Oct 07 2012
Leave a comment
renew

My Brethern

TB’s cousin was married on Friday night bringing together three of his siblings and their respective plus ones.  As far as in-laws go, they’re pretty okay.  But it’s the plus ones are who I look forward to seeing.  And giggling and gossiping like school girls in the corner is where you’ll see us.

Technically, there are five of us: one wife of 15 years, a husband of five years, a boyfriend of eight years, a husband of nine months, and me.  However, Wife+15 left after dinner (she’s awesome, but without a doubt her husband’s infidelities will soon require renaming her Ex-Wife #1) and we’ve yet to meet Husband+9mo, so as usual, it was just Husband+5, Boyfriend+8, and me. My Brethren.

I look forward to TB’s family events because of them.  TB’s family isn’t any more or less crazy or functional than any other, but to have comrades with which to hide in the corner during holidays, life events, and the thankfully infrequent loathsome occasions like first birthday parties is truly invaluable.  Besides, where there is drama, passive-aggression, in-fighting, and caddishness in the family that brings us together, there is none of that to be found in the brethren.

Last, and contrary to anything I’ve ever known, the spirits are always free flowing at family events. Oh Shiraz and Malbec, you brilliant rainmakers of patience.

Booze and brethren. That’s all you need to survive in-laws.

Oct 03 2012
Leave a comment
adventure, reduce, renew

Career A, Job B, or Career C

Career A: what began in non-profit, ended twelve years later in corporate burnout…

Job B: scraping together barely enough suitable experience and an executive director with one foot out the door, I landed a job in non-profit that I’m not really qualified to do…nor do I love.

Career C: unknown possible future career?

Job B is fine. It’s good enough. It’s a decent salary, my boss is awesome, and I get to do a bunch of stuff I like doing. But I don’t love it…like I loved Career A.  The trouble with Career A is that the travel and the long hours are suited for a single twenty-something, but not so much for a married thirty-something on the verge of starting a family.

In comes Career C. The next job behind door number three. The leap of faith into something completely new.  The next thing for which I have great passion. The job that isn’t a job but rather something I just love to do. The only trouble with Career C…I don’t know what that career is just yet.

So, I’m fine in Job B until it comes times to bear any future children at which time I do not have short term disability (see: small non-profit) and my insurance rates go through the roof with a plus one.

But in swoops Career A with a potential opportunity. One with better benefits, short term disability, and a shorter commute.  But with a dark side full of Blackberrys, 16-hour days, too many airports, and stress.

I kind of hope the Career A opportunity doesn’t pan out. I don’t want to choose. Because just the thought of being tethered to a Blackberry makes me exhausted…

Sep 24 2012
Leave a comment
reduce, renew

The Pants Dance

It’s the emotionally defeating high-step into a freshly dried pair of jeans.  It’s a carefully negotiated vertical jump to shake down loose haunches. It’s the grand plié that frees up valuable space.

It’s called the Pants Dance.  I hate the Pants Dance. Being 5’3″ with hips, a small waist, and big strong quads, it’s not like pants have ever actually really fit anyway.  But throw in the Freshman 10 I waited to put on until I was 30, and the Pants Dance has become a regular routine I could probably set to music.

Admittedly, I haven’t seen a physical change in myself since starting Clean in ’13 three weeks ago, but today was the first time in a looong time I put on laundered jeans with ease and that is definitely a change.

Being dirty weekend (I can eat ‘dirty’ foods Friday lunch through Sunday breakfast), we ordered pizza. It’s nice to have a comparison diet now. It’s counter-intuitive, but I like that I feel like crap after eating crap now.  It’s becoming harder to eat garbage.  I look forward to Sunday nights because it means I’m back on clean food. I’m also getting more excited for 100ish-percent in 2013. But in the meantime, I’m thankful for Tums.

Sep 22 2012
1 Comment
cancer

Oh Cancer, You Little Bastard

S went to the emergency room last night because she literally could not get out of bed without throwing up. After waiting six hours to pee, she finally gave in, puked her way to the bathroom and called the on-call doctor. Vertigo, eye inflammation, and blurred vision have been added to the laundry list of negative side effects.  At least, cancer has proven to be generous enough in this vile game of chemo to stop one nasty side effect before launching a new attack.

We both live in the city but the oncologist, Dr. Cure It, is located in a second ring suburb as is the hospital at which he is credentialed.  And part of S being in this clinical trial meant she agreed to go to this hospital as to be under his care.  This particular area is known for it’s more *ahem* interesting walks of life.  Sitting in the waiting room was nothing short of a two-hour case study in white trash.

