Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Things I Know

TTC - Trying To Conceive

OT - Ovulation Test

BT - Basal Temperature

BFN - Big Fat Negative

BFP - Big Fat Positive

OT - Ovulation Test

AF - Aunt Flo

These are terms I wish I didn't know. They define the struggle to conceive. Women write these terms on message boards in hopes that their sore boobs and irritability are an early symptom of pregnancy and not a sign of PMS. Last year I was apart of this group.

How many times did I Google, "Early pregnancy signs"? Too many to count.

How many times was it PMS? Every time.

Except once. Surprisingly, that was the one time I didn't take to the internet to analyze my sore boobs.

When I was in school and Sex Ed was taught they made it seem that if you kissed a boy AND he had his hand on your boob YOU WOULD GET PREGNANT.


They also taught us that you could get pregnant while on your period.


You could get pregnant while dancing. While singing. If your mom was pregnant! If you used the same toilet as your pregnant neighbor. Pregnant! It's everywhere! Like a virus spreading wildly - watch out!

It's all bullshit.

I now know that there is basically 12-24 hours each month that the stars align and you can get pregnant. Most hit this at day 14 in their cycle. I hit mine on day 18. It's better to try before your "magic day" hits because sperm can live in your body for a few days. Yeah. That's not creepy AT ALL.

If you wait 'til after your "magic day" you're screwed.

Getting pregnant is not as easy as they teach in the schools.

So sleep around girls!


Gimme a break. I have five followers.

Thanks to nature I count my life in weeks.

Casey does a good job of explaining it here.

I'm an expert stick pee-er. I've got the technique down.

Pregnancy Test Sticks?


Ovulation Test Sticks?


This week I'm going to buy a new pack of ovulation test sticks.

I'm finally ready to start peeing again.

I mean trying again.

Wish me luck.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

I'm Grateful (Part 2)

To help me move on from my miscarriage I have decided to take time each day this month to write and reflect on the things which I am grateful. My life is full and complete in many ways and I want to focus on the things which make my life worth living rather than concentrating on what I don't have. For part one click here.

I am Grateful For...

Day 11: The South. I was born in the south and I love it. I love the food, the culture, the weather. Everything. I belong here. The south is in my blood. If I'm lucky I will live here forever. I used to reject being southern but now I embrace it. It's good to belong somewhere.

Day 12: Girl Time. I love girl time. I always say that men need hobbies and women need other women to talk to. When I spend time with my sisters and girlfriends I feel cleansed, refreshed, and like I can take on the world.

Day 13: Spring. I love this time of year. Today is sunny, 70 degrees, daylight savings has started. Gorgeous, breezy spring days make me feel like the possibilities for me are endless.

Day 14: Compliments. I was having a shitty day until a customer I haven't spoken with in over six years called. He remembered me from a previous company I worked at, and told me how happy he was to have found me and that there weren't many people like me left in our industry. Suddenly my shitty day became a great day.

Day 15: Pay Day. It fucking rocks.

Day 16: Diet Coke. Mmmm....sweet nectar of the Gods.

Day 17: Reconciliation. Today I am going to talk to one of my close friends who I have not spoken with in four months. It's been a rocky road but this is the first step to working on things. I'm grateful that we're trying.

Day 18: Vacation Days. Today my husband and I are each taking a vacation day. Our Agenda? Sit outside all day, enjoy the sunshine, watch March Madness games (he borrowed a flat screen T.V. from his office and has it set up outside), drink massive amounts of beer, and play frisbee with our sweet doggy. Cheers!

Day 19: Tennis. I've been taking tennis lessons for three weeks now and my husband and I went and played for an hour today. I've improved greatly over these past weeks and, y'all, I LOVE tennis! Love it! Can't wait to play tomorrow!

Day 20: Maggie. We call her Maggie, Maggie May, Macaroon, Magdalena, but normally she's called Moops. She's my dog and is all waggy tail and sweet eyes. I love that girl.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Opening My Eyes

Last Friday I read a post on Anissa's site where she mentioned a meet-up for bloggers in Atlanta taking place on Saturday.


It was free, local, AND they had beer.


I mentioned it to my husband in that way wives talk to their husbands about things they want to do but need the push to make it happen:

"There's like this thing downtown...with bloggers...and I don't know. Maybe I'll go...but I don't have anybody to go with so....I probably won't...and I won't know anyone....but maybe I will....I don't know."

First, my husband was scared that I expected him to go with me. OMG. He might have to hang out with a bunch of women and drink beer at a brewery.

