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The Groups
Have a Great Week!
GM & I are off to Jacksonville tomorrow. I considered taking my laptop so that I could be in touch, but as much as I love you all, I think I will take an internet vacation.
I have been pretty stressed about the flight these past couple of days. So odd that all of those years working for a crazy control freak in L.A. was the exact sort of training that I needed to be a full time caretaker for GM. In L.A. I used to have to create these idiot proof maps that would get my ex boss from the plain to his car.
Now I find myself having to create those same kind of plans for GM. I have three different versions of itineraries for her. If she is having a “with-it” moment then she gets to see the page that has all of the flight information on it, including the type of aircraft and the exact times that we will land. If she thinks we are going to be gone for too long I have a page that just shows that we will be in Florida for 4 days (& nothing about the two days that we will be traveling on) If she is having an anxiety moment she gets to see the page that simply says, “Saturday: go to Florida”
She had her weekly hair appointment this morning & was happily telling everyone that we were going on vacation and that she needed to go get a new bikini. But she keeps saying, “I don’t know if I can do this.” and I have a little part of my brain ready to deal with her when she declares tomorrow that she won’t go.
It sucks that I can’t just get ready and get excited. Instead I am waiting for another shoe to drop. But I have high hopes that the trip goes well & just MAYBE it will sway her to reconsider moving to Florida. Sometimes I waver on whether or not *I* could be ok in Florida, but the longer I take care of her on my own the more I realize that it is hard.
When you see me again I will have new hair & a new tattoo. Woo hoo!
When the bugs amaze you.
All of a sudden I realized that the crepe myrtle had erupted in bold pinkness in my backyard. Yesterday there was nothing, then today: POW. Pink explosion.
Of course I had to document such beauty, but while I was out there I made an unexpected friend.
I have, as many other people do,a dear fondness for a dragonfly. & I, as I am sure everyone else does, will totally swear that I liked dragonflies before they were established as an “It Bug” and slapped on everything from dresses to stationary.
Seeing dragonflies make me think of my Grandfather as he was the first to point one out to me oh so many years ago. I’m also narcisistic enough to genuinely believe that every time I see a dragonfly that my Pop is checking in on me.
On my worst day in Africa, when I was gutted from a horrible water parasite and emotionally drained from, well a bunch of stuff, I was filming at Lake Victoria. I was struck by a heat fever and as I was turning the camera off to sit down & cool off I felt all of these flutters around my ankles. Of course you’ve guessed that it was a flock of dragonflies. Completely welcome coincidence.
So this afternoon I spotted a dragonfly & as I always do I told it “hello”. Usually the fellows are in a rush: places to go, people to see. But this guy sat down on top of the dead miniature Christmas tree that I had buried in the yard three years ago & I swear to you the son of a bitch POSED.
I took a bazillion photos, each one a bit closer, scared that the next click of the camera would send it away. But no. He came to work it out.
Early On-set Optimism
I do believe that this is a new record.
Just last night I was bitching to myself about having to go out & buy another damn box of tampons. (I will spare you details - but let’s just say that there is an entirely NEW side effect once one stops taking progesterone. It’s like period-pa-looza!) Having spent the good part of Saturday afternoon as a lump on my bed raging against the Universe I felt like an empty shell on Sunday. Then by Sunday night I was just a cranky pants.
Monday mornings are meant to be horrid. They have a delicious track record of kicking you when you are down and then when you open your eyes, begging for mercy, Monday’s tend to stomp sand in your face. Oh no, Monday has never been a friend of mine.
Except today Monday was laying low. She may have sensed that I needed some space.
I woke up with an adorable fuzzy black cat sitting on my gut purring. It is a way better way to wake up then say waking up to a coughed up cat ick on your pillow.
The late night rain had cooled down the yard enough that I could actually read the paper on the porch. In June. Well I’ll be…Things have just fallen into place.
I had to drop off a bunch of D@R* stuff to the new regent. She asked if I would meet her in the lobby of the place where she gets physical therapy. um. Oddly I found myself agreeing to do that & not even resenting the lady for asking me to leave my air conditioned house.
Once I was out & about I discovered I was in a pretty great mood. I was singing backup to some fab songs on the radio and and smiling at the truckers. I was anti Road Rage Rhoda. (a persona that I sometimes get when the fucking idiots of this town suddenly forget how to drive or that their car comes equipped with directional devices)
I think the optimism is proof that good can override evil. One shitty, horrible and LAME thing happened. But then all of this groovy wonderful stuff started happening. Operation: Get Me Tartan boots is in phase two thanks to an amazing woman in Germany. Operation: How the Fuck can I afford More Injectable Meds is also moving into phase two thanks to a very very generous couple in NY.
