Archive for December, 2011


Merry Christmas Eve, Eh! A little joy from Bob and Doug McKenzie.

Ya, it took me this long to figure out how to put videos back in my posts since they changed the system.

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I got a little kick out of this, thought you might too. Found it online but I can’t find any author to credit. Merry 2 days till Christmas everybody!

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the
annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence,
kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this
potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus
musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the
wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure
regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among
whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St.  Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective
accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual
hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through
their cerebrums.  My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head
coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness
when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended
such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity
from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source
thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing
this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance
without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline
precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian
itself – thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to
behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight
diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly
apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his
ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more
vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated
loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and
addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen – “Now
Dasher, now Dancer…” et al. – guiding them to the uppermost exterior
level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the
concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a
180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved – with utmost
celerity and via a downward leap – entry by way of the smoke passage. He
was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from
oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls
thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the
plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious
cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary
dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The
capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with
blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the
coloration of Albion’s floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium,
or sweet cherry.  His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so
much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment
appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey
fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive
of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was
high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region
undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical
container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund,
multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly
lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to
one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the
aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned
articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously
dorsally transported cloth receptacle.  Upon completion of this task,
he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in
lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium
forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his
egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then
propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a
musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the
antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a
movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions
of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible
immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of
visibility: “Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to
that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously
beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and
dawn.”

Fertility with strangers

Ok, not total strangers. Co-workers. But ones that I’m not all that intimate of the knowing. A post by Eggs that I just got to reading made me think of this conversation I got into a few days ago. Uncomfortable or funny? Still not too sure.

So, everyone gets known for something, right? My boss has become know for the fact that her underwear (thongs) are constantly sticking out of her pants as they ride down and her shirt rides up. I’ve become known for my tattoos sticking out of or in the case of one shirt, showing through my uniform. So as my boss and I were joking about this the other day, she leaves and “my girls” (my health care aids) say “I want to see your tattoos, move your shirt”. Sure, I’m in the office, I don’t have to get nekid to show them the most of it. They’ve all seen “judge not…” and glimpsed the edges of the feet. So I show the two there the rest of the feet, a quick lift of the back of my shirt presented “nothing else matters” across my spine and the dragon wrapped around my butterfly. And no, I didn’t pull my pants down to show them the rest of the dragon on my butt cheek. I just told them how far it went.

So they ask about the feet and I tell them the history. I’m not shy about it. Unlike most of us, I’ve actually had this conversation on a very regular basis and usually with relative strangers. One of my girls says that she’s had losses in the past too and then we get to the fertility issues. So she starts telling me how to get pregnant.

LOL. REALLY!?

Have you tried this, have you tried that, “have you tried doggy style and stay that way for half an hour after?”

I just stuck with a generic “I’ve tried it all”. I wasn’t going to get into a discussion of sexual positions and old wives tales to help conception at work. I had a feeling that the next one out her mouth would have been “have you tried getting hosed and banging in the back of a car?” so I made my exit quickly. “I’ve got to go get shift report from 2nd floor” and I bolted.

Does that make me evil? It’s hard to give a “sorry for your loss now shut your damn mouth you twit, you think I haven’t tried sex to conceive in the last 7 years?”

I was laughing and irritated all the way up the stairs. I still don’t know which one wins, but I’m leaning towards humour.

The schitty alternative

Today was an awesome day at work. Not that everything was perfect, but even the bad things went smoothly. I even had to call an ambulance for a resident because we couldn’t get her chest pain under control, but unless you saw the paramedics come or go, you’d have had no idea there was an issue. Why? ‘Cause I don’t panic. I just get it done.

There was this big giant who ha at work today hosting a bunch of big wigs and my boss’s boss was super nervous about it all yesterday and this morning. I spent a good chunk of time just helping him chill both days. Why? Well, I guess he finds me calming. Good news for me I guess. He even told me that he’s been hearing great feedback about me from everyone. Can’t complain too much except that he keeps making me late getting off work trying to feed me cake. It’s his way of celebrating everything. Cake. Cake out the ying yang. I don’t care for cake. But he’s always determined that I’m present before he makes his pre-cake announcements. He tracked me down after the big wigs left and gave me the “did the mayor see you?! I really wanted the mayor to see you. I hope you were here when we came by but I didn’t see.” I just paused as gave a “they all saw me in passing, I was keeping busy”. AKA, I didn’t want to just stand there looking pretty for them all to stare at. That makes me nervous. I gave a little way to my direct boss and I calmly but quickly walked by them all (leaving my office when they arrived).

I hope I don’t make him sound creepy here, he’s just really nice and has taken a liking to me.

But of course as that all finished up and I was about to leave work… That BITCH did showeth. A schitty alternative to what we all hope for.

