Buffalo Dave

I met with Lucia the other day, and we talked about what happened with Rich.

We talked about my childhood and tried to make some connection as to why I do this to myself, why I think of myself as so unworthy. It came back to the weight issues again, the way it was the family project, from the time I was 8 or 9, to try to get me to lose weight -- even though I didn't need to.

And again, if my family couldn't accept me the way I was, if they didn't see me as fine as is, how could I? How could I ever?

And so today, as I was driving back from Syracuse, I was thinking more about it. I was suddenly sad -- hormonal, about to ovulate, suddenly mourning the fact that I've given up on finding love -- and it made me think about all of the relationships I've had, and I wondered, beyond my childhood issues, beyond not loving myself as is, did I ever have a normal relationship?

Ten years ago, when I lived in Rochester...10 years ago I had a thing for my friend Dave. More than a thing -- it was a crush of the hugest proportions, and it got bigger every day.

Dave lived in Buffalo, and our friendship was mostly on the phone. And because of that, we got to know each other really well, from the inside out. And because of that, I thought he was amazing. And because of that, I knew that he cared for me, that he valued my opinion, that I was one of his best friends.

For two years this went on. For two years, every time we talked on the phone, as soon as I hung up, I would say "I love you." And for two years, I wondered when he would figure it out. I drove my friends crazy -- "you have to tell him how you feel, or you need to move on."

Two of my co-workers and I had to go to Buffalo for a business thing, and we arranged to meet Dave and some of our mutual friends out that night. Wanda and Julie saw it that night, they saw how I was the one he would lean into and make a private comment to, how his arm hung casually and comfortably around my shoulder, how he was attentive to only me, how he always made sure I had a drink. And so I knew I wasn't crazy, I knew that I was not imagining this connection between us. I had confirmation.

It took me months -- maybe even a half year -- after that to figure out what to do. I lost sleep over him, I had dreams about him, and finally, one night, in the middle of the night, I pulled out a notebook and wrote him a letter.

It was not a rambling diatribe, it only filled one side of a sheet of paper. It wasn't overly gushing or emotional, but it was from my heart. I remember that unbelievably the letter was perfect in one take. Perfect in what I wanted to say, and perfect in that there were no scratched out words, no need to rewrite it. It was exactly what I felt and exactly what I needed him to know. I folded it and put it in an envelope, and mailed it to my friend Ed in Connecticut. Ed would be visiting Dave in two weeks, and he could hand deliver it.

For two weeks, I called Ed almost daily (and sometimes more than once a day), "don't give it to him," "you have to give it to him," until finally the weekend Ed was in Buffalo had arrived, and the fate of the letter was out of my hands.

He gave Dave the letter on Sunday, at the airport as Dave was dropping him off. And then I waited. Two days later, Dave called me at the office. And to his credit, he told me what I didn't want to hear in the only way I would want to hear it. He loved me, as friend; he didn't want to lose me; he appreciated my honesty; he apologized if he had led me on; he didn't want this to change our relationship.

A few months after the letter incident, Ed was back in Buffalo and I went to visit for the weekend. The three of us were out drinking, and Dave was acting as he always did around me. I don't know if it was the beer, the situation, the fact that he didn't know the effect he had on me -- but it was all too much. I literally felt my heart break. My chest hurt and it was hard to breath. I looked at Ed and said, "I need to get out of here."

Dave never knew what happened that night, never knew the tears I cried over him on Ed's shoulder. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was that important to me, even after he told me I would never be more than a friend to him.

And so while it was awkward for awhile, Dave and I have stayed friends. I attended his wedding, and sent presents when his son, and then his twins, were born.

But as I look back now, Dave was the last single man I ever let myself feel anything real for. Since him, the only relationships have been married men: J of Baltimore, Bruce, Chris. Along the way, there have been a string of one-night stands -- some married, some single. But really what was going to come from a hook-up? I'm not that girl who gets a phone call the next day.

And so what does this all have to do with anything? I don't know. All I know is I can't get these things out of my head and wonder if this is why I am the way I am? Is this why I can't open myself up to a single man?

I wasn't good enough for my family, and then the one time I took a risk, I wasn't good enough for. Sure, he cared about me, but I wasn't good enough for him to even try to see if a relationship would work. And it just wasn't worth the risk again. I got nothing more than a broken heart, and from that point on, I've put up a wall. A wall to protect myself from the one thing that I really really want.

Sake and Herbs

I realized tonight as I started reading "Knock Yourself Up: A Tell-All Guide to Becoming a Single Mom," that I haven't really written in much detail about the process I've been going through in trying to get pregnant. And while I promise to not be too graphic, I think this is something I'm going to want to remember.

I received a list of nationally accredited sperm banks from my doctor's office way back in June when I had my first appointment. The appointment consisted of your general pelvic exam and then bloodwork on very specific days of my cycle, to measure my FSH level (to know if I had good eggs left), and my estrodial and progesterone levels (to know if every other part of my cycle would work).

After requesting literature from each place and looking at their website, I waited for the official literature. I had it narrowed down to two places -- one in San Francisco and one near Boston -- mostly because they had experience in working with single women. It wasn't just an infertility issue, but they seemed to be sensitive to the other clients they could serve.

I hate to say it came down to money, but part of my final decision came down to money. New England was a little cheaper, and I also reasoned that being on the East coast could prevent potential shipping issues. Now that I had my umbrella supplier, I needed to find my main supplier, my baby daddy.

What was I looking for? And how superficial is this whole process? Honestly, I just want someone healthy, I just want a baby. But I have to choose, and I get to choose, so why not put thought into this?

And so, for no reason other than it is appealing to me, I chose blond hair, blue eyes, and ethnicity similar or near mine (Scottish, Irish, German, French). And from there, it was about their chosen professions and their personality traits that would appeal to me if this person were in front of me. Ultimately I chose a music student at Berklee, an avid runner and reader.

I've had two tries with him. In August, I went to work in the morning and left early for the appointment. Again, like a pelvic exam, except a little more intrusive to get the cervix open -- and a long thin tube, hooked up to the thawed sperm. After I was "squirted" as my nurse practitioner referred to it, I laid on the table, flat, for 30 minutes. I read a magazine and held onto my good luck charm.

I was absolutely convinced that I would get pregnant. 100%, there was no chance that this wouldn't work. Ten million sperm, six egg follicles. But guess what? It didn't.

September's ultrasound showed that I had some residual cysts from all the follicles, so I rested. October gave me another chance. This time, I'd been getting acupuncture treatments and I took the day off. I rested and had a friend drive me.

And when it didn't work this time, I was much more prepared. And less disappointed when the ultrasound revealed, yet again, that I had a cyst.

When I went for acupuncture yesterday, my doctor sent me home with a bottle of herbs -- different from the herbs I'm supposed to drink twice a day (not a tea drinker, I shoot for once a day) -- these herbs get mixed with Sake (rice wine), made into a paste. I put them on my stomach, over my right ovary (where the cyst is) and then cover with a heating pad for 30 minutes.

It sounds like a bit of voodoo, but if nothing else it's relaxing. And the whole mind/body thing is definitely something I believe in. So tonight, for my second night, I got home, made my sake and herb paste, and sat in my chair with the heating pad on my abdomen.

And so another daily thing that goes towards the process of getting pregnant:

• herb drink
• basal body temperature each morning
• charting my temperature and cervical mucus
• moxa stick on specific pulse points
• and now sake and herbs

Will it be worth it? Absolutely, no question about it.

Weekend Update

My friend Karyn came over Friday night. We co-hosted a baby shower on Saturday, and she came by to help me move furniture, decide on last-minute details, etc. Honestly, it was the easiest party I've put together -- we're both so scarily organized and love to plan events that it just came together.

So, there really wasn't that much to do. So we opened a bottle of wine -- Red Cat from Hazlett. I am so not a wine connoisseur that this would probably be considered not one of the finer reds. It's pretty sweet, but I can't take a dry wine. Anyway, the Red Cat went down very smooth and easy. And less than 45 minutes later, we were opening a second bottle -- Niagara from Wagner. Another sweet wine, this time white.

So, for the first time since early August, I was drunk. Someone should take my cell phone away from me when I'm drinking. I don't drunk dial, I drunk text.

To J in Baltimore: "Why are you so far away when I'm this drunk and horny?"

To my local friend G (all 26 years of him): Drunk...horny....you?"

G wrote back almost instantly: "Ha....whats good...out of town, call u when i get back."

No word from J, and given the way he bolted away from the flirtatious line after boldly crossing it during Hall of Fame weekend, I got a little worried. Today, I got this: "Outstanding text! Just got back from China and just got it, sorry!"

Riiight....he was in China with #8 teaching kids about baseball. Bubbles thinks I should ask him to be my donor, my baby batter supplier. It makes me nervous, but I will admit that I've thought about it. More than once. I'll probably see him -- or at least talk to him -- when I head south for Thanksgiving, so maybe I'll ask him, but I'll probably chicken out.

Back to the weekend, I pretty much passed out Friday after Karyn's husband came and picked her up. Saturday was the baby shower -- and it was a huge hit, but a long day. Several of my friends asked if it was hard, given my disappointment in getting my period last week, but you know, it wasn't. And that makes me feel good. That I'm not selfish, that it wasn't about me...that it was about Jess and Drew and their happiness.

Saturday night, I went to see "The Full Monty" on campus. So good! I can't even believe that they were college students. When I saw that the play was two hours and 45 minutes -- after being on my feet and hosting 22 people all day -- I thought about turning around and leaving. But the time flew by and the play was great.

Sunday, I napped and watched football. You can't ask for a much better Sunday than that.

Happy Halloween

I'm exhausted. I was up at 6, on the road by 7:10 and in Syracuse by 8:30 to spend the entire day at the hospital while my mom had surgery. All went well thankfully. And she is now home and resting. When I called a friend of hers to let her know that the surgery was over, she asked if my dad was driving me crazy, I said "no, we're really the same person. We've been sitting here for three hours, not really talking, just reading our books."

And we really are cut from the same cloth.