& people! I am a red head again! Once I got back from running my morning errands I slapped on some Miss Clairol (#110: Natural Light Auburn) & after 25 minutes I am back to ME. Well my hair was already heading back to the land of the ginger, but now I don’t have any more grey or dirty blonde roots. woo hooo!
AND (seriously, can you even believe that it is a fucking Monday??) I have an appointment to get my tattoo next wednesday afternoon in Jacksonville.
The funny thing that has just occurred to me is that I might feel so good because I am reclaiming a former version of myself. Actually it is my favorite version of me. The me from 1997. The crazy red head that moved to L.A. with only $125 and a studio apartment that she had rented without ever seeing first. The me before I let some asshole guy convince me to toss my tartan docs. The me that was making friends with tattoo artists and discovering rockabilly. The me that still called people “Sir” & “Ma’am” before some wanker boss publicly humiliated me for doing so. The me that drove a beat up convertible rabbit VW with a silk scarf tied around my hair.
I know that I can’t undo all of the parts of my life that I screwed up, but dammit if it isn’t the most amazing comfort to reclaim the parts that I loved.
Scheherazade Project: Emptiness
Every day I see the same group of women- the Elevator Girls. They all arrive to the office at the same time- perfectly coordinated and tidy. They seem to taunt me with their togetherness. Hair never frizzy. Stockings never snagged. Their perfumes all different but together they all seem to be from the same heady bouquet.
When I ride in the elevator with them, up to the 12th floor, sometimes they include me in their morning banter. Whatever the conversation was it was always partly over by the time I joined in so I could never show them just how clever I was. I usually spent the better part of a morning rerunning what I should have said. Two weeks ago when the morning elevator topic was about smart balance margarine spread I could have said that I had heard that margarine was bad for you. That it isn’t natural. But instead I had nodded my head said that it tasted really good. I wanted them to like me. To think that I was just like them. Sure my skirt was a bit too tight and was covered in cat hair, and maybe I didn’t quite now how to master bronzer - but I ate the same fucking brand of margarine!
But I don’t eat margarine. It really can kill you. I didn’t make that part up.
Yesterday everything was different. The Too Thin one wasn’t in the elevator and the one with the Soft Southern accent seemed to be ignoring the one that always smelled of Smoke and Sandalwood. It was so quiet in the elevator that I noticed the muzak for the first time in three years. It’s a funny thing to be able to make out muzak and I felt very smart for recognizing a Kenny Loggin’s song. I figured Southern and Smokes would recognize it too so when I nodded my head up to the ceiling speaker and sang, “I’m all right. Nobody worry about me” I thought they would laugh. Instead Southern spat out, ‘What do you mean by that?’ Smoke rolled her eyes and I went a deep shade of crimson. The elevator door opened to our floor and I dashed to my cubicle.
Now I have a lot of pride when it comes to the decor of my cubicle. I had figured out fast that desk clutter was tacky and not hip. Frances, the fat girl formerly from floor four, was next to me and I often heard people snicker about how low rent her cube was. She had Dilbert and Cathy cartoons taped around her PC monitor as well as framed photos of her dog, Daisy. Twice a day she would call home and talk to Daisy over her answering machine. I often wondered when she got home from work if she got excited about seeing a blinking message light - even if the messages where from herself.
So my cube is always tidy. I simply have my phone, my computer and a wall calendar from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I saw Southern had the same one & wondered if people in the office thought maybe we had bought them together. Of course we didn’t, but we could have.
I began making my morning calls when I started to smell a waft of cigarette smoke coming my way. The Elevator Girls sat clear across the floor in receiving. They never had any need for being near my cube so it was disorienting to see Smoke heading my way. She politely tapped her knuckles on the outside of my canvas cube and asked if I could come upstairs with her for a smoke.
Now I don’t smoke, but I immediately saw that this was a very big opportunity. I silently patted myself on my back for wearing my new navy wide legged pant suit. I could feel fat Frances’s eyes fixate on me as I forwarded my calls to voicemail and followed Smoke. ha!
Smoke and I got into the elevator and she punched the number 20. 20! The roof! The only people that were cool enough to go to 20 were the Elevator girls, the Mercedes men and the 16th floor sales team. I had only been up there once before for a night time party. But the only other people that had shown up to that was Frances and three drunk kids from the mailroom. Frances and I never spoke of it. I just acted as if I was popping in and had another place to go. At least I hadn’t changed my clothes like Frances. She really was so pathetic.