The Horror!

Once I assured him that I definitely did not want him to attend. He came up with an idea, invite Tiff (otherwise known as Beeker and for the record, I'm Shotgun, don't ask, go with it.)

I was hesitant.

This blog is kinda, sorta, really a secret.

Shhhhhhh....don't tell.

I was worried Tiff would be offended that I hadn't shared my blog with her. My husband assured me she would understand. I wasn't sure, so I sent her a 50,000 word, insecure, rambling email which basically said:

"I wanna go because I'm interested in starting a blog...but definitely don't have a blog, so yeah. No blogging going on 'round here. Please, please go with me!" 

I'm sneaky like that.

Tiff replied:

"Jesus, Amanda. What's up with the long ass email? Do something just for you which has nothing to do with me? Uh, yeah, count me in. There's no Shotgun without Beeker!"

Of course she did.

So we went. When we arrived (an hour late) my nerves kicked in. I thought the event would be in a large private room where peeps would be standing and mingling. Maybe a keynote speaker. I don't know. I'm a rookie. Instead, everyone was seated around the corner of the restaurant's entrance at a group of tables.

The first people we saw were Julia Roberts (yeah, really) and Anissa, The Legend. I won't go into all the reasons I love Anissa, I'm sure you love her for the same reasons. After greeting Anissa and Julia we went to take our seat at a table down from them.

This is when things could have been awkward.

The area we were in had four high-top tables with chairs on one side and a shared bench on the other side against the wall. The tables were full and the last table sat by the corner about three feet away from the table next to it.

Shit. We're gonna be the weirdos in the corner.

Tiff and I couldn't decide if we should move the table over or not.

Hi, my name is Amanda watch me move furniture.

I didn't need to worry. The seated ladies told us to move the table over and they squished in to make room. We met Katherine and she was lovely. We met Jana and she was lovely. Then we met Miranda, Lauren, and Stacie, and we met some other bloggers too. Everyone was lovely. A group of lovely, smart women (and a few awesome men too. AHEM.)

It was amazing.

Y'all these women are legit. Like too legit to quit. For reals.

I can't name all of their credentials, but I was out of my league. Big Time.

The best part is that while I was there I had no clue how important these ladies are. None. They didn't talk about it. They didn't have to. These ladies are awesome and secure with themselves so they don't need to read everyone their resume. They listened to Tiff and me ramble, and they laughed at our lame jokes.

I have never felt so welcome and at home.

Brace yourself.

It's about to get even deeper up in here.

After reflecting (yes, I reflect - with my super duper handy dandy thought mirror I reflect. It's kinda a big deal.) about the meet-up I feel there is a deeper meaning to it. I'm not very religous but maybe Someone (God?) was opening my eyes. The ladies I sat with have dealt (and are dealing?) with postpartum depression. Was Someone showing me that if I have a baby it's not necessarily the perfect life I dream of, there may be issues that come along with giving birth, and support is there for me if I need it?

Whoa. That's some serious shit.

There's more.

Miranda. She's totally my sister from another, er, mister. We each had our wedding at the same venue, when planning my wedding, two years ago, I came across her bridal profile on a website. I pored through her photos for ideas and tried to find her email address to ask some questions. I had no luck then, but Saturday she sat across from me. Maybe people come into your life when they're supposed to.

Tiff. Wow. What can I say about Tiff? That I love her? Yes. That she's a true friend? Yes. Tiff has been my rock these past months. Before my miscarriage I thought I knew what friendship was. I didn't. I do now.

Because of Tiff, I know.

We spent most of the weekend together and at one point she jokingly asked:

"So is that best friend spot filled yet? Are you gonna let me fill it?"

I laughed and said, "You already have."

That's the truth. She filled the best friend slot years ago. It took this weekend and this event for me to see it.

Thanks for the meet-up, ladies.

Thanks for being my best friend, Tiff.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I'm Grateful (Part 1)

To help me move on from my miscarriage I have decided to take time each day this month to write and reflect on the things which I am grateful. My life is full and complete in many ways and I want to focus on the things which make my life worth living rather than concentrating on what I don't have.

I am Grateful For...

Day 1: My husband. He is my rock steady Eddie and the love of my life. He centers me and grounds me. He is my heart.

Day 2: My family. They are my support system. I have a loving mom and dad, two sisters that are my best friends, and a whole gaggle of nieces and nephews. My in-laws are awesome and they are there to support my husband and me whenever we need it.

