As you may have noticed, I tend to reference Zee a lot on this blog — and will continue to do so thankyouverymuch until that restraining order goes into effect. 

A few weeks back, we had this delightful exchange in the comments section, and ever since, I can’t get the idea of my cervical mucus deserting me out of my head. 

We guessed that perhaps our mucuses (mucusi??) were together, having hit the road leaving us high and dry (HAR HAR). 

At first, I had an image of my CM tying up her worldly possessions in a bandanna on the end of a long stick, and hitting the railroad cars all hobo-like.  But then I realized that having sprung forth from MY loins, that was not very likely.  I hate hobos and I’m sorry if that offends any of you, but it’s true.  They’re scary and have an uncanny sense of direction and nothing you say can make me like them, NOTHING!

Anyway, I decided that my mucus was probably on one of two trips: either digging water trenches in a remote Sri Lankan village, or sitting by the pool of a fancy spa awaiting a massage and seaweed wrap.  (WHAT?  It’s good for the cellulite!!)

So, given that she deserted me a couple of years ago and left me alone to navigate the waters (wow, this topic is just PUN RICH isn’t it?) of trying to get pregnant, I would compose an open letter to her in the hopes of luring her back.

Dear Cervical Mucus,

I know we’ve been apart for several years now. I’m not sure why you determined that this was an appropriate time to leave town, just when I needed you most! Perhaps you felt ignored for so long, since before I read a popular book about you, I didn’t even know you existed, and that was rude of me.  (My friend recommended the book and I read it immediately, and then we would ask each other:  "how do you CHECK that stuff anyway?  Ewwwww… ." And I’d leave messages for her like:  "sorry I missed you but I bet you’re too busy checking your cervical mucus to answer the phone …snort snort!" and then be petrified that her husband would hear the message first. )

So, perhaps that offended you and you were fed up, and instead of confronting me like a mature CM  (and at 38 staring-down-the-barrel- of 39, we’re MATURE, honey child) you decided to take off.  No note, no text message.  Not even a scrawl on a panty shield saying you’d be back once you cooled off.  Nothing!

But, this letter is not about incriminations or blame.  (Except? I do blame you for forcing me to search high and low for a lubricative substance that wouldn’t impede the trying to get knocked up scenario. Buying the homeopathic version at Whole Foods along with organic vegetables and fruit smoothies is NOT pleasant.)  But, onward and upward.  I hope that your vacation has been restful and that you’re ready to return home. Soon.

Each month I search for you, hoping against hope that either the green tea I’ve been swilling or the cough medicine I’m gagging on (and I don’t even HAVE a COUGH — I read about that on iVillage and GAWD, what a nightmare those message boards are!!) will be enough to coax you back home.

And let me tell you, looking for you is NO easy task.  Sneaking into the restroom at work and, well, entering your domain and praying the contractor did not install a secret camera in the ladies’ bathroom when we renovated the office is NOT pleasant.  (And why does that thought even occur to me? I think I must watch too much Dateline or something!)

But alas, each month I diligently look for you. I’ve considered putting your photo on the back of a milk carton, but I’m not sure that’s something people want to see as they’re enjoying their breakfast cereal. 

At this point, I’m not sure what else to do.  I’m resorting to this open letter, hoping that by some miracle you’ll see it and come home.  By the way, your old pals — my ovaries — have somewhat stepped up to the plate lately, what with the ovulating around Day 16, and they would greatly appreciate your help too.

So, CM, please come home. I’ll leave the light on and some milk and cookies on the nightstand.  And watch out for those hobos.  Which, when you think about it, is good advice for ANYONE.

Love,   

Watson

Last weekend BeBop and I went hiking.  On our way back down the mountain (and by ‘mountain’ I mean ‘hill’ but ‘mountain’ sounds much cooler, like we’re all fit and shit!) we rounded a corner and heard a distinctive buzzing noise.

As we came around the bend, we saw a ginormous bee hive/wasp condo type of contraption in a tree.  There were so many stinger-equipped flying menaces, the sound was deafening.  And quite scary.

We walked slowly past the hive, so as not to disturb the little buggers. 

"What would you do," I asked, "if something set them off and a HUGE swarm of bees/hornets/wasps starting attacking us?"

"I would immediately throw you to the ground, cover you with my body and protect you from getting stung," said BeBop.

"Hmmmm…that doesn’t sound like you at all."

"Okay, really I would pour this packet of sugar I carry in my wallet all over you and run like a mother fucker."

"Now THAT sounds like you."

                                                           *   *   *

BeBop started his contract job at Company B this week. And thanks to my teen idol, Zee, I cannot get the line: the boogie woogie bugle boy of company B out of my freaking head!!   Also?  The urge to do my famous Andrews Sisters impression, but that’s a story for another post.

Anyhoo, B LOVES LOVES LOVES the job.  I mean, he wants to MARRY this job.  And have babies with it.  And?  It’s probably not fertilely-challenged like some of us around here, so I’m a little worried.  I bet this job doesn’t have a short luteal phase or ovulate late in its cycle.  I suspect that it might even have plentiful EWCM. Bastard!

