some pretty serious melismas at the end?





Actually, a George Michael/Wham! episode of Glee would be pretty amazing, no?



I smell a production number!





Dear Fox,
GET ON IT.

Love,
G

Pleasing.

Running the side of a pen over a fold in the paper, in order to make a nice, sharp crease.

Hitting the heel of your hand on the flat site of the knife in order to crack open a clove of garlic.

Opening a new trashbag, and snapping your wrists so it makes a nice POPping sound, scaring the cats a little bit (ha!)

The first scrawl of your pen on a fresh notepad.

Pumping gas and having your total end on a nice, round number.

Making plans with friends many weeks in advance, so you have a good long time to savor your excitement.

Winding up the cord properly on the vacuum, instead of lazily looping over the top.

Remembering the words to a song you haven’t heard in probably ten years.

Sipping wine and cooking a delicious dinner while dirtying a ridiculous amount of dishes while you sing along to the radio and purposely avoid dealing with the unpleasantness of the outside world.

I just made this my desktop background.



Thank you for giving me a sign, Paige.

Do you have friends that you are like, “You are so awesome! I’m so glad we’re friends! I wish we had somehow been friends, like, years sooner! Because think of all that WASTED TIME when we could have been entertaining each other!”

‘Cause I have some of those.

Also, thank you.

This is for you.

It is 2:40 a.m., and I am painfully awake, my brain still a little addled and my abdomen pretty crampy.
My alarm will go off in two hours so I can get up, shower, and be at work in time for a 6 a.m. telecon.

This is so not happening.

Instead, I am in here on the computer, stagewhisperyelling at the cat for thinking that my being up at this ungodly hour gives him license to be an asshole and tear up my furniture (unless this is something he does *every* night, which could explain a lot and also debunk my theory that friendly but naughty elves sneak into the house each night and muss things up and drink all the tea in the fridge and THAT is why the pitcher is always nearly empty, not because I forget/am too lazy to make more).

I am suddenly inspired to bake these cookies that I watched Giada make on TV this morning. Also, I am struck with the urge to vacuum, because on Monday we went to That Orange Home Improvement Place to finally pick up my Dyson - I compromised and went with the original yellow, no-fancy-ball-or-magical-pet-hair-cleaning-properties model, because it was on sale for $318 (vs. $399), and I have been scouring and had not seen a better deal. So we brought it home - I didn't have time to whip up a Welcome Home banner, but I think it got the gist that it is somewhere it will be loved and cherished - and I used it right away, and I have to say, it's everything I hoped it would be (short of pouring mama a glass of wine and then running itself). So I am very, very pleased with my purchase. But I didn't get to do *all* of the rooms because I had to do stupid crap like cook dinner and write a longwinded whiny post about my retarded ovaries.

However, I will refrain from engaging in either of these activities, as I think John might not take kindly to being awakened in the middle of the night, wondering what kind of crazy Suzy "Cokehead" Homemaker he finds himself married to.

Now it's 3 a.m.! {Yay!} The perfect time to officially call in to work today, and then settle in for some infomercial watching.

This is gonna be the best day ever.

In Which I Write Frankly and Angrily About My Reproductive Bits And Related Subjects And Perhaps Am Just A Wee Cranky

So, you are forewarned.






Seriously, I'm going to launch into it now.






WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, OVARIES???

Against all odds, I started my period today, which means my last cycle was 35 days long.
This last month I started Clomid again, and followed up with estrogen. We had a doctor's appointment on the 22nd day of my cycle, and did a blood draw to see if I'd actually ovulated - Nope. Nothing. Zip.

When I went in 2 days later to go over my (not good) results with my doctor, we talked about upping my Clomid for the next month ({Awesome.}), and said that if I hadn't started a new cycle within 2 weeks (which would be this Wednesday), to come in for a pee test and for a scrip to induce a period.

I've been in a shitty mood for the past couple of days (which John can totally attest to), but I didn't attribute it to PMS because, well, I didn't think I was at that point, and also, sometimes long weekends can do weird, bad things to my brain (which I know makes no sense - you'd think it would be relaxing, but sometimes it just hits me the wrong way and throws me out of whack and I spend a good part of the time off brooding and picking fights with John).

Last night we had sex, and as happens sometimes when it is especially, uh, vigorous and wrecking but in that very satisfying way, I cried after. I'm not in pain, or sad, or upset - sometimes it's like, I don't know, I guess this sounds cheesy, but letting myself go like that kinda knocks things loose. Most times it's just a minute and a few tears and I'm fine - last night I laid there thinking, unhappily, for hours, making a most unattractive pool of snot and tears on my pillowcase.

(GOD, this post is depressing to read. Sex should be awesome and fun and not induce crying jags, but it just goes to show how a crazy, overthink-y person can fuck up [ha] even the best things.)

John tried to talk to me, but my thoughts were so jumbled - and well, pitiful - I couldn't put them into coherent sentences (nor did I really want to). So I stayed up into the wee hours, thinking and thinking and thinking, and crying, feeling pretty fucking pathetic.

So today, when I discovered that SURPRISE!, I was like, "GOD, this explains a whole fucking lot."

And you're probably wondering why I didn't put it all together - how could I *not* know I was PMS-ing? To which I answer, I really never know I'm PMSing until the "pre" part is over.

Sometimes I get cramps, sometimes not.
Sometimes my lower back hurts like a sonofabitch, sometimes not.
Sometimes my boobs hurt, sometimes not.
Sometimes I want to walk around punching people in the face for being ALIVE in my GENERAL VICINITY, but this happens pretty much every morning until I've been awake for about 2 hours.

And I should mention that all of these symptoms sometimes happen AT THE SAME TIME, out of nowhere, and they do not indicate a) ovulation, or its imminency, or b) menstruation, or its imminency.

So when, at my last appointment, my doctor asked if I *felt* like I was going to have a period, I opened my mouth to begin my lengthy diatribe, but we were interruped by a phone call about another patient (whose ovaries probably functioned beautifully! FUCK YOU AND YOUR PERFECT FUCKING GONADS.) in labor. He is lucky we never got to finish that conversation, because it likely would have gone something like this blog post - that is to say, hysterical, pitiful, and riddled with obscenities.

I am just SO FRUSTRATED.
WHAT THE FUCK, OVARIES????
WHAT THE FUCK, BODY?????

You women that are in tune with your bodies, with your cycles, with your MIND, I am jealous.
I'm jealous of your sense of control.
I'm jealous of your peace.
I'm irritated at the fact that you may take for granted that your body just DOES WHAT IT IS SUPPOSED TO.

I'm angry at myself for letting all of this factor into my sense of self.
I know it's not fair to judge myself so harshly because of this - my lazy ovaries and my infertility don't make me less female, less a woman. I KNOW THAT. And the rational part of me says that over and over and over, every day.

And yet.

There is still that small but painfully vocal part of me that feels like a failure for having such a hard fucking time doing the ONE THING I should be able to Just Do without thinking about it.

This nostalgic late-night post brought to you courtesy of I'm Remembering!