Ovarian Resting

I went in for my baseline ultrasound this morning -- I have two cysts. One is small and the tech thought that one wouldn't be a problem, but in the other ovary, a bigger one. Too big to allow to go through the cycle this month and attempt insemination. So I'm resting my ovaries this month.

It's frustrating. And at the same time, feeling the frustration makes me feel as if I'm not entitled to feel this bad. Women with serious fertility issues go years of this, I've had two failed attempts over four months. And I've been told by professionals that I'm going to get pregnant eventually. I'm doing everything they are telling me to do -- I'm eating as organically as I can; I've cut out caffeine, artificial sweeteners, alcohol; I'm cutting stress out of my life as best I can; I'm exercising and resting; I'm doing to acupuncture and doing everything she tells me to do.

I have to keep remembering that all of this -- all the frustration, the roller coaster of emotions, the impatience, the sadness and fear -- all of it will make the end result that much sweeter. All of it will make that baby that much more worth it. I have to remember that.

Not Knocked Up

As I knew would happen, as I suspected would be the case, I woke up with my period this morning. The test on Friday night was right. I'm kind of numb but not surprised, I think because this time around, I knew the disappointment so as best I could, I kept my hopes in check.

I haven't told anyone yet. I don't want to say it out loud, I'm afraid that if I actually say it and hear the sympathy in the other person's voice, I will break. So I'm spending my Sunday keeping busy -- doing bills even though I don't get paid until Wednesday, grocery shopping, football and Law & Order marathon (thank goodness for picture in picture) -- and not talking to anyone. I know this can't go on all day, but I'm going to keep it this way as long as I can.

I know this is only my second try, but it is so counter-intuitive to everything we've been talk, everything we were brought up hearing. "Don't have sex -- even just once, and you'll get pregnant." They never tell you that the chances are so slim, the window of when everything is lined up has to be so exact...but somehow it happens.

And so I have to believe that it will happen, somehow, it will happen. For today, I get to be sad. Tomorrow, I'll put on my happy face and positive spin.

All Good Signs

I had my doctor appointment today, my second attempt at getting pregnant. I try not to read into signs, but I can't help myself:

• today is my mom's birthday
• my would-be due date is my niece's birthday and my friend's anniversary
• if I don't get my period, I get my blood work done on same friend's birthday
• at the time of my appointment, my friend in Baltimore saw an Ithaca College bumper sticker, a New York state license plate, and a pregnant woman

I had two really good acupuncture appointments, yesterday and today, and I have two different fertility meditation CD's to listen to. Here's hoping I'm knocked up.

A-Rod

I honestly didn't expect the Yankees to get to the World Series. As much as I hate to admit it, Boston has a better team. The Yankees' pitching is old and inconsistent. I did expect them to beat Cleveland.

So Hot Stove baseball starts now for me. Who's going to be there next year? And who will the manager be? Please no LaRussa. Mattingly doesn't have the experience.

A-Rod could become more beloved in New York City than Derek Jeter, by uttering one sentence:

"I will not opt out of my contract as long as Joe Torre is the manager of the Yankees next year."

Not gonna happen....but it's a nice thought.

My mother's new-found inability to not listen

I called my mom from work one day this week. I don't even remember the reason, but as I was on the phone, I mentioned to her that I had had an ultrasound that morning, and the cysts are gone so I can try again this month.

"The what?"

"The cysts." And realizing that that's probably a hard word to understand over the phone, "c-y-s-t-s."

"Oh, okay."

And that was it. We hung up and I went back to work. Two hours later, my phone rang. I could tell by the caller ID that it was her.

"Hello?"

"I'm so excited your cysts are gone -- I can't believe it."

I literally sat there dumbfounded. Even pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. "Um...yea, two hours later."

"Well, I was in the middle of something."

Ah-ha, yea, well.....

I get so frustrated with her. She does this all the time. My sisters, nieces and I all compare notes. How you can be on the phone with Fran and she totally isn't listening. If you've got something better to do, then don't be on the phone with us. Don't fake listening and excitement when you have no idea what I just said.

I was at my parent's on Thursday and my father was accusing my mother of not telling him something. And she said, "I told you, you just don't listen."

Yea, life's a bitch, isn't it Fran?

Thinning

I spotted last week, about four days before I was supposed to get my period. I think I mentioned that. I had an ultrasound on Monday (the day before I should have gotten it) and all the cysts were gone. Yeah! So we just needed to wait for my period.

Everything goes from day 1. Day 2, I get blood work done. Days 4 through 8, I take Clomid. Day 13, I get an ultrasound and a shot of hCG. day 14, insemination.

Day 31 of my cycle...and still nothing. I called the doctor's office. After reviewing my ultrasounds images, with the new information that there was nary a sign of my period, the doctor said that my walls were too thing, I probably wouldn't get a period. So I started to take the Clomid today (on what could be viewed as day 5).

I'll get an ultrasound -- follicle check -- next Monday. And if all looks good, order the baby batter for the next day. I'm not getting too excited about it. Given that this is a weird month, I'm preparing myself for the ultrasound to not be an "all systems go."

Acupuncture has been going well. The herbs taste awful -- even in hot apple cider. It's so relaxing, I even fall asleep while I'm on the table.

Jenn (my friend who had to successful IVF's) suggested fertility meditation CDs. I've found some, but they all have to do with IVF treatment. I did find one preparing the body for insemination, but it's in the UK. There has to be one in the US.

I'm Wireless

My computer finally died -- so I bought a laptop the other day and the cable company came out today to make me wireless. Its hard to get used to this keyboard.

The guys that came this morning were kind of shady -- they were sub contractors. here for less than 10 minutes, and left saying I was all set. Unfortunately, I wasn't. I couldn't get online. So I called -- 45 minutes later, still no luck. So they sent someone else out. Someone who officially worked for the company.

He was very sweet, and got me all set. He flirted a little and when he told me he was glad to help the "cute Yankees fan." Even gave me his cell phone number in case I run into any more problems. Yeah, all the married men love me, even the Time Warner guys.

Wishing, Hoping, Praying

This has been the longest month of my life -- and I still have another week (or three) to go. I've been trying to focus on me and trying to stay stress-free and stay occupied with my acupuncture treatment (and the things she's been having me do between appointments).

I've tried to take this time to work out, to work out hard, until I get pregnant. But I'm so tired. The rational part of me knows that it is all the hormones they have given me. I have no motivation at the gym -- I can barely work out for 20 minutes on the treadmill or the bike. And squatting -- forget it. The past few days, I've actually come home from work and taken a nap and then gone for a walk. Last night, I was asleep by 8pm. For the night.

And so the wishful hopeful part of me is wondering....am I? Could I be? There were six eggs and not all of them expelled themselves last month. Maybe one got fertilized and hid somewhere? Maybe I am pregnant? That's why I'm so tired.

I know, I know -- it's not that. I can't kid myself. I can't wish for the impossible. And I can't get all worked up about not getting pregnant on the first try. Or even the second try. I've got lots of options, lots of time, lots of support.

And so, I should get my period in a week, and then hopefully I can try again in October.

Dreams

I'm not sure what to make of my recent string of dreams. Over the past few months, I've had dreams about someone I went to high school with. I haven't seen Kevin in years and years -- when I still in Rochester and he was working for a congressman or senator, and we were a good seven or eight years out of high school. And for all I know, he is still working for him.

Sometimes he is just making a guest appearance in my dream -- it's not really about him, he just happens to be there. Last night, he started out as a guest star and then the focus turned to his wedding band. And I was so bummed that he was married.

I have no idea what is bringing this on. I'm not in touch with any of the people he was friends with in high school, I haven't looked at my yearbook recently, and while I had a crush on him in the 7th grade, we were never more than really good friends throughout high school.

Am I supposed to take these dreams as some sort of sign? Am I suddenly supposed to be proactive with fate and get in touch with him? And then say what? I've been dreaming about you. I have gone so far as to google him -- which I did a few weeks ago when he was in a dream. And as far as I could tell -- from an annual report on-line from a few years ago -- he is still in politics.

Part of me feels that there's nothing to do. Maybe I'll run into him next year, if we have a 20th high school reunion. And maybe I won't. And really, why am I spending so much time thinking about this?

And part of me is really puzzled, confused and intrigued as to why he keeps showing up in my dreams. And why, last night, was I so upset that he's married. When I saw in Rochester, he wasn't. But that was easily 10 years ago when I was still at the science center.

Has anyone ever been in this type of situation? Given in to giving fate a little bit of help? Or am I grasping at straws? Wishing for a chance at romance before I get pregnant?

Update

So I'm not as sad about not getting pregnant on the first month, though when I talked to a friend yesterday, I did feel myself welling up a little. I've taken some positive steps to get ready for next month, namely trying acupuncture.

She (the acupuncturist) wants to see me once a week (more around insemination), I have herbs to drink twice a day (I hate tea -- but I've been able to manage drinking the herbs with hot apple cider), and I have "moxa" sticks (cigar-like incense sticks) to hold over specific pressure points. When I first met with her, I explained my situation, we talked about my hormone level issues, the fertility drugs they have been using and when. We talked about my period, my energy level, whether I feel cold all the time -- lots of random things. But when she connected them all together, it made so much sense.

I am "yang" deficient, I have no fire. What this means, and how it connects to western medicine is....my hormone levels are off from the middle of my cycle. What she's saying is, my temperature spikes (as it should) when I ovulate, but doesn't stay high, it drops again. I need to work to improve my fire, so that my temp stays up and can nurture a fertilized egg.

OK, so maybe it's a little hocus pocus, but I'm willing to try anything. It's not going to have an adverse effect on things. And the actual acupuncture procedure is very relaxing. And unwanted stress is known to be a deterrent in fertility treatment.

I couldn't get inseminated in September, because I had cysts on my ovary. That was frustrating news to hear on top of not being pregnant last month. Not only was I not pregnant, but now I have to wait six weeks instead of two.

The acupuncture has given me something else to focus on so that I'm not obsessing so much on when I can try again. That, and her having my chart my body temperature every morning.

I've tried not to think ahead, tried not to see signs in things, but....if all works out for me to try again next month, I would be inseminated on my mom's birthday and then be due on my niece's birthday next July.