But to inject a smidge of seriousness here, he really loves it. It’s still a bit nerve-wracking considering he’s only guaranteed the position for another few weeks, but he’s so happy he literally had tears in his eyes when telling me about his first few days there.      

Wish us both luck that something materializes from this, or I will be forced to draw and quarter him (how does one do that, by the way?) and sell his comic book collection on eBay just have to continue being the gracious, supportive wife I’ve been these last few years, all the while with a smile on my face.

                                                            *   *   *

I asked my Mother for an update on  Mack! 

"Is he still in the slammer?" I asked her the other day. "Oh yes, his sentence is for a very long time, but he’s still predicting earthquakes."

"And did he predict the quake we just had a couple of weeks ago?"

"Hmmmmmmm…you know, I’m not sure.  He did call us a few weeks ago and say that there could be an earthquake sometime in some place, so maybe…YES.  Yes, he did!  He’s pretty good!"

[crickets]

"You know,"  she continued, "we really should try to help him."

"HELP HIM?!?  He’s in JAIL for crissakes!  What are you talking about?" I shrieked, fearing that she’ll try to sell my little sister into white slavery to pay for a new lawyer, because his court-appointed defense attorney was supposedly corrupt. 

"Are we talking about, like, a nail file in a cake helping?  Or making him a shiv out of a Pepsi can and some duct tape helping?  Or perhaps smooshing your boobies against the plexiglass in the visitor’s room one day helping?"

"Oh God no," she reassures me, in all seriousness. "I just mean maybe trying to help him hire a legal team at some point and getting a new trial."

"Oh, just that," I say casually and race to get off the phone and text my sister to warn her she better not accept that offer from my Mother to take an all-expenses-paid trip to Bangkok any time soon.

                                                           *   *   *

And, finally, people:  let’s send some blogosphere love over to Meri-Ann and to Meg who have some wonderful and very happy news to share. 

Hearing their news makes me want to break into a rousing rendition of Roll Out The Barrel and get my Polka on because that?  THAT is something to celebrate. 

And I’m telling you, with enough rum and diet coke my Andrews Sisters impression KILLS.

The lovely and talented Meri-Ann tagged me, and so thankfully today I will not be boring you into a coma with updates on my menstrual cycle. 

(BUT. In case you’re wondering, YES, I did pack my bags and flee from Plimbo last night.  So that makes today Day 1, again.  I feel like I’m living in that movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray wakes up to the same day, day after day after day…)

But enough about ME.  Let’s hear some additional and totally irrelevant facts about me.

Four jobs I have had in my life:

1. working at a frozen yogurt shop in high school (and since so many of us wretched kids gave free yogurt to our friends, the owner made us count the cups each night at closing and compare that number to the amount of yogurt sold. So we would count and count hundreds of cups every single day. And put the free yogurt we gave away in drinking cups. HA! We never let The Man get us down. Power to the people!)
2. consulting firm that managed drug testing programs for professional sports leagues (and ‘professional’ wrestling, and no, I am not kidding)
3. legal assistant for a crazy female attorney who routinely smoked pot before going to court and would yell at me so loudly, I had to close the office door to avoid disturbing the offices down the hall. And this happened every.single.day.
4. running a small, youth-related non profit organization

Four movies I watch over and over:

1. The Princess Bride (Have fun stormin’ the castle…God, that never gets old!)
2. Caddyshack
3. LA Story
4. A Christmas Carol (and let me specify: I only watch this over and over because BeBop MAKES me watch it each year at Christmas time, it’s now a family tradition. And each year, he sings along with Ebenezer Scrooge in a terrible, effete British accent. It makes me want to simultaneously puncture my own eardrums with chopsticks AND stab my eyes out with a dull butter knife. But in a weird way it’s also sort of charming and endearing. If I’ve had enough wine to drink, that is.)

Four places I have lived:

1. San Francisco
2. Los Angeles
3. Washington, DC
4. The Gambia, West Africa (for a summer)

Four TV shows I love:

1. Big Brother (I know, so cheesy, but so addictive during the summer)
2. Grey’s Anatomy
3. Gilmore Girls
4. The Office (both the British and American versions)

Four places I have been on vacation:

1. The South of France
2. Tahiti
3. Nepal
4. India (although I use the term ‘vacation’ loosely here!)

Four websites I visit daily:

1. SF Gate
2. Salon
3. Blogs
4. More blogs

Four of my favorite foods:

1. Pizza
2. Burritos
3. Chinese food
4. Chocolate chip cookies

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. A spa, pretty much anywhere in the world
2. In Los Angeles, visiting my sister
3. In the wine country
4. At home with my doggie watching Tivo

Four favorite bands/singers:

1. Dave Matthews Band (And YES, since you ask: I am a fraternity boy stuck in the body of a middle-aged woman!)
2. Nora Jones
3. Counting Crows
4. Frank Sinatra (kickin’ it old school)

And the people I tag to enlighten and amuse us with their answers:

1. S
2. Momo
3. ‘Nilla
4. SaraS-P
