I just don't have it in me to complain about EVERYTHING that pisses me off, so I'll keep it short. Sort of. Well, okay, maybe not as concise as one might prefer, but at least I'm blogging. Whoopee.
-----May God's blessings fill you with joy during this Holy season.Yes, because the rest of this goddamn year has been such a fucking wonderful shitfest.
I have stuck to "Happy New Year", and that's as far as it goes. I know a multitude of non-Christians that may or may not give a rat's ass about it even being WINTER, much less someone imposing their religious beliefs on them. Everyone gets to start fresh in 2006 (except the Chinese, and those following the Hebrew/Islamic calendars; please forgive me if I've left anyone out, I do try to engage in diversity on occasion).
-----Commercials. Where do I even begin?
Two men fishing, and one is momentarily debilitated by arthritis pain. His buddy just happens to have an unopened box of a pain reliever in his fishing vest, which he thoughtfully produces along with helpful advice on combating the discomfort. Do I even need to explain how unlikely this scenario could possibly be in real life? And yet, it pisses me off. At least they weren't discussing constipation, hemorrhoids or freshness. And the disclaimers on pharmaceutical ads and automotive commercials just scream "you are a moron" (for those of us who actually read them). Do we really need warnings not to drive SUVs up the sides of cliffs, especially since we are not professional drivers on a closed course? I mean, even though I have no idea what ailment the drug you're pushing is supposed to treat, I so fucking want it. Then I could drive my new Insipid through Manhattan, completely evading any indication of traffic or pedestrians, and easily find parking any damn where I pleased, while butterflies and crisp white linens waft gently in the breeze on my way to wildflower pastures completely devoid of allergens. And my erection would be tremendous.
-----People. In general, not my favorite mammal.
Ran into a former coworker the other day. Worked with this woman for 3 years, had at one point assumed we were friends. When we lost Nicholas, she sent me a card telling me how sorry she was, and to call her anytime, asserting that she
knows exactly how I feel. She, the #2 girl in our 3 gal office, was the one who couldn't find the time to come to the funeral, or check in on me even once. I took her up on her offer to "keep in touch", but 2 unanswered emails, 5 ignored instant messages, and one unreturned phone call later, I gave up. She was SO THRILLED to see me, and wanted to know HOW I WAS DOING. Mostly, she wasn't even listening anyway. She occasionally chimed in with her experience of her solitary 12 week m/c, or some of the dumb things people said to her. Yet, somehow, she managed to go above and beyond insensitive, and end up at downright stupid. The pinnacle: when relaying news to me that the sister of another mutual acquaintance had recently experienced a stillbirth, she said "
And they took pictures! Can you believe it? I mean, how gross is that? I guess it was part of the grieving process for them or whatever, but, ewwwww." This genius, who knows exactly what I went through, was astounded that I had to give birth to my dead baby. Because, as we all know, they just evaporate when they stop breathing. When she had HER miscarriage, they just did a D&C.
Do you mean to tell me I could have avoided all that?, I asked her, rolling my eyes so far back in my head I swear I nearly swallowed one.
Not quite sure how that balances out with my new family doctor, who seemed more than interested in my reproductive history. Seems her friend, who is in her early 40's, has been battling infertility. But, her situation is a little different, because she's never even been pregnant yet, poor dear. Can you just imagine?
At least I know I can GET pregnant. She did have some valid medical information to impart. My ovaries are again riddled with cysts; the left one in particular looks somewhat menacing. Confused as to why Dr. Wonderful did not catch this? The brainiacs at the ER where my u/s was done during my hemorrhage sent the report to my primary doc instead of my ob/gyn. Because, um, well, I'm not really sure why. Some questions to ask when I get around to it: why would I have all these (presumably functional) cysts at the end of a 3+ month pregnancy when my hcg continued to remain so high as to register a positive an entire month after the pregnancy ended? If memory serves me right, progesterone interferes just enough with the rest of the girly hormones to put a stop on the old gals' activity. Unless, you know, I have a PROBLEM which might need to be ADDRESSED. The recommendation: a repeat sono in 6 weeks. From the first test. Done 3 weeks ago. And they scheduled it for...... January 25th. Which is 5 weeks from now, and a little off of the time frame. I gently suggested that 1) we confirm with my cooter specialist what he recommends, and 2) maybe we need to time this with my cycle to get an accurate reading. I am no stranger to the clumpy monsters that inhabit my nethers. Seeing as how my D&C begins the new and improved cycling pattern (HA!), maybe the 6 week indication might be a goal to consider. (?)
But, as my luck would have it, Dr. Wonderful is on vacation, and booked solid upon his return. Therefore, I will spend the next few days over Christmas worrying about the individual cysts that have expanded to >4cm and seem to have a certain "clouding" around them. Or, just go find a second opinion somewhere. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.
-----Turn left after the yellow dog. That dawg is BROWN, LaWanda.
Ok, how about TAN, then, can we agree on TAN?? Goddammit Cletus, why cain't you just shut-the-hell-up and stay outta this? Becuz they maht be lookin' fer a yeller dawg and git lawst.
We live in Appalachia. Now, before you start booking your vacation plans early, let me assure you that the tourist attractions here are cheap and plentiful, but could easily scar you for life.
Due to some faulty navigation courtesy of online coordinates, our mapped-out excursion to the middle of nowhere landed us in the Armpit of the Alleghenies. We simply needed to make it to The Boy's hockey game, preferably on time. Instead, we were stopping every 10 miles or so, asking directions, trying to find our way to civilization. Even though Cletus did not have a complete grasp of enunciation, he was rather helpful in guiding us closer to our destination. LaWanda, on the other hand, was as dense as molasses left out on the mudporch in March. Or something like that. But I liked her summer teeth.