Sometimes, I can't help myself -- I have to look for signs and hope for the best. I'm going to be disappointed anyway, so why not have a little hope, right?

Observations

There is a man at work -- a "high level" person, and the type of person who uses the term "high level" to describe non-peons.

Usually, I am the first one to walk into the building's main doors. And I know this because of the parking lot I use. Most of the early birds park in the east lot and go in the side door. Craig and I are usually the first person (who parks in the west lot and goes in the main door).

The mornings I'm here first, I pick up the morning newspaper, which is sitting on the sidewalk right by the door, and plop it on the receptionist's desk. The mornings he's here first -- he walks right by it. Apparently he's too "high level" of a person to pick it up?

I think that says a lot about the type of person he is.

.

It hit me Friday. Hard. I got my period. I'm not pregnant. The rational part of me said, why are you so upset? It's not like you had a miscarriage. This was only your first try. Did you really think you were going to get pregnant on the first try? Did you really?

But with emotions, there is no logic. There is no rational thought -- only pain and diappointment, for what could have been, what was never but still feels lost.

I tried to take it in stride the first day. I was initally numb. And even confused by my lack of feelings. And then disappointment. And then the over-whelming need to curl up and cry. I have very supportive friends and family, but I am essentially dealing with this alone. At the end of the day, it's just me.

By Friday, I was an emotional wreck. By not dealing with it right away, or maybe not accepting it right away, it hit me hard two days later. I cried on my drive home from work. Skipped the gym completely, and slept for an hour on the couch.

I felt sad and I needed to mourn. And I felt like no one understood.

What I didn't realize was, there were people who understood, people who were empathetic, people who wanted to help me through this disappointment. What I didn't realize was, I was projecting my rational thought, my logic, onto everyone else, which only compounded my loneliness.

Are you ready for some football?

I didn't think I was. I thought it was too early. It's still too warm out. It's going to 90 here tomorrow -- in central New York, where we could honestly see snow flurries next month.

But I watched the pre-game show. I saw the championship banner unfurled. I gagged at Jimmy Irsay's really bad pimp suit. And I got excited when the players ran out of the tunnel and onto the field.

Okay, so my Yankees have a three-game lead in the wild card. A-Rod is now beloved in New York. But tonight, it's all about the Colts and the Saints. (And by pure coincidence, I wore my Unitas t-shirt to the gym tonight.)

I am ready for football. Thursday night football.

I'm not, however, ready to change my ringtone on my cell phone from the "Baseball Tonight" theme song to the "NFL on Fox" theme song. Maybe after the (baseball) regular season. Or the play-offs.

The Right Things to Say

Unlike my friend this morning, whose comment rubbed me the way wrong way, I have very supportive family and friends who knew just what to say.

From my dear friend Wanda:
There's nothing good to say. I know the frustration and disappointment you feel because I had it many times. But I know that what I felt was probably not even as bad as what you're looking at today. It can be very hard to stay positive when you just want to cry. But know that in a couple of days your mind will switch back from hope and excitement to acceptance and moving on to the next step. You just have to go through a mini mourning process first and try to stay positive. I love you, Ellie, and I'm here if you want/need to vent.

From my mom:
i know you're disappointed but the chances it would work first time were small
next time you have to go for acupuncture, right
love you and i'll keep praying
see you sunday
love mom

From my niece:
WE all need to live life through the eyes and ears of Ryan (my three-year-old great nephew). 
He would say oh well next time.  Take it as it was a practice run.  I know it is not easy to deal with
but you have lots of friends and family that are here to support you through this. The % of getting
pregnant the first time any which way is very low.  So keep positive and it will happen! 
Keep believing!  Call me tonight if you need to.  I will keep you in my prayers.  Love ya!

From my sister-in-law:
Tiffany called me this morning after you texted her. I'm sorry Ellie. I'm getting my hair done at 5:30
tonight so after that if you want to talk just give me a call. Other wise I'll respect your silence.......

Strike One

Not that I only get three strikes -- with the money that I have saved and then insurance kicking in after six failed attempts, I do have at least two at bats, maybe three. Baseball analogy aside, I got my period this morning.

I was numb when I saw it, and then it kind of sank in as the morning as progressed. And then one well-meaning friend said, "well, the good news is you know for sure, you don't have to wait anymore."

What?! I wanted to slap her. The good news? Oh right, because waiting for another three days was oh so terrible. Yes, I was impatient, but at least with waiting, there was hope.

I called the doctor's office to let them know. She said she'd call me back -- she'll figure out the next round of hormones, the timing of it, etc. I've also heard that acupuncture helps -- I've heard two success stories. And I do live in a hippie town, so there is no shortage of alternative practices.

D-Day

No sign of anything tonight. Could I really be pregnant? Am I ready for this? It's very surreal. Like I don't know if it could really be happening to me.

What will it feel like when I hear the test results? How will I react if I wake up with my period tomorrow morning?

To try to counteract the disappointment, I have created a "celebration" plan for my period. If I get my period, I'm having the biggest diet Pepsi I can find. I've been without caffeine and aspartame for nearly a month.

The odds are that I'm not pregnant. What are the chances that it took the first time? But really 10 million sperm against six total eggs (three mature, three immature)? What kind of better odds do those little guys need? It would be amazing, especially given where I was on June 25, laying on my couch, crying my eyes out, thinking that I would not be able to get pregnant with my own eggs.

And how about being excited that my period is late!? No freaking out, no praying, no making deals, no midnight runs to the grocery store for a pregnancy test to just get it over with, no staring at the stick for an hour to make sure that it hasn't changed its mind and gives you a different result.

Stay tuned.

Am I?

I've been whaffling back and forth -- I "feel" that I'm pregnant...I don't know...I don't want to get my hopes up. I'm trying not to get obsessed about it and I think, for the most part, that I've been pretty patient and haven't been dwelling on it.

With the exception of constantly being light headed, all my other symptoms could just be PMS.

But is being pregnant and having that intuition about it like being in love? If you have to ask what it feels like, you're probably not.

D-6110

I had an ultrasound this morning - three mature egg follicles! My hormone levels were good, so today I was inseminated. When I got to the doctor's office, Jodi told me to get undressed while she thawed the sperm. When she came back, we talked about my do not eat/drink list, cleaning the litter box (use a mask and rubber gloves) and when I could take a test.

She was very sweet and saved the vial the specimen came in for me.

I got in the usual position in the stirrups and she inserted the speculum. After she injected the sperm into my uterus, I had to lie flat and still for about 20-30 minutes.

Because I had an injection of hCG yesterday (to induce ovulation today), any home pregnany tests I take could read false positive. So I have to wait for my period to show or not on September 4. And if I don't get it, I'll get blood work done on September 8.

It's going to be a long 16 days.

The Chronic Gal Pal

I'm in the middle of my vacation and while I don't think I'm having doubts, I might call it cold feet. I'm reading books and magazines -- and they all reference the husband, the father, the partner. I don't have that -- I won't have that. I'm thinking about the baby, and day dreaming about it -- and more times than not, there's someone to share things with. But that's not the way this will be.

Everyone I know -- and everything I know is the mom, the dad and the baby. I know I can do this on my own. But do I really want to? If given the choice, I think I'd rather be married. Wouldn't I?

Can I go without intimacy and love? It's times like these that I feel like a little is better than none -- and I want to call Chris, I want J of Baltimore to want me, I wish I still had Bruce in my life.

I wonder why this has become my lot in life. Is it because I'm such a good friend, that I have all my love for my friends and family? Or am I'm being punished? Why is this my fate?

It's going to happen....

...as long as my body cooperates. I started taking Clomid today -- day one of five. Next week when I get back from vacation, I will have an ultrasound. If it looks good -- if the Clomid does what it's supposed to -- then I'll be inseminated as early as Thursday.

I looked through the catalog for the final -- or near final -- time. I thought long and hard about an anonymous donor vs. a donor willing to be known someday. I thought about calling my oldest sister -- to ask her opinion, her feelings on not knowing who her biological father is. But the more I thought about it, if given a choice, she'd probably want just that -- the choice.

And so I want to give this baby the option. He/she may want to know, may not -- but the option will always be there. And while I totally believe that most of the baby's personalities traits will be nuture over nature, I think it says a lot of this man that he's willing to be known. That he's thought enough about what he's doing to make himself available, even if just once, in 18 years. To disrupt his life to meet the miracle he helped make happen.

I filled out the paperwork for New England -- I'll probably get some Red Sox genese. Another good reason for believing in nuture over nature. :)

Jenny is giving me all of her maternity clothes. I hop eI'm not jinxing myself by taking them before I need them. I need all the good luck I can get for this.

Erica T. told me that I should bring a good luck charm when I get inseminated -- I thinking my 3-6 month sized Derek Jeter t-shirt. I've had it for at leat six years. Holding onto it and waiting. And hoping. And maybe someday, I'll get to use it.

To my pre-conceived notion

I need to continue writing this, to keep a record, so I always remember what I went through, what I was feeling, so you know without a shadow of a doubt, how much I love you already.

I don't know how -- or when exactly -- you'll come to me. I only know that I won't stop until I have you in my life. No obstacle will stop me. I've already faced one, with the hormone level problems, but I have such an amazing support system. When I worry about bringing you into my life without a real dad, I remember how many aunts and undles (by blood and by choice) you will have to love you.

In December, when I was in Virginia, I told Debbie that I wanted to start getting pregnant by my 38th birthday. She asked me tough questions, which I answered confidently. And finally saying it out loud, and giving myself a time line, made it real for me for the first time.

In April, I went to the doctor for my check-up and told him. Dr. C was so suuportive, but not full of a lot of information. So I asked a co-worked, who is part of a lesbian couple that had been pregnant, for advice. She suggested Planned Parenthood (not just for pregnant teenagers). I spoke with Pat, who saved me a trip to their office and the $50 fee. After talking on the phone for about 20 minutes, she sent me to Jan and Jodi at Ivy.

Both ladies are fabulous and supportive. When my initial bloodwork came back with the not great results, I could hear the empathy in Jan's voice. They've called me in the middle of weekly tests with questions they thought I should ask my insurance company. And after a month of observations -- ultrasounds and bloodwork and ovulation predictor sticks -- they will have a plan of action for me at the start of my next cycle.