There was the 19-year-old who stumbled in between his two stoner friends bleeding from the head from some Jackass-style stunt.

The Jerry-Springer-guest-star-mom loudly threatening a lawsuit for an unidentified but nevertheless ridiculous reason. “Ah hell no, it’s called a lawsuit. Imma call my lawyer.”

Then there was the portly young woman in too-tight studded cutoffs that exposed her high-thigh tattoos.  She was a delight.  What her vocabulary lacked in depth, it sure compensated for in color.

And the sexual tension between an EMT and the mall cop security guard was better than whatever was on the television behind them.  All we needed was a fight between a baby mama and someone’s new girlfriend and we would have stumbled upon ratings gold.

I think shows like ER missed the boat.  The real entertainment is in the waiting room. Just don’t get too close to the infant with the plague.

Sep 20 2012
Leave a comment
adventure, cancer

Am I…Actually Ready?!?

Never having been one to feel the proverbial ‘clock’ ticking, I have no idea what wanting a baby actually feels like.  Sure, there’s been some intangible item that I left at the store, then longed for after and eventually purchased – but to want a kid? Uh-uh. I have no idea what it’s like to want one of those.

I feel sheepish admitting this, but we watched What to Expect When You’re Expecting over the weekend and it was during that movie that I started to feel something.  Something that felt an awful lot like ‘I think I can do this,’ and ‘I can actually picture holding my own child.’

Combined with ‘graduating’ from therapy (aka learning how to not be my mom’s mom) and S getting sicker, it has been both a high dose of reality and a freeing week.

I think I’m ready. And with our plan to stop preventing in January, in theory, I could have a kid by this time next year. Holy shit.

Photo (c) Lionsgate

Sep 16 2012
Leave a comment
reduce

Have Your Nipples Always Looked Like That?

Going to the OB-GYN is what I’d envision it would be like to go to the vet as a cat.  It’s only a step or two ahead along the evolutionary path that prevents us from hissing and kicking during a PAP smear.

I was in a bad relationship with my gynecologist.  Not a relationship that crossed any ethical lines, but rather one that just wasn’t good for my self-esteem.

I call her Gynosaur – and not like the cute herbivores that nibble on tree tops but rather the carnivorous little gremlins in Jurassic Park that lull you and then spit acid in your face.

These are just two of the delightful conversations we’ve had:

Gynosaur: So, you’ve put on a little weight, huh?
Me: What?!
Gynosaur: You weigh ten pounds more than last year.
Me: I do?!
Gynosaur: Ten pounds is a lot to pack on in a year.
Me: [Flustered, embarrassed and naked] I-I I don’t feel much, um, I… Am I…I really don’t think I’ve gained any weight.
Gynosaur: [Flipping through chart] Yep. And two years ago you put on… Oh… Never mind.
Me: How much? Is this a problem? Do I need to be on a diet?
Gynosaur: It looks like you were at 134 at 18-years-old…four more pounds then now.
Me: Four pounds in eight years? Is that bad? Am I fat? Do I need to be on a diet?
Gynosaur: Okay, sit back and I’ll do the breast exam.
Me: [WTF?]

Later, I recalled just having come off a two-week bout with the flu before last year’s visit.  I had dropped 10 lbs in two weeks, but didn’t want to cancel the appointment because it was insanely difficult to reschedule.

But it wasn’t until this, that I decided to break-up with Gynosaur and get a new OB-GYN:

Gynosaur: What are you doing for physical activity?
Me: I started running with a club.
Gynosaur: How far?
Me: [proudly] I’m actually training for my first marathon this fall.
Gynosaur: So, are you the slowest one?
Me: [Flustered pause] I-I, well, I’m not going to win the race. [WTF?]

You’re fat and slow.  That’s exactly the gentle and encouraging approach to woman’s health care that I want in a female doctor who’s got me spread eagle on a table and about to become very medically intimate with my person.

Last week I had a physical from a new GP.  Upon checking my breasts, she asks me, “Have your nipples always looked like that?”  Um? Like what?  She said she would blush if she could (she’s black) and told me she was embarrassed it came out like that but never really told me what looked so odd about my cans.

Oh boy.  I’ve been in this relationship before.  Time to to move on.  You can’t buy manners. Apparently you can’t buy bedside manners either.

*For the record, my nipples look like every other nipple I’ve ever seen.  And I’m positive the Gynosaur would have taken that easy shot if my nipples were abnormal.

Sep 14 2012
Leave a comment
favorites

Spicy Thursday

This salsa is from a friend of Mexican decent.  It’s awesome and it’s so fresh.  Try it with Blue Diamond Sea Salt baked nut chips.