Smoke was silent riding up the 8 floors and it wasn’t until the doors opened that she spoke. “Ta-Da!” she trilled. There, under a giant tan umbrella was Too Thin. She had a half smoked parliament in one hand and a large pink colored water bottle in the other.
“Welcome to mid-morning Manhattans”, sang Too Thin. Smoke dug into her purse and pulled out some dixie cups I recognized from the break room and handed me one. “This is where we do all of our plotting against the world!” She laughed. I laughed too. Plotting against the world is a funny phrase.
I sat down on the wire chair that Smoke had pointed to and took a gulp. Ha! What would Frances have to say about all of this?!
We talked about a segment that was on the Today show that morning. I knew that they all watched the show because they thought Matt was cute. He was ok in my book. I liked the doctor when he was on, but I didn’t want to say that in case they all thought the doctor was unappealing.
We then talked about The War. Such a shame. Well, actually I don’t know much about night time news so I just put a serious look on my face and nodded. At night I sit on the balcony of my apartment and listen to Southern talk on the phone. Did I mention that she lives below me? I had heard that she lived at Gillian Gates and I was very lucky to be able to get a place there as well. I also figured that if she wanted an apartment on the East wing that it was probably the safest side so fortune was on my side again when I requested a 1 bedroom and they had one still available & directly above her!
The drink was slowly going to my head and I started to feel dizzy with acceptance. Smoke leaned back and blew an S out of the side of her mouth. Too Thin leaned in and looked at my Brazilian tribe bracelet that I have worn since I saw Southern with one three years ago. She hadn’t worn it in a while, but I liked that we had the same taste in bracelets. I figured some day she might notice it and think we were simpatico.
“Leslie used to wear something like that.”
Too Thin touched the inside of my wrist and without realizing it I blushed. Too Thin thought that was hysterical and I heard Smoke laugh as well.
“Do you think Leslie is fat?” asked Smoke. I waited for Too Thin to respond first and then realized that the question was posed directly to me. Of course I didn’t think Southern was fat. I thought she was the closest thing to perfect I had ever seen. Too Thin was all bones and angles. Smoke was stinky and vulgar. Southern was sweet and lovely. But I also knew that it was customary for women to talk about other women’s BMI’s (ha! learned that phrase from the Today show doctor.)
“I think she looks healthy.” Healthy, in case you didn’t know, is code for fat. Too Thin and Smoke laughed.
Smoke continued, “But don’t you think she’s pretty?”
For some reason that question made me very uncomfortable. What difference did it make if I thought she was pretty?
“We think you are very sweet, but Leslie thinks you are a pervert!!” Then the two of them laughed in these crazy high pitched cackles that made my blood boil. A pervert? Only disgusting old men and teenaged boys could be perverts. I couldn’t tell if they were having a joke or being serious. The only thing I could think of to do was laugh with them. Only when I started laughing they stopped.
“Look, Jane, is it?”
“Janis”, I whispered.
“Janis, we brought you up here to tell you that you need to stop freaking out our friend. We know you follow her around. We know that you have a bit of an obsession. But you need to cool it. It’s really quite pathetic.”
Then the two of them stood up, scraping their chairs across the roof. Smoke flicked her cigarette and Too Thin tucked the pink colored water bottle back into her tote.
I stayed up on the roof for a few more minutes after they had taken the elevator down. Then I stood up and retched onto the gravel. What would Frances say?
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The above is my 1st entry in The Scheherazade Project. It is a work of fiction inspired by the weekly theme (in the form of a photograph): Emptiness. I am open to all critisizm of the piece- I actually welcome it. I wanted it to go in a Bridget Jones meets Single White Female direction but I think the end is a bit flat. Any suggestions?
If anyone is interested in participating in The Scheherazade Project go to this link. The goal is to be a nudge for creative writing. Lawd knows I need a fucking nudge!
Photo Friday: My Rainbow Momma
I’ve purchased a huge bottle of Jest Red California table wine (seriously, you MUST try this if you like red wine) and have two great movies to veg out to this evening (Munich & Kiss Kiss Bang Bang). & I will get through another failed cycle.
You guys are seriously da bomb when it comes to emotional support. This weekend will be a new moon and I hope to have all of my raging purged by then so I can get to a zen place.