Will it be fertility drugs? Or will it be adoption? Will it be another woman's eggs? The bottom line is, I'm going to be your momma -- no matter what. And after doing what it takes to get you, whatever it takes, I will love you more than life, and I will give you the best life I can.

Happy Birthday, AJ

By the time I went to bed last night, I was feeling a little better. I, at least, was all cried out. I started to make a list of questions to ask the doctor when I go in next week.

And I pushed aside my feelings today, for a few hours, to go to the hospital to meet my brand new great-nephew, born at 7:39am. He’s beautiful and when I was holding him, I started to feel a little sad. But I remembered that it wasn’t about me today, it was about him. It was his day and I didn’t want to ruin this first moment with him.

I wished, however, that I had told more people in my family about my plans. I thought that I was being premature in telling anyone, but now, in hindsight, I wished I had. I could use the support as I deal with the ever growing list of questions about infertility and possibly adoption.

I could have used a hug today, a tight hug, from someone who would have known how difficult it was for me to even think about heading up to the maternity ward just hours after my niece gave birth. And it wasn’t just a trip up to the hospital, it was an hour-plus drive to Syracuse. And I know I could have faked a sore throat or something, but no matter how bad I was feeling about my own situation, I would never have missed that experience of meeting Andrew Jordan on his very first birthday.

Flashes of thoughts went through my mind as I held him — would he ever have a cousin from me? How great it’ll be, they’ll only be a few years apart. When I would think about my baby, I would imagine that I would have had him or her in later 2008 or early 2009. Just a couple years between my little one and AJ, and with Ryan five years older than mine — they would have been the same number of years apart as me and my niece. That was a comforting thought.

And then the phone rang...

I had a great appointment with Carolyn this morning. She was really happy with my numbers, with my food and exercise diary, and she commented on the peace she could see in me. We decided that I only need to see her every three weeks, as long as I’m feeling good about things. And we talked about how this is no longer about learning how to eat properly, how not to be afraid of food anymore, but rally about losing weight in a very healthy (mentally as well as physically) way.

We talked about how much easier my mind games will be when I get pregnant. I don’t want to get pregnant at this weight, but if I can lose 30 pounds between now and next year, I will be much more relaxed about the pregnancy weight I gain. She agreed. So she’s on board with the plan, as well.

And then the plan went to hell.

I got back from a meeting this afternoon with a message from the OB/GYN. I called back and told them to call my cell phone. I wondered what it it could be about — I already have my consultation scheduled for next week. I thought the worst for a second; they’re going to tell me I can’t get pregnant. And then I shook that thought out of my head. It was probably something about my test results from my earlier pap or mammogram.

About a half hour later, the phone rang. “We got the blood work back, and I’m afraid I don’t have very good news.”

She said something about hormone levels, and the doctor looking at the results, and the very real possibility that I look into getting an egg donor. And she gave me numbers — levels that should have been under 50, and mine is at 123. I stammered something about cancelling the appointment for next week, and she said absolutely not. That she called to tell me so I could absorb the shock, so I could process it, so I could go into the appointment next week with questions.

My voice cracked, I heard the sympathy in hers and we said good-bye. And then I started to cry. This can’t be happening. I’m healthy. I’ve done things the right way. I don’t smoke, I hardly ever drink, I work out, I eat right. I’ve planned.

I cried hard for 10 minutes, after summoning Hope from down the hall on IM. She cried. She gave me good advise. “This is just one person’s opinion. This is not the end of the world. This is not a death sentence.”

I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and got ready for my meeting in three minutes. It was the longest hour of my life, but I made it through. I shut my conputer down and went home. I talked to my sister-in-law, and started crying all over again. Harder this time, with the comfort of my own house around me. She said all the right things, didn’t try to sugar-coat it.

I tried to read but the words blurred. I tried to watch TV, but nothing made sense. I laid on the couch and fell asleep to back-to-back episodes of Law & Order (thank you, TNT). I felt a little better when I woke up, like it was a dream.

And even now, it seems surreal. Could this really be happening? Why can’t anything be easy, in relative terms, of course? If I was married and had to deal with infertility, I feel like it would be a little easier. I would have someone else going through the same things with me. I’m not married, I came to terms with that because I could still have a baby.

What possible thing could I have done in my past lives to warrant this? I talked to a girlfriend tonight, and she said the one thing no one else had, the one thing that I was afraid to say out loud, but needed to hear: “This is so god-damn unfair.”

It is unfair. And wrong on so many levels. I know fertility is a big issue, but it always seems to effect the wrong people. Not the 16-year-olds in Wal-mart with their three kids. But the adult professionals who work to get to this point in their life, when they are financially and emotionally stable to make this happen.

And now the binder, the planning, the pre-natal vitamins, even the Target registry, seem like a big cruel joke. Did I jinx myself?

Nesting

Or purging, in preparation for nesting. I’ve been cleaning all weekend. And planning — because, let’s face it, I’m a planner. Obsessively so.

I pulled all my Christmas stuff out from the closet — five big Rubbermaid bins. Unwrapped every ornament or knick-knack, and managed to purge out enough stuff (things I haven’t seen in 10 years) to get rid of two bins worth. And then I went through my books, CDs, tapes and DVDs.

I planned how the second bedroom will look as the nursery. I’ll keep one wall of all my bookshelves, because those won’t fit anywhere else; rip up the carpet, put down some flooring, and paint the walls a nice sage green (and then Piglet pink accents if I’m having a girl, and Eeyore blue for a boy).

And most exciting of all (yes, I’m a big nerd!), I made up my binder. I even typed up the tab dividers — doctor visits, insurance, pregnancy, nursery/fun stuff. I read through some articles and made questions for my next appointment.

It’s all about having a plan and being organized. I started to work on a budget — the big things I will need to buy — and priced the crib, changing table, etc at Target. I even started a registry so I could keep track of the prices.

And most importantly, I thought long and hard about how to ask my parents for some help. Everything fits into the budget, except the cost of sperm and the medical costs associated with trying to get pregnant. I’m going to ask them for whatever money they would have given me for my wedding.

And really, at this point, if I do ever get married, I’m over the huge lavish fancy wedding. At my age, I feel it would be inappropriate anyway.

I really feel like I’ve made peace with that. I’ve accepted that it may not ever happen, and now I’m moving on to what I can control. I’ve slept good all weekend, and I feel good about my eating and exercise. In control of it all.

I ate when I was hungry, I didn’t beat myself up when I didn’t exercise. I’m excited to go to the nutritionist in the morning to see if the numbers reflect my positive attitude. For several months, I’ve felt in control of the eating disorder, but now I feel in control of the non-disorder, if that makes any sense. It was a non-issue the past few weeks. And I think coming to peace with my personal life, my situation, has had a lot to do with that.

The Baby Box

I know, I know. I’m not even pregnant yet. I haven’t even chosen my sperm donor yet. But I’ve started to collect things. I have a big Rubbermaid container in the closet of the second bedroom — what will someday, I hope, be the nursery.

I have a Babe Ruth night-light, and children’s sized small Yankees/Ruth shirt. A light purple teddy bear. Some onesies and cute little outfits I’ve found on sales racks. In both sexes. Some books. Some pajamas from Old Navy. There is a baby name book and a pregnancy/exercise book for dummies. Most things I have bought myself, but I have had help with things that are just too cute to pass up by my sister-in-law and niece.

And when I went to the OB last week, she gave me a new magazine. In it was a contest (also several drawings that I’ve already entered) — to win the editor’s registry. $5,000 worth of very cool baby stuff. And not silly, cute extra stuff. But really useful things — a bassinet, a nursing system, car seat and stroller, baby backpack carrier, etc.

My entry was really the start of this column (you say blog, I say column — someday I will fulfill my dream to be Carrie Bradshaw!) so I won’t bore you with the details of my entry. It’s the same stuff you’ve heard.

But here’s my question — the little thing niggling at the back of my brain. Am I jinxing myself? Am I buying stuff too early? Am I getting ahead of the game, counting my eggs before I even know if they’re viable, so to speak?

I do worry about that. And I worry that I’m setting myself up for a colossal disappointment. But I have to remember that if it’s meant to be…. Someone wise once told me that God doesn’t make mistakes. He isn’t going to suddenly look down and say, “oh my….Ellie is still single and childless….how did I let that happen?” And so maybe the single thing is all part of the master plan. I have to believe that. And I have to believe that I’m meant to be a mom…someday…somehow.

Mixed Reactions

When I was in Baltimore (on my way to Richmond) last month, I stopped to see friends. Part of me was considering asking Tim to be the sperm donor — but was really nervous about asking. It is kind of a personal thing.

Over beers, I told him about my decision. That I was going to be looking into getting pregnant by my next birthday. I was expecting a “that’s great, Red,” or “wow, how exciting.”

Instead, I got, “why would you want to do that on your own? You just need to get your hooks into some guy — you’re just not trying hard enough.”

I was stunned and shocked. Later, after I had time to digest it, it just made me really sad. I tried to make a joke out of it. “So I’m guessing if I need you to be a sperm donor, the answer is no.”

Well, I accomplished what I needed to. I asked about him giving me some baby batter — and got a definitive answer. What was most surprising was his attitude. I know that from some people I will hear things like this. I will get the negative response, when what I really want is positive and supportive. It is something I am going to have to live with, something I will need to develop a thick skin about. And something I will need to come up with a response to. I expect this kind of response from other people — I was completely off guard to hear it from Tim.

My family — I am the youngest of a large brood. Even now, at 37, I am still treated like the baby. I completely feel like they see me as less of an adult because I am unmarried, still single, childless. My niece, with her house, husband, three-year-old and baby on the way, is much more an adult than I am – at least that is how I see their perception of me. Short of marrying the next man I see, I don’t know how to change it. I just live with it.

So, I was pleasantly surprised — more than pleasantly — when I told one of my sisters (previously mentioned niece’s mom) of my plans. I needed to. I needed to know that I would have some family support.