Day 3: My job. I'm glad I have a place to wake up and go to everyday. It may not be the perfect job but it pays the bills. I don't bring my work home with me and I'm not stressed out.

Day 4: Date Night. Tonight my husband and I are going to the movies and out to dinner. I'm grateful that we can afford to do this. I'm grateful that we have the type of relationship where we enjoy doing these things together. And I'm grateful that right now we have the freedom to do it.

Day 5: Rainy Days. I'm grateful for rainy days like this one that allow me to lie around doing nothing guilt-free!

Day 6: Weekends. This has been my favorite kind of weekend. No schedule. No agenda. Spending time with my husband and dog. Laughing, eating good food, drinking cheap wine. Being in love.

Day 7: Common Sense. Some folks have zero common sense. Thank God I have at least some common sense. I probably don't have enough but I'll take the little I have.

Day 8: School. I am currently attending college in pursuit of my Associates degree in Paralegal studies. I am grateful that I have the opportunity to do this so that I can make a career change.

Day 9: Nanay. We call my husband's grandmother Nanay (it's Filipino for mother) and she is leaving the U.S. next month. She has taught me much about loving and nurturing people. I will miss her so but am happy that I had the opportunity to spend time with her and to love her.

Day 10: Cooking. Over the past few years I have developed a passion for cooking and I'm pretty good at it! Last night I made homemade shepherd's pie from scratch, without a recipe. I look forward to the day that I have kids and they brag to their friends about their mom's home cooking.

Monday, March 7, 2011

So I Blocked Her Ass

Here's the thing. I have a past.

Some could say a checkered past.

Relax, I'm not a god damn fugitive. At least not yet.

Let's just say I did some shit when I was a teenager that I am not proud of. I could go into the reasons why and all that, but I don't have the time and you don't have the interest.

Trust me.

Okay, so I had some issues as a teenager and did some rebellious shit. I did stuff like hitchhiking to Florida for a week. Totally normal, right? When I turned eighteen I got in my car, drove away from my bullshit small town, and left everything behind. I started a new life and became a different person. It probably wasn't as dramatic or poetic as I made it seem, but it was to me at the time.

I don't remember people from high school. I'm not nostalgic about high school. I hated myself as a teenager. My teenage years were filled with self-loathing, loneliness, and bull shit. And those people in high school were assholes. I am much happier now and I do not spend time waxing nostalgic about the good ol' days. These are the good ol' days to me. Right Now. This Second is Fucking Awesome.

You dig?

Now we have Facebook. And I love Facebook. Don't think I'm over here dogging out the Facebook. It's not like I'm "The Social Network", y'all. Speaking of that movie...a lil' heavy handed, no?


Or, as I call it, "Omigod I know I was a total asshole to you in high school but guess what you're fat now and I'm still totally high school skinny and I have three perfect kids and stay at home while my husband has an awesome job and OMG how did you get so fat you don't have a baby and why haven't you had any kids yet? OMG you ARE a loser! Just like I knew you would be! And now I can bring up a bunch of embarrassing shit you did when you were in high school so everyone will know what a loser you were and still are! And OMG my life is so fucking awesome just like I knew it would be! Holy shit let's be friends now because you shared four miserable years of me being an asshole to you. And now we have the rest of our lives for me to be an asshole to you! OMG! Isn't this fucking amazing?!? Omigod!"

Or something.

I created my Facebook page and did not put my high school on there. But these people from high school find you. They do. They are like the god damn CIA these people. I accept them, because, well, I wanna see their pics, of course. And it would be rude not to accept them. And I (unlike them) am most definitely not an asshole.

My activity on Facebook is fairly benign. Unlike most I do not spend it updating everyone on my health woes and I don't use it as a forum to congratulate myself on my many many accomplishments. I mainly post generic musings or excitement over upcoming events. My parents are on Facebook, my in-laws are on Facebook, my co-workers are on Facebook, so I don't have any need to air my dirty laundry on The Facebook.

That's why I have this blog.

When Rachel, a girl from high school, friend requested me I accepted her. Again, I'm not an asshole. Rachel and I weren't great friends by any means. She was friends with my best friend Andy and the only memory I have of Rachel is that she dated a boy named Jeff and they would meet at Andy's house and have sex in his mom's guest bedroom. And when they got done Andy would always make them wash the sheets because they were soaking wet because Rachel would squirt on the bed.

Yeah. She was a squirter.

A few weeks ago Rachel, the squirter, randomly posts on my Facebook wall:

"Remember that time we went to the mall and met those weird guys and they took us to Gadzooks and we modeled bathing suits for them? We looked fucking sexy then didn't we? I forget sometimes how hot we were. LOL."