My friend M brought up an interesting question about whether or not removing wheat from my diet could help. I’m not sure if I can do away with my whole wheat pita lunches, but it does make me ponder what other things I can eliminate from my diet that might give me better health.
(um, of course I plan on starting any new food plans AFTER I have downed the bottle of red, thank you very much.)
But I think I may try to eat just organic on this break month & phase out dairy. Do any of you guys change your diet while ttc?
I am SO happy that the photo theme this week is rainbows. So far there is a nice collection of groovy photos in the pool. I hope to see plenty more! (ahem- to my dear friend who is going to the Mermaid Parade you KNOW I am counting on you!)
The photo I am submitting is one of my favorites of Mom. It was taken in 1979 the day we moved to Florida. You can’t see, because I was taking the picture, but I had on my Wonder Woman swim suit. So you know it was a good day.
I urge all of you shy types to submit a rainbow photo. You just never know whose spirits you will life!
in case you were wondering…
Love is in the world!
Operation “Get me my tartan boots!” is in the works. I will keep you all posted whether you want updates or not. This is seriously the coolest thing. I will try to dig up some old photos of me in my original tartan docs. I wore them EVERYWHERE. I even wore them to my high school graduation & was almost not allowed to march.
Some other good news- while I do not think that I am knocked up, I am pleased to report that I made it to 13 days past ovulation without a period. My average is 10 days so 13 is quite nice. It certainly means that the progesterone did its job. I’ll test for the last time tomorrow - but my gut tells me that it will -.
& now for some REALLY good news. Please go meet the newest addition to our blogosphere! The gals over at Insane Animals have an update!
(& for some interactive fun- we can play “consult the oracle of word verification“. Look deeply into the scrambled letters & see if it will give us any insight into what tomorrow’s test will be.)
Need some international help.
Some of you may remember that I have been on a nearly decade long quest to replace the most amazing pair of tartan doc martens. Various tartan docs have appeared on eb*y, but none have been my size. (this is where I remind you that my feet are bigger than your feet.)
Every other day I look on line for these shoes & this morning, through a series of links & clicks I have found them! Brand new! For sale! In my size!
Woooo hoooooo!
Now the only issue, (& of course there fucking has to be an issue. Heaven forbid anything ever come easy in this life.) is that they do not ship to the U.S. So I am looking for someone with trustworthy connections in one of these lovely nations: Austria, Denmark, Estonia, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Spain or the United Kingdom.
I will pay for you to ship the boots from your house to mine & I will tell everyone how kick ass you are. If you can help me out let me know via the comments.
New Poll! New Theme! (a tuesday tradition)
I’m not going to fuss, but participation in last week’s photo friday was kind of low. I’m sure all of you are very busy, but some of us (me!) kind of depend on you guys to brighten our (my) day by sharing your creative (or silly) photos. This week’s theme (which I will get to in a mo’) is something pretty special and I hope that everyone can do their part to entertain (me).
But before we can get to tuesday business it’s time to reflect on photos from last week. Please go to the Photo Friday Pool (mmmm, doesn’t a nice dip in the pool sound divine?!), leave comments & love & then report back here for your civic voting duty.
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Now on to the new theme! woooo hooooo!!
The winner of last week’s Bug photo is the very clever Saran and BB who showed us what they would do to a bug that dared enter their home. hee hee.
Their prize (as will be yours if you win) is to select a new theme for us. Here is what they would like to see:
Finding the Rainbows!
In honor of this month, we would like everyone to find us colourful rainbows. These can be real rainbows, rainbow painted people, rainbow flower beds, rainbow water, even rainbow flags in weird places!!
Go nuts, my only wish is that people get creative.
As a card carrying member of the Muppet Fan Club, I am, of course, always happy to have a Rainbow Connection. Rainbows signify a lot of wonderful things and fuck knows we could all use a bit of wonderful.
Damn those chicks!
So I am having a stressful morning: paying bills, checking in on blog friends, waiting for somebody that I used to be friends with that I haven’t spoken to in over a year to stop by to borrow a camera…
I put the new Dixie Chicks cd on repeat and sort of zoned out. Then I got caught up in the lyrics of one of their songs & just started bawling. Like insane woman in a movie bawling. I won’t be a complete goober & post the lyrics. But I will tell you the song is Silent House & if you know the album you know why it just hit close to home.
The entire flipping album is filled with songs that are touching me. Of course there are the great angry anthems, but late in the disc is a very sad song about infertility. wahhh!
I need to go watch some CNN or something & snap out of it before GM wakes up.
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