She was excited. Truly excited to hear my news. And she got teary-eyed, and I got teary-eyed — and we hugged, and I told her I was so glad to hear that she was happy, that I didn’t know how much support I would get. She has no idea how much is entailed with that one sentence, but she hugged me tighter. And that one moment more than made up for Tim’s reaction.

The Master Plan

For as long as I can remember, I knew that I wanted to have a baby. And even way back when it seemed foolish to have such thoughts, I always knew that by a certain age, I would do it on my own if I never got married. Did I jinx myself? Or was it merely a foreshadowing to future events?

In my early 20’s, I said if not married by 32, then pregnant by 33. As my 30’s crept closer and closer, so too did my target age move up and up. Part of it was because I wasn’t in a strong enough financial situation to do it on my own. (Since graduation, I had always worked in the non-profit world. What I didn’t understand then, was that non-profit organizations make a profit. How would they survive otherwise? No, the non-profit part refers to its employees. No profit for me. It was all about paycheck to paycheck. Even now, three years removed from a non-profit, I am still paying on it — paying off credit cards that helped supplement my income.)

Enough of that….back to my pregnancy plan. So part of the decision to hold off was financial. The other part — the romantic optimist in me thought that if I did it on my own, I would be giving up on finding love. And I believed that for a long time. Part of me still does, but the need to be a mom (and the ever closing window on that opportunity) has grown stronger and squelched most of those thoughts.

Do I hope to someday get married? Absolutely. It’s just that now the whole image of the big wedding and the fancy dress and the 10 bridesmaids….it has been replaced by something much more subtle and age appropriate.

This past year, I finally made the decision to “shit or get off the pot.” And to do that, I needed to share my plan with people. That made it real. At Christmas, I told my sister-in-law. She was the right amount of happy, excited and cautious. She asked questions, and once satisfied that I truly had thought this out, gave me her unconditional support. Unfortunately, I don’t anticipate that coming from everyone in my family. So we’re keeping them in the dark for right now.

Next I told my closest friends. And really through the spring, it was nothing more than that — just talk of the plan — until I had my annual exam, and I had the talk with my doctor, who immediately prescribed prenatal vitamins. Suddenly, it seemed very real. And very exciting. And very scary.

I started thinking of baby names. That eased a little of the fear. Jack. Mason. Oliver. Sophie. Madeleine. Olivia. Thinking of my pre-conceived peanut’s name is calming. It makes me realize why I’m going through all of this on my own. I love this baby already, before it even exists. Having a name — even if I end up hating all of those by the time I deliver — makes it a real entity.

I took the next step last week — I had a physical at the office of a new OB/GYN. One who specializes in infertility. My situation is unique in that I won’t necessarily be infertile, but will be going through the process of a woman with fertility issues in how I try to get pregnant.

I met with Jan, an RN, who was so empathetic to my situation and so understanding, I knew I was in the right hands for this process. She glossed over stats and numbers, and told me not to get preoccupied on them, which I appreciated. She sent me home with two new magazines about pregnancy and conception. I’ve stopped taking the pill, and this month during my cycle will get blood work done to measure hormone and egg levels. And next month, I go back for a consultation.

If all looks good — if they determine that medically I should have no problem getting pregnant (minus the percentages because of my age) — we will chart my ovulation for a few months, so that after the holidays I can start shopping for some “baby batter.”

By the spring, my credit cards will be mostly paid off. My savings will have been built up to a safe cushion. And I will have gone through this thought process, talking through this plan with multiple professionals, for over a year. And then, I will spring it on my family. Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that!

A Goal without a Plan is just a wish

I’ve been wishing for a baby since I was 16. Had I been a less-responsible girl, I would have a kid in college by now. But I waited, I did things the “right” way. I finished high school, I went to college. I got a job. I got a better job. I moved away from home for my dream job. And after five years of that, I wanted to be closer to my family.

And so I’ve been back in New York for three years. In all this time — the time between graduating college and moving back to New York, I’ve been in love exactly two times. Both were unrequited. This isn’t a pity-party — just the facts, ma’am.

All in all, in the course of doing things “right” I forgot that there are some things that are out of my control. The husband thing. Making the perfect man — or even the less than perfect man – fall madly in love with me.

And so here I am, three years from 40. Seriously planning, seriously about to have a baby. Well….seriously about to try to get pregnant.

This is my quest and my journey. I know it’s the right one for me. It would be so wrong if I were never a mom. It will suck completely and totally if I’m never a wife, but I can handle that. The world will be wrong — my life will be incomplete if I’m never a mom. Even if that means doing it on my own.

And it feels so right. And when I tell friends of my plans, nine and a half times out of 10, I hear, “you’re going to be an amazing mom.” (We’ll discuss the half a time, I haven’t heard that at a later date — remind me.)

I’ve started collecting things — a Babe Ruth night light, a purple teddy bear, “Good Night Moon,” and penguin jammies. All these things in a box for my not-yet-conceived little one, my pre-conceived notion.

Welcome home, Roxie Carmichael!

I can't believe its been since October 2006 since I've last written on this blog. I've missed this place. I moved away and started over twice, never really feeling at home. I was too boxed in, too stifled. I tried too hard to stay within the very confining names that I had chosen. And in that time, I went through life-changing experiences (for the better) and finally began to accept my life -- my single life -- for what it is. And am beginning to make decisions based on that.

And so here I am -- a single girl, still in search, but in search of different things than I was years ago, even months ago. I'm content and ready to move on.

The single part of me with stay the same, but I won't be alone for long. This is a new journey, one that won't be just about me.

Happy Birthday, Fran

Today is my mom's birthday. I talked her to twice -- once when I called her this morning to wish her a happy birthday. And for some reason in my family, we always have to know who has already called -- or more importantly, who has been delinquent with the phone call. Sue (the bitch) was the first one and then Reuben -- but I take credit for his call since I left him a message last night reminding him to call his mother this morning. He would have forgotten. I was the third.

And then I talked to her this afternoon, when she called to thank me for her present -- gel and lotion from BBW and a Thomas Kincaide book. I'm so thoughtful. They were quick conversations both times -- and neither time did she say something to annoy me. That must be the trick -- keep it short and sweet.

I do love my mom -- I know I bitch about her a lot. She's a good mom and she did the best she could, and really did a great job raising eight successful, happy, productive kids.

Two days in a row

I'm really going to try to keep this up. I started this to stay in the habit of creative writing -- and even though I have another writing project that occupies a lot of my spare time, I need to keep this going as well.

I hate this time of year. Where do the flies come from? Big, giant, grand-daddy flies. And aren't they supposed to be slow? Even Casey can't catch the big mother fly that's been buzzing around my head tonight. And to make it worse, I was working out on the treadmill. So I was sweaty...thus attracting Mr. Fly. It wasn't fun. I was swatting at it with my towel and almost fell off the treadmill. I never said I was graceful.

I had a board meeting tonight. It was the same go round -- complaining about how to get started on big projects, needing to recruit and then figuring out how to keep board members. We've had this same conversation at tleast five times, and I've only been on the board for two years. I think we finally got someplace, with a plan to finally move forward. And hopefully all the work won't fall on the shoulders of the fund-raising and special events committee (which I chair).

And Bob Iger comes to campus on Thursday. I have the feeling, I'm going to be making lots of lists and going over lots of things in my head tomorrow, and not sleeping a lot tomorrow night. Sigh....I wished for another event to plan, didn't I?

Okay, I didn't say I would always be interesting...just that I would try to write more.

Bad Ellie

I know, I know. I'm sorry.

I've been super busy at work, working on another writing project (some of you know what that is), and really just out of it.

So, here's a quick recap of the past month...

• the new web site launched, now we're in for another rough road of finishing all the "little" things -- but for now, let the celebrations begin
• we finally hired someone! she starts September 25th
• visit with a high school friend
• blind date -- swing and a miss
• my best friend at work got a job at Cornell :(
• Leadership Tompkins -- I'm going to be the most "leadered" person in the world
• Syracuse for my dad's heart catherization -- all is well
• I know how to throw one hell of an informal get-together at work -- the theme is Recess....jump ropes, chalk, frisbee, lemon heads, pixie sticks and The Patridge Family on the boom box
• Heather starts -- let the training begin
• drinks at Fountain Place with the President
• wedding, wine and three's company ;)
  
• sick, sick, sick -- only three days this time! whoo-hoo!
• and coming to a college near you...the CEO of the Walt Disney Company -- and I'm responsible for his speech to campus (I've already been dared to show him my Mickey Mouse tattoo)

I promise to be better....I know, I said that last month.

I'm Back

A whirlwind -- that was the last few weeks before vacation. And unfortunately, it has picked up where I left off. Before vacation, as we were getting ready to launch the new website, we were all working insane hours. Of course, the real ITS gurus were working around the clock. Literally in 36-hour stretches. Those of us who could do stuff without knowing code, did what we could. I built websites in templates and content managements systems -- for eight hours on a rainy Saturday, and until 11pm at night some nights. All the while, trying to get my other work in a state where I felt comfortable leaving for 10 days. The world at large was making sure that I was in need, and deserving of, a vacation.

I woke up before my alarm went off on Friday morning (8/25), and decided to just get up. I was excited. I was headed south. I was on the road by 5am, in Pennsylvania by 6:20, and in West Virginia by 10:30. I was excited to see gas at $2.85 a gallon just before the PA/MD border (it was $3.01 when I left Ithaca). I made it Ashland before 1pm, and surprised my niece at her office job on campus.

I walked in, she looked up non-chalantly and was about to say "can I help you?" And then the double-take, and then the "what are you doing here?!" My little Tiff, all grown up, with an office job, going to college. We went to lunch -- and she was so cute when she told the cahsier at Quizno's, "I'm paying for both of us."

After lunch, she went back to work (after a quick spin around campus and look at her soon-to-be dorm building) and I headed to my brother's for a nap. Getting up at 4:30 was starting to sink in. I left most of my stuff in the car -- just brought in the food. Eight pounds of Hoffman hot dogs, five pounds of salt potatoes (for you folks not living in Central New York, you are missing a real treat of summer!) and a case of Canadian beer. Everything else stayed in the car. I took the dogs out, turned on the TV, and snuggled on the couch for a nap.