Luna Salsa
1 can large whole tomatoes
1 heaping teaspoon minced garlic
generous handful of cilantro
tad of salt
1-2 jalapenos chopped
1 teaspoonish of Penzey’s Southwest Seasoning

Drain tomatoes and squeeze out each one – otherwise it gets too runny. Broil, blacken and peel away skin of jalapenos.  I only use one pepper for a little heat because hot salsa really isn’t my jam.

Puree.  I use a blender. I’m sure you could use a food processor if you wanted to.

*I like to keep the can of tomatoes in the fridge, that way the salsa is cold and ready to go after blending.  I also found that blackened, chopped and frozen jalapenos work well with this recipe.

Sep 11 2012
Leave a comment
cancer, renew

!@#$% You Cancer

Ugh.  A big deflating, Ugh.

We all knew the side effects of the clinical trial drug could make S sick.  What we didn’t know is how sick since she’s on now-being-tested high dose.

She pretty much has the plague. Like high temps of 103.5° and low temps of 94.4° every single day.  That’s writhe-around-and-sweat-your-ass-off hot and can’t-use-your-fingers-and-shake-violently cold.  Her head pounds, her neck is stiff, her body hurts – like the mother of all flu viruses.

But S has will power superior to anyone. The first time she used a sick day in TWELVE years was for the first tumor and lymph node resection. And here’s the best part, as craptacular as she feels, she’s gone to work every day since this came on 1.5 weeks ago.

It sure as hell puts into perspective wanting to cheat Clean in ’13 or quit at the gym.  Last night was my first time back at the gym in over a month.  There’s a class on Monday night that’s a real ass kicker. It’s awesome.  It’s four sets of eight 20 second bursts of high intensity cardio or strength training.  Damn straight I was figuring out how to quit ‘gracefully’ after the sixth sprint. But there’s only one thought racing through my mind right after I consider quitting:

S has cancer.

I plead with empty air that she didn’t. I hate that it’s fueling the change in me. But she does and it is.

 

Sep 10 2012
Leave a comment
favorites, recycle, reduce

Office Bitch Corn Dip

What a great weekend.  While it was a packed weekend, nothing crazy exciting happened, yet it seemed like a long weekend.  I actually felt relaxed Sunday night.  Part Most of it may have been that I didn’t create (the pressure of) a to-do list.

The first full week of Clean in ’13 was a success.  Come Friday, it was actually hard to eat a sub for lunch. And while the chips, cheese, salsa, taco and enchilada for dinner all went down smoothly, the gut rot later that night was a nice reminder that crap food does crappy things to the body.  We even scrapped Office Bitch Corn Dip* for a fruit salad, cheese and nut crackers for tailgating on Saturday morning.

Although, now that it’s back to the healthy part of the week, I’m mad craving pizza.  Hopefully the cravings dissipate with time…or the stuffed tomato tonight will taste just like Papa John’s.  Either way.

*Office Bitch Corn Dip
2 cans Mexicorn
3-4 T light mayo
2 cups finely shredded cheddar
3-4 chopped green onion

Mix. Refrigerate overnight. Serve with Frito’s Scoops.

Remember to be nice.  It would suck to only be remembered as the a-hole with the great recipe.

Sep 07 2012
Leave a comment
cancer, renew

Only Hope

Oh man, I’ve missed reading.  And to find a book that can’t be put down, even into the wee hours of the morning?  Bliss.

The first fifty pages of Falling Home were treacherous.  The writing isn’t the greatest, but the story eventually overpowered the writing. It’s the same level of engagement found in the Twilight series…that I will sheepishly admit to having read. There is something about the love stories in these books that successfully panders to the wide-eyed young woman within.

S is a huge reader. As in she strictly borrows books from the library or the community because it would be a budget-breaker otherwise. Just as I would any other good read, I want to give her this book, but {spoiler alert} the sister has advanced cancer and dies at the end.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get emotional thinking of S, who is for all non-family tree purposes my sister,  dying.  And I simply won’t give her the opportunity to give up even a gram of hope.

I shouldn’t censor anything from her, but when Dr. Cure It refused to give her a life expectancy*, but told her instead, “People are cured from Stage IV cancer. It’s the exception, but it does happen.” there’s no way I’m pumping anything negative her way.  If she stumbles across this book on her own, fine.  But it’s not coming from me.

*The median life expectancy is nine months from diagnosis for Stage IV melanoma.  Go to a dermatologist and get your moles and freckles checked. GO. Life is already far too short.  DO NOT  gamble with cancer.

← Older posts
Newer posts →