Id had my hopes up. I felt fine, no spotting, my boobs were even not sore for a change. I’d been fantasizing about my “amazing christmas miracle/ present” or whatever it was my co-worker had said last week. So that was a little let down.  But I try to console myself in the fact that my life is pretty good right now and I really like my job and my sweet Monster and I are planning on watching Home Alone tonight for a giggle. He hasn’t seen it but I thought he’s like watching the burglars get bashed in the face with paint cans. Good lessons we teach our children 😉  .

Join on in

Just because insanity loves company and I could use a giggle. I’m not late, I think. I actually can’t remember when I had my last period since for some reason, that could only be explained by an overly intellectual jug of milk (at 3.5 degrees celsius), I forgot to mark it down on the calendar. I don’t know how I missed it. Even when I stopped tracking, I’ve still remembered to mark the arrival of The Red Lady.

So…I think…..that I’m on day 28 (could be 29 but I’m rounding shorter since I don’t know). So If I went by my regular that makes me 1-3 days late. And if I went by my irregular it makes me due any time over the next week. And I have only OPK test and no immediate plans to pick up any HPT. Obviously the possibility has been hovering in the back of my head since she hasn’t shown up like a bad house guest.

I just figured since I was being casually pestered by the idea I’d take you all down with me.

That and usually if I say I’m late here, The Red Lady arrives shortly after. If she’s coming she might as well get it done.

The Chronic Oversharer’s head shake

Yesterday at work I was standing in the dinning room waiting on the kitchen staff with my Aid standing beside me. “My damn boobs hurt!” I mumbled. Why? Well, I’m a chronic over-sharer and they we REALLY hurting yesterday. Every time I had to go up and down the stairs (I work two floors and I don’t have time to wait for the elevator when going between…ever) I had to grasp my teeny tiny boobs that for some reason thought they weighted 10 thousand pounds each, for dear life. I was just lucky I didn’t have people on each floor seeing me wonder why their nurse keeps grabbing her own boobs.

“ARE YOU PREGNANT!?!?!?!” she excitedly whispered back.

Damn it “Not a clue, I’m not due yet, but they’ve been sore for 9 months now so I’m not taking it as a sign”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be such a nice Christmas present for you!” She even had wistful face going.

“Yes, yes it would”. I wish I wish I wish I wish.

It was my fault, I started it. And Now I have the “wouldn’t it be a nice Christmas present…” suck in my head.

Birthdays

Monster’s 4th birthday is today. How in the hell did that happen? Where did 4 years go? That officially means that it’s been three years since my struggle to have another child began. No luck so far (needed Sherlock to tell us that, hey?).

And of course, like every mother I know, I can’t help but think “he’s getting so big!” But can you blame me? Does this look like a baby?

We had the traditional wake up this morning where I (and Hubby cause he happened to be home) bombarded in with a tuneless rendition of “Happy Birthday” (I’m well aware that I shouldn’t be giving up my day job any time soon and Hubby is worse) and cake. It’s the one day of the year you get to be woken up with cake. If it was for me I’d want pie, but you know kids. So breakfast is cake and PEZ and then I take him to the day home where she takes him out for a birthday breakfast involving what he called strawberry pizza (waffles?) and after work we come home to play on his brand new laptop from gramma and grampa and to figure out what “hot chicken and ketchup but it will cool down I promise” is for his dinner request. Turns out he wanted a roasted chicken. Add pie and eggnog on that and I think he’s getting pretty well spoiled today.

I’m also proud to announce (in the it really has absolutely nothing to do with me but I’m strangely proud anyways) that my chocobuddy Elphaba who was 93 weeks pregnant (or so it felt), just had her baby girl this morning. Little Alice at 9 lbs…ok, not too little. So our Monsters have the same birthday! I’m so happy for her I’m getting teary. To finally have her little girl in her arms just like I hope we all can have. I’m amazingly lucky to have my Monster and even though I want/ hope for more, I pray that one day we all get to (by one method or another) hold at least one child that we get to keep.

Not a bad dream, but…

I had a dream the other night. I was doing my christmas shopping and for some dream logic reason, I decided to get my niece and nephew’s birth certificates for my brother and his wife. I know, what a FANTASTIC present, hey? Isn’t that what we’re all just dying for? Anyways, the papers come and I look at them. My nephew’s papers list us as the parents. I’m thinking “shit, I did say they were for my nephew but maybe they didn’t hear and assumed that since I was calling, I was the mom”.

But then comes the awkward part. I didn’t want to have it changed. Part of me was just hoping we could leave it that way. I knew it was wrong and that anyone looking at it and him would say “pardon me, we’ve got a typo here”. Not to mention that his parents MAY want correct information on  it and all. But dream me  got to have the momentary fantasy of “maybe he could be my baby”.

But sadly, you have to wake up and put the you that would be locked up in the loony bin for trying to convince people that some other child is yours away.

I’ve been feeling strangely sad and a little guilty about it the last couple days. Even thought I know I didn’t ACTUALLY do anything wrong. And dream me didn’t either. She just wished she didn’t have to fix those damn typos.