It was so nice to relax. All weekend. I walked with my brother, took baths, went shopping with Debbie and Tiffany, took naps (at least one a day) -- it was exactly what vacation was supposed to be. We went out to lunch and dinner a few times, ate ice cream, stayed in our pajamas one day. And that was all before the big move-in day!

Next....welcome to campus, class of 2010!

I Know, I know...

....ya'll miss me. I'm sorry it's been forever. We are launching a huge project at work on Thursday, and Friday I go on vacation.

I promise I'll be better when September comes.

Enjoy the last days of summer.

JLP...now G

I just haven't had it in me to write lately. So much going on in my head, though I'm not sure how to put it on the page. Journaling at night has helped with the insomnia -- which has been worse than ever. I'll figure it all out.

On a less dramatic front, I was in Skaneateles this weekend to visit my friend from high school. And boy does she have her hands full -- a two-and-a-half-year-old and four-month twins. Even with my extra hands to feed and change, it was over-whelming. And it was wonderful. I can say that because I'm not worrying about money, or giving my kids or my marriage the attention they deserve -- but from the outside, I would welcome that chaos and worry. She's got a great husband, a beautiful house and three amazing, healthy boys.

She's probably my oldest friend that I'm still in touch with. We met in high school -- 9th grade home ec (and as I type this, I feel that deja vu feeling that I've typed it before, so I'll stop there with the background info). After dinner, her husband cleaned up the kitchen, Nolan played trains and watched TV, and Jenn and I, with one twin each, sat in the living room with glasses of wine catching up. There were tears and hugs and the kind of conversations that we used to have in our bedrooms, or late at night on the phone, or by slipping notes to each other in AP English.

And knowing that I've been stressed, she fixed me a bubble bath in giant jacuzzi tub. Candles, bath bubbles, a fresh glass of wine. She came in and sat with me for a little while after putting the twins to bed. It felt like we were in high school again, and that no matter what was wrong, or difficult, would be okay, because we have each other.

Happy Birthday, Little Jenny Wa-Wa

I was five when she was born. And who would have known how far we would have come together. Of her 31 years, we've almost always lived in the same city until I moved to Baltimore -- save my three years of college.

We watched MTV together for way too many hours -- way back in the day when they actually played videos. We played bartender at the bar in my parents' living room, pretending we were married to George Michael and Andrew Ridgley of Wham -- and not understanding how anyone could even suggest that either of them was gay. We listened to Z89 (the college radio station from SU) constantly and made mix tapes off the radio.

She would sleep over all the time, and we'd hang out in the "mini-apartment" that was the upstairs of my house -- three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room just for me. She'd sleep over Thanksgiving night and we'd start making Christmas cookies the next day, all day. Christmas break was matinee movie time, getting dropped off at the mall. Young Guns I and II, White Nights...

She had crushes on all my guy friends, in high school and college. And actually got hit on by one of my high school friends when she was 12. Whatever happened to Dan Giblin, I wonder?

I taught her how to drive and do shots -- not at the same time. We could stay on the phone for hours on end, without talking, just simply watching TV together. In commercial breaks, we'd flip, without saying where to or which direction we were going in, and say, "oh my god, did you see that?" And inevitably, we'd be on the same channel, seeing the same thing.

I found Casey in the parking lot of her apartment complex, and she convinced me to give that little stray kitty a home. Now I can't even imagine life without the constant meowing.

And now she's in her 30s -- not just 30. And a mommy and a wife. When did we get old? When did we become grown-ups? We may, technically, be of different generations -- her mother is my sister, after all. But I couldn't be closer to her if she were my sister. In fact, I am definitely closer to her than any of my sisters.

So from me and the mouse in my pocket, you'll always be Little Jenny Wa-Wa to me. Happy birthday, ya big scrap book doing, flip flop wearing, 4th grade teaching, Sacajawea looking....

Small World Story #114

I've taken a bit of a (an?) hiatus -- I've been busy at work as the semester is just around the corner and a big web initiative is in its final weeks, we've begun interviewing (again) for Swee's position. Phone interviews last week that were promising, one more tomorrow. My boss is hoping to make an offer by the end of the month, optimistically speaking, of course.

So there's the quick update, here's the small world story:

When I was in my senior year of high school and my first year of college, I worked in the County Comptroller's Office during the summer. Answered the phone, ran errands, did some filing, etc. Your basic summer job in an office. Worked with really nice people.

So I'm at my friend Erica's wedding yesterday and I see this older woman who looks very familiar. I can't place it. And she's introduced as the grandmother of the bride, and before they say "Marilyn...", I'm thinking "Marilyn." And then I figure it out. She was the executive secretary to the comptroller! I asked Erica if that's what her grandmother did, and explained the coincidence and then went over to Marilyn and introduced myself.

She said, "I've been staring at you since the ceremony trying to place you. I'm glad you figured it out!"

And now 18 years after I worked summers with this woman, I am good friends with her granddaughter. Small world, indeed.

The Princess of Aruba

When my friend Sidney was knighted -- like really knighted, by a real queen -- I asked him what I would be called if we ever got married. He would be Sir Sidney...and his wife would be a Lady.

Hmmm...I didn't like that. First, I've never been accused of being a lady -- I'm too much of a tomboy. I told him I wanted to be a princess. He said I couldn't. I gave him a look and said, "are we ever really going to get married?"

"Probably not."

"Then humor me....let me be a princess."

And so I became HRH Ellie, the princess of Aruba. Even some of the people in the front office at the Orioles called me that (when they weren't calling me Mrs. Jeter).

Tonight, after having lots of problems in Baltimore, after starting strong and then stinking strong in St. Louis, Sidney is pitching for the Yankees. At Yankee Stadium. Wearing Tino's number 24.

I wonder what song they'll play for him when he heads in from the bullpen before the game. In Baltimore, it was "Enter Sandman" by Metallica. Anyone who knows anything about the Yankees knows that that is Mariano's song (and it really does mean so much more when it's Mariano coming out of the bullpen, not Sidney).

Hopefully Sidney can start the second half of the season the way he started the first half -- 4-0 with a respectable 4-something ERA. I hope so, not just for my teams' sake, but for my friend's career and getting himself back on track. So that he can finally live up to the potential that always seemed to be within reach...

"Don't think....just throw."

Almost

Things are progressing. I can report soon.

The weekend in review, part 1

Friday...out of work at 3:00pm (I love higher ed), drove to Syracuse for a family picnic at my great-uncle's rtirement community. It was fun -- hot -- but fun. When I got there, I was about three minutes ahead of my brother, sister-in-law and nephew. They yelled to me from the parking lot. As we were walking in, my sister-in-law said, "I don't even know why we're here. Uncle Henry doesn't want to go to the picnic. This is all about Fran."

I found that very strange. Maybe my uncle didn't want to be outside, under the tent, listening to the live music -- but I find it hard to believe that he would give up the chance to have his family, all at once, in one place. So Bob, Sally and Zak only stayed about 20 minutes. Good riddance if they were going to be downers.

And so with my sister and brother-in-law, niece and the baby, and my parents, my sweet almost 92-year-old uncle thanked us all for coming and told us that he loved us. He's so sweet and easy to please. I hate to see him getting older and frailer -- because his mind is still sharp, he has so much spirit, even if it tends to tire easily. When it was just my parents and me there, we were talking baseball. And Uncle Henry asked me who that pitcher was for Boston that the Yankees never liked to face. "Curt Schilling?"

"No."

"Give me a decade, Uncle Henry." I'm wracking my brain trying to think of any pitcher for the Red Sox. "Roger Clemens."

"No."

"Who would have been hitting for the Yankees?" He could have have said Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle, given his age.

"Oh, it was like in '96."

"Pedro?"

"Yea, I don't like him."

"I don't like him, either." And that's one of the reasons Uncle Henry rocks.

After leaving him, Jenny and I went over to my mom's to illegally scan in Ryan's 2-year-old pictures. Now, I'm not a big fan of AC -- but I also close up my house so that when it's 95 degrees out, it stays kind of cool. Not my father. Windows, shades, blinds -- wide open. It was literally cooler outside than in their apartment.

Even Ryan -- at 2 -- looked at my niece. "Hot. Hot."

We stayed long enough to scan and then left, stopping at the Byrne Dairy for some ice cream on the way home. Ryan summed it up best..."yummy, yummy."

Saturday morning...we went to Ryan's kid's gym and then to visit my niece's college roommate, who is expecting triplets this fall. She looked great and happy -- and just a few pangs of jealousy as the whole world has kids and I don't.

We had left my car at the mall and decided to go in after our visit with Cory. We just walked around. A trip to BBW (I did have a coupon, afterall) for me, and some curtains for Jenny -- and we were on our way. Her north, me south.

I listened to the end of the game in the car, not really paying attention to the driving. The route from Syracuse to Homer to Ithaca has become -- after two years -- as familiar as the thruway between Rochester and Syracuse used to be. I have specific trees or houses that flag how far along my journey I am.

The highlight of the trip, by far, was Ryan saying my name more clearly, wanting me to help him do things, play with him and read to him before bed. :)

To be continued...the rest of the weekend, including playing hooky on Monday.

Fat-head

My relationship with food, and my subsequent relationship with my body, is a difficult one to define. I've always thought of myself as fat. Even when I wasn't. Even when I was nothing more than a stocky, solid 10-year-old. I look back at pictures and see a normal, healthy girl -- with long, strong legs. No pudge, no chubbiness. Solid -- yes. Fat -- not even close. But what I felt, what I saw when I looked in the mirror, was anything but normal and healthy.

When I was 10, I was on a diet. I had probably been on several even before then. I read The Scarsdale Diet, went to Weight Watches meetings, worked out at Kelly Lyn, watched Richard Simmons, did Jane Fonda workouts (before Beta and VHS, the work-out was on a record with diagrams to collow along with) -- all before the age of 13. I remember getting incentives from well-meaning siblings. "For every pound you lose, I'll give you a quarter." And when my sister moved away from Syracuse with her boyfriend, and she would call home, one of the first questions she always asked was, "how's your diet?"