On my public Facebook wall she posts this shit. I have zero recollection of this event happening and even if it did happen it's not the sort of thing I want my mother-in-law reading about.


So, I deleted the comment. Of course I deleted the fucking comment.

Friday I posted this status on my Facebook page (get ready, it's some earth shattering shit I post on The Facebook):

"Okay FB peeps, I need some help here. When I was growing up in the summer sometimes we would string up a badminton net in our front yard (classy, I know). BUT we didn't call it badminton. We called it something else. Is there a southern slang word for badminton? What is it?"

I received about ten comments on this post (none of them being the right answer, by the way) and The Squirter chimes in:

"All I know is when we played in those weird dudes' backyard that lived in your neighborhood we called it badminton, but it was really called flirting. LOL"

Again, no recollection. I'm positive this never happened.

WTF is her problem?
So, I did what any reasonable person would do. I deleted her ass from my friends list and blocked her. Ha ha Squirter! Who's laughing now??

Last night I told my husband this story and I asked him if he thought I over-reacted. His reply?

"You always over-react."

So I ask you, internet peeps, was my response reasonable and justified? What would you have done?

Friday, March 4, 2011

Single White Stylist

Here's part two of my stylist story, for part one click here.

I like to say that this is when she went all "Single White Female" on my ass, but I've never seen Single White Female, so if it doesn't apply just pretend it does. Mmmmkay?

Don't be an asshole.



I grab my cell phone and see an unfamiliar number.



"Yes, who is this?"

*Huge Sigh* "This is Michelle"


"Michelle your hairstylist! Don't you remember me?!?"

Oh shit.

"Oh yeah of course I do. Um, How's it goi-"

"Listen. I've quit the salon. Me and Tanya are opening our own place down the road and you need to come see me. Don't go back to the other place. Leslie is a bitch and she screwed me over so you better come see me at the new place."

I should point out that I have no idea who the fuck Leslie and Tanya are. It was my first time at the salon when I visited Michelle and I didn't even know her name, the name of my own professional stylist. She was too busy bitching me out and telling me about baby daddy drama to introduce herself or to fill me in on the latest happenings at the salon. So, yeah. WTF.

"Um, yeah. Okay. I'll call you and make an appointment."


"Well I got my book right here so let's go ahead and make it now. Tanya wants us to get full books so we can show those bitches that they screwed with the wrong people. How about Saturday at 11?"

It had been maybe three weeks since she had done my hilights. I'm doing good if I can scrape up the money to get my hair cut and hilighted every twelve weeks. So every three weeks?! Um. No. Ain't happening. Ever. And besides, wouldn't that be bad for my hair? Shouldn't she be concerned about over processing my luscious locks? I mean, she's a god damn professional y'all.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work. Lemme look at my schedule and get back to you okay?"

"Fine. Make sure you call back. You can't screw your hair up again after I put all that work into it, ya' hear? And if you don't get in my books Tanya's gonna be pissed. I told her I could depend on you."

And by screwing up my hair she means, ya' know, growing it.


And we hang up. An hour goes by and my phone rings again. It's her. I don't answer. She leaves a message:

"Amanda, it's Michelle. How long does it take you to check your schedule? *sarcastic laugh* I'm filling up fast so I need to know when to put you down for. Hurry and call me. Today."

The next day I receive another message:

"You forgot to call yesterday. Call me as soon as possible. It's important that you call. We need to talk."

Two days later:

"Amanda it's Michelle. Call me."

Then a day later:

"What the fuck!"

One week later:

"Hey Amanda, sugar. Girl, we need to talk. I don't know why you're not answering your phone. If you've been talking to Leslie don't believe a word of it, honey. You know my work is good and I want to fix your hair. I did good last time by you and it's only fair that you give me my due. If there's something wrong all I ask is that you talk to me. I just changed places and I can't be losing my regulars. We ain't even off the ground yet and you're doing this to me. Tanya's upset and I can't eat thinkin' about you bein' mad at me. Gimme a call, sugar. We'll work it out."

That was the last message I received from Psychopath Michelle. But she kept calling. She called me 17 times after the last message. I think she knew that when she had to be sweet the battle was lost. She probably kept calling so she could cuss my ass out. Sadly, she never had the pleasure.

So what did I do?

I went back to the salon and had the owner, Lesley, do my hair.

Leslie has been my stylist for two years.

I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one...