I can only imagine the effects all of that had on me. In fact, I can do more than imagine, because for the past 25 years, I have struggled with my own body image. I have tortured myself with diet after diet -- sometimes to fail from the start, sometimes to succeed and then fail. Even with success, I only see the failures, the not-quite-reaching goal.

At this point in my life, it bothers me the most. Even though, I am the healthiest I've ever been. I guess because I always thought of my weight as the hindurance in relationships, the reason I was alone was because I was unattractive. To put it more bluntly -- I was fat. if I was no longer fat, I would have a boyfriend. I would be attractive to other people. Logically, I know that that couldn't be farther from the truth. Logic isn't always my strong-suit, especially when it comes to me.


As for this weekend, I'm off to the 'Cuse to see my great-uncle, and spend the night at my niece's and play with the little guy. I'm excited. If nothing else, there is nothing like life's perspective from the mind of a two-year-old.

All balls, no strikes

I talked to Bubbles tonight -- about our choices in men, about our patterns in choices in men, and what drives us to make the same mistakes over and over and over again. We didn't come up with any answers.

We're not gluttons, just two simple girls looking for what every little girl dreams of -- the house, the man, the white picket fence. I want the fairy tale wedding, she wants Vegas. We each want a man who would enjoy drinking a beer with us tonight -- yes, a Tuesday...a work night -- but not just any Tuesday, All-Star Game Tuesday. So there she sits in her home in Baltimore, with peanuts and beer (Yeungling, I'm guessing). I overdosed on cashews and skipped the beer (though it would have been LaBatt's Blue Light).

No answers, but a little resolve to better whatever fucked-up situations we are in. She needs to know what is going on one and for all, and I need to move on -- once and for all. He's my safety net and he's not doing me any good. It sounded good, as I sat on my deck and watched a couple of squirrels chase each other.

Whether it happens or not, who knows. Who knows -- next year, as we watch baseball from Pac-Bell, let's hope we're not in the same situation. Here's hoping that we're clinking beer bottles with someone else as we cheer on the American League.

My absolute favorite trivia question

And I always stump people. I think I've only had one person get the answer.

Of course, I never ask it this time of the year. Hold onto this one for the fall or winter.

Of the four major sports played in the United States (MLB, NFL, NBA, and NHL), there are only two days in the calendar year when a game in any of these sports is not played. Name them.

(Insert Jeopardy music here.)



Tonight and Wednesday -- the day before and the day after the Major League All-Star Game.

I Don't Get it

"I don't get it." The words uttered by Tom Hanks in Big, as he's in his first toy concept meeting, causing the dad from Home Alone to label him ruthless.

And today, I don't get it. I don't get why all week I look forward to the weekend, and then midday Saturday can't wait to go back to work.

I don't get why relationships change with the distance of miles between us, why as the number of miles shrink so does the enssence of the relationship.

I don't get why my mother can annoy me so one minute, and then in the next instance remind me why I love her so much.

I don't get how the ants can crawl into my hummingbird feeder and not drown. And how do they know the precise moment I've made new sugar water -- they're waiting for me on the hangar when I go to put it back up.

I don't get why it's so hard for adults to make friends, but kids on a playground can become BFF in an instant.

I don't get how I can work out seven days a week, and still be hovering between the same damned three pounds -- back and forth, up and down.

I don't get why I'm just now realizing that I had a social life in Baltimore.

I believe in everything for a reason. I don't get why Ithaca is the right place. I don't get why being single at 36 is the right thing.

I don't get a lot of things -- I guess if I did, if life were easy, then life would be boring.

I would really like that kind of boring, just once.

Happy birthday, Snip

Today is my niece's 19th birthday. I called her this morning on her cell phone, as she is traveling on what could be her last "family" trip to Florida. She sounded so grown up and mature as she asked me how work was, and if they had found someone to replace Swee (we haven't, and we're reopening the search -- heaven help me!).

I remember when she was born. She was the first niece that I felt like a real aunt to from the start, rather than a big sister. I was old enough to buy things for her with my own money, to take her places, etc. She was going to be Stephanie -- and at the last minute she became Tiffany, which really does suit her.

There was dancing

...and lots of it.

A bar called Nasty D's, with a gay-pride flag in the window. Baskets of condoms on the bar like a dish of peanuts. And sweet, little ol' Ellie. Not my usual genre of bars, but this is where my friend's 40th birthday party was being held. It was lots of fun, lots of dancing. And let me tell you -- gay men can dance!

When I arrived, Michael was so excited to see me. "You drove up from Ithaca! Girl..." hugs and kisses. I introduced my friend Jenn, who I was staying with and who, along with a couple of her friends, accompanied me. My safety net. Then, as only Michael could do, I had to do the twirl, so he could give me the up and down. "You look amazing. And your hair -- I love it this short." And he looked amazing -- like the day I met him. He doesn't look 40. He looks amazing. And hot. And *sigh*....gay.

We didn't have a lot of time to chat -- he had lots of guests to visit with, but when we were on the dance floor, he asked about our favorite shared topic. Men. "Well? Anyone worth talking about it?"

"Not really...all the really good men are married. Or gay."

"He's out there -- there's someone for both of us out there."

"Yea, hopefully not the same guy."

"Are you getting your needs met, though."

"What do you think?"

"That's my girl."

Too soon?

Its is too soon to get my hopes up. Too soon to even tell you about it.

Let's just say there's something promising on the horizon.

I'm off to Rochester for a 40th birthday party at bar. I hope to be sufficiently naughty, showing off the girls and get a proper buzz.

Update on Monday.

Redemption for A-Rod

Vicky returned my call

I got a call from a service rep at Victoria's Secret this morning. She was so nice and apologetic about the rude treatment I received on Saturday. So nice, in fact, that I felt bad telling her how much her Ithaca store sucks at customer service.

After I explained the situation, she told me that:
1) they absolutely guarantee their products, even after they've been washed;
2) she will be letting quality control know about the damaged panties I returned;
3) she will be writing up a report to send to the regional and district manager; and
4) she will be sending me a letter of apology and a 30% coupon for my next purchase.

I couldn't have asked for anything more. Vicky is officially off my shit list.

Poor A-Rod

Funniest thing I heard on the radio this morning -- made me laugh out loud -- even it was bashing one of my guys.

In last night's game, A-Rod popped out, flied out, grounded out and struck out.

He sucked for the cycle.

"Well you came and you gave without takin'"

My email to the Victoria's Secret customer service on-line, apparently is not the correct one. On-line and the store are separate divisions, so my response....

Dear Ellie,

Thank you for your e-mail regarding your encounter with the Victoria's Secret Store.  We regret any inconvenience caused by this matter.

We regret your shopping trip wasn't a pleasant one.  When a client chooses to shop with Victoria's Secret, we want them to have a pleasant shopping experience.  Please accept our sincere apologies that the Victoria's Secret retail store didn't provide you with the quality of service our clients expect and deserve.

We assure you that your experience isn't indicative of the quality of service customarily offered to our clients.  We strive to serve each client as courteously and responsibly as possible.  Victoria's Secret prides ourselves with providing good quality service, but sometimes we don't meet our goals.  We're very sorry when that happens; nothing is more important to us than taking care of our clients.

Victoria's Secret Stores and Victoria's Secret Direct are sister divisions of the same parent company, Limited Brands, Inc.  As such, we function as separate businesses.  To have someone contact you please call 1-614-577-7111 and leave a message with your name and a daytime telephone number you can be reached at. Once you have called and shared your information, Victoria's Secret Stores Client Relations will return your call as soon as possible.

If you need further assistance, please reply to this e-mail or call anytime.

We hope that you will try shopping with Victoria's Secret again soon.

Sincerely,
Mandy
VictoriasSecret.com Client Services

I called the not-toll-free number and left my name and work number, as requested. We'll see if they get back to me.

Can anyone say customer service?

My niece used to make fun of me because I'm a letter writer. Yes, I'm one of those. I have a bad experience, and it pisses me off enough to write a letter to the company. I haven't had to write one in a while -- not because I haven't encountered poor service, but not poor enough to make me take the time to write something or call someone.

That changed this weekend with a trip to the mall. A letter that I wrote today to the customer service email address at Victoria's Secret:

I shop frequently at the Pyramid Mall store in Ithaca, NY. Never once have I gone in there and been satisfied with the treatment I receive or the attitude of the sales associates. They are unfriendly and seem unhappy to be there. I am a regular Victoria's Secret shopper, and have never been in a store before this one where I had encountered such poor service.

On Saturday (June 24), I finally reached my limit. I went into the store around 10:30 a.m. I was not greeted, but I have become used to that in this store. I shopped and picked up a few things on the sales tables, and also picked up a pair of the hip-huggers from the regularly priced table. I had bought six pairs several months ago, and on one pair, the elastic began to fray, so I was hoping for an exchange.

When I approached the sales desk, I explained the situation and showed the clerk that I had picked up an identical pair for the exchange. In a monotone voice, she said, "we don't guarantee our products once they've been washed." No further explanation from her.

I told her that they were $12 underwear and I expected them to hold up to more than a half dozen washings. She sighed loudly, grabbed the underwear from my hand and approached the manager. The manager also sighed loudly, and as if she were doing a huge favor, said in a nasty tone to the clerk, "just do the exchange."

There was no small-talk at the register, no friendly banter. I felt uncomfortable and almost walked out, leaving my $40 purchase at the desk. After the transaction was complete -- with "no thank you for shopping with us" -- I walked over to Bath & Body Works, where I am also a regular customer. I asked the manager, knowing VS and BBW are owned by the same company, if she had a number I could call and complain. Unlike the BBW receipts, there was no corporate number.

I buy all of my bras and panties at Victoria's Secret, and living in a small town with only one mall, this is my only option. However, I am frustrated enough to not go in there again. And mail order seems ridiculous -- why should I pay shipping costs when there is a store in my town?

Two days later, I am still really annoyed and angered by the lack of customer service in a store whose sister company is all about customer service. I look forward to hearing a response.

Thanks for your time,

Ellie

Shrinkage

I realized the other day just how seriously my body image issues are. I was showing the girls from work pictures from last weekend in Richmond, pictures of me and my niece, all dressed up for graduation.

What I saw: my hips, bulging out of proportion to the rest of my body; I looked like a freakin' bell.

What they saw: a leaner, slimmed down Ellie from the one they met two years ago; they even commented on how flattering the dress was and could not believe that I couldn't see that.

Even Hope said, "I never notice when people get their haircut, lose weight, gain weight, etc....but the change in your body, the clothes that you are able to wear now, the way you have out-grown your wardrobe....how can you now see that?"

How can I not see that? I don't know. But I don't see it. I can't work out in front of a mirror because I see the imperfections -- not how far I've come, but how far I still have to go.

Still my best magnetic poem

We will play all day
dance all night
and be beautiful tomorrow

I went a little "Martha Stewart"

Sunday morning was party day, event day. While they were all at church, I showered and started picking up. Anything that didn't need to be downstairs was moved to the second floor -- more specifically, my brother's bedroom, which suddenly looked trashed.

A flurry of activity began after church, when really all I wanted for them was to eat, shower and stay out of my way. I had assigned tasks for the grandmothers -- cutting the fruits and veggies and storing them in individual baggies, and then making up the plastic ware in a napkin and tying it with a ribbon. I needed no other help. And I told them that, told them that I was in event mode, that I just needed to do my thing, that I most definitely have a problem with delegation, and apologized in advance for being bossy.

My sister-in-law was hanging balloons all over the house -- I followed her and curled the ribbon. We hung banners out front, with more balloons, and then decorated Tiffany's car.

At that point, I just had strawberries to dip and the cake table to set up. The cake was at the neighbor's house and they weren't home. So after dipping strawberries, I figured I would go up and straighten my hair. I was making a bit of a mess with the melting chocolate -- pink, blue & white -- and kept wiping my hand on the dish rag. My sister-in-law's mother, who could not understand why I didn't want her to help me, grabbed the rag to wipe down the table outside. I told her she needed to rinse it for the very reason I just explained -- there were globs of melted chocolate on it.

She threw it back in the sink, shrunk back as if I had just slapped her, took a few paper towels and ran from me. From that point on -- a good hour or two before the party even started -- she never spoke to me again. I did hear her make several catty comments -- in front of me, but never to me -- about how she wanted to help, but nobody would let her. Apparently, my new name was nobody.

At one point, after the party, when I was picking up, it got to me. I was upset that she was being such a bitch to me. Couldn't she see that I was doing all of this for her daughter and granddaughter -- and just be grateful for that? And then when she went up to bed and I said goodnight to her, she didn't acknowledge the fact that I was leaving the next morning before she got up.

At that point, after not getting enough sleep all weekend, not getting caught up on sleep from getting up at 4:30 to drive last week, running around all weekend, after dealing with the drama of the first day of the trip and the grandmothers in general, Joann treating like that all day was my breaking point. Was I really glad to be leaving Richmond to come back to Ithaca? Was I really looking forward to getting back to work? God help me, I was.

I can't wait to go back in August -- there will be no grandmothers to deal with. Just a very sad sister-in-law as she sends her baby off to college.

36 is too old to travel with your parents

At least, it's too old to travel with my parents. For the most part -- and I will concede this -- it was fine. They paid for the gas, I listened to what I wanted to on the radio. I think that we spent too much time together over the course of five days, on top of eight hours in a car each way. And I like my quiet -- every once in a while, my mother would pop up with a comment that wasn't really a question.

"You did such a nice job on the party."

Hmm..hmm. And then when that response wasn't enough for her, she would repeat the same sentence -- verbatum -- about 30 minutes later. And then again in another hour or two.

But that's not even the best part -- let me rewind to Tuesday night when they arrived in Ithaca. I had to hear about her new diet and how she writes her food down and emails it to her nutritionist every night and she had only eaten 500 calories that day (and you wonder where I get my food and diet issues!). I told her that was way too few, but she seemed to know best.

Wednesday morning, we got up about 4:30 and were on the road by 5:00am. A quick stop at the Wegmans in Wilkes-Barre for breakfast and coffee, and we were on our way to Baltimore. We made it to the Museum about 10:15 (I drove about 3 to 5 mph slower than I normally do, thus adding about 15 to 25 minutes onto my usual time). When we got there, Mike was waiting in the lobby for me (my friend had told him I was due there at any moment). So I played nice with my former boss, and my friend Johnny Z chatted with my parents. Out of the corner of my eye and with one ear, I could sense some Fran drama (light-headedness, got up too fast, I'm fine now). I ignored it and continued talking to Mike. Then we toured the Museum.

At the end, in the gift shop, Fran asked where the bathroom was. I pointed her in the right direction and talked to other former co-workers. We were still chatting when my mother came back from the bathroom, told my dad she wasn't feeling well and promptly fainted. And I had to catch her. She came to within a minute or so and we sat her in a chair, someone got her water, I went out to the car to get her an apple and some candy.

And there we sat for another 30 minutes. Z teased me about my Swedish fish and sour patch kids -- "you and your candy on long drives." I kept looking at the time -- I wanted to get to Richmond. And I knew my mother was fine -- that she had been eating 500 calories (at best, I'm guessing) for at least the past week. Her ass was about to go to a drive through and eat some grease.

And so, after the always lovely and congested trip across the Woodrow Wilson Bridge (35 minutes to go five miles -- and then miraculously no traffic on the other side, it just disappears), we stopped in Fairfax and got Wendy's. She slept a little in the back seat, I talked on my cell phone with my sister-in-law in code, and my father looked out the window, and occassionally turned around to check on my mom. I was more worried about him being worried.

We made it to Richmond with no other crisis. She went upstairs to take a nap, I set my father up in front of the TV to watch soccer, and I made myself a drink (diet cherry pepsi and run -- yum!) and started making sauce and meatballs for dinner the next night, and marinating the chicken for dinner that night.

I wish I could say that was all the drama for the weekend, but alas, we had a whole other set of grandparents arriving the next night. Another mother as wacky as mine can be, and another father who can be just as cranky as mine.

I'm off to shower and sleep for my first day back to work tomorrow...the weekend is to be continued.

It's Done

I went for a walk to the post office this morning. When I got back, my boss had IM'd me to say that he needed to postpone our 1:00 meeting. No problem, except I really wanted to talk about my decision in this search process before I went on vacation.

I popped my head in his office and asked for five minutes. I told him that I had done a lot of soul-searching over the weekend and I wanted to respectfully withdraw from the search. He immediately seemed relieved.

"What made you think about it?"

"I saw one of the candidate's resumes."

He laughed. "Yea, this was the strongest pools of candidates I've ever seen for a search. The governor's press secretary didn't make the final round."

"I don't want you to think less of me, I don't want you to think I'm copping out."

"No, I respect your decision...and honestly, I really need you right where you are. I need you to take on more responsibility if you're willing, including the supervisory role of the new Swee."

He thanked me about a hundred times, and was genuine in his respect for me and my decision. It went much easier than I thought it would, and I am so glad it's over.

Now....I can get in vacation mode. Whoo-hoo!

What would Sweesus do?

I talked to my former co-worker this morning. And Swee, in all her no-holds bar approach to life, told me to withdraw from the search. She agreed that it would just put everyone in an awkward position, including me.

I will have the talk with my boss tomorrow during my performance evaluation. Once that is over, I can think about my vacation starting on Wednesday morning.

Decisions, Decisions

As I get ready for my last two days of work this week, before I head to Richmond for a long weekend, I'm faced with inner conflict, inner turmoil -- and really I am the only one who can make the decision.

I am one of five finalist for the media relations position. If I weren't a finalist, I would be a part of the final interview process. As the candidates come on campus for their in-person interviews, I -- along with others in my department -- would have a chance to interview them. I was inadvertently scheduled for such a meeting the other day. And thus, I had accidental access to one of the candidate's resumes.

I remedied the situation quickly by talking to the administrative assistant -- and she realized her mistake and took the meeting off my calendar. But....I saw the resume. And I'm not conflicted because it might be unfair, blah blah blah. I'm conflicted because I'm not nearly as qualified as this person.

She has 15 years experience in college communications, public information or media relations in higher education; she is currently the director of communications at a college. Her resume is six pages long!

I can't compete with that. And if it were just another job interview, I wouldn't be worried. So I didn't get the job. Oh well. But it's a different dynamic, because I will be interviewed by my co-workers, some of whom are my friends. And the others, well...I have issues with the way they speak to people in meetings, they way they ask questions of others. It's more accusatory, more of an attack, no respect for people's opinions, ideas or knowledge -- do I really want to set myself up for that? And then have to face them after the interview. If I don't do well in the interview, will they have lost some respect for me and my abilities?

I've been thinking about it all weekend. I have my performance review with my boss on Tuesday afternoon. I was thinking that I would ask the admin to not schedule anything for me until after I talk with my boss on Tuesday -- and bounce it all off of him. The whole lack of respect that people have for each other in meetings is something that I was planning to bring up anyone. It just might be a good entree into my decision about the MR job.

Such a weighty issue as I pull out my typed "to pack" list and prepare for Virginia. I should be relishing in all the organizational type tasks ahead of me today, instead I'm worrying about work, which I haven't done over a weekend since I lived in Baltimore.

Maybe a call to my former co-worker is in order. She knows the dynamics and politics of the office -- and she has 20+ years in the corporate world. And best of all, she knows where my level of self confidence is. She knows me. Yes, a call to Mama Swee is definitely in order.

TGIF

Good things today:

* only one meeting
* Time Warner is coming by to fix my modum so I will once again have internet at home (these past twp weeks have been killing me!)
* I'm going to the 'Cuse to see my niece and the baby
* I will be in 90+ degree-weather in five days -- whoo hoo

Stupid Things that People Say

* "You don't want to be married -- you'll be bitching about your man just like the rest of us."

* After a round-table discussion of soccor games, piano lessons, swim meets, etc...."are you sure you really want kids? Be thankful you don't have them."

* "It's just one meal -- it won't ruin your diet."

* "How old are you now? Oh you've got plenty of time -- stop worrying about it."

* "As much as you work out and you've only lost 40 pounds?"


In the past week, I've heard each of these things and it pissed me off. Though, sadly, not the first time I've heard any of these things. When did people become so insensitive -- or is it that I'm over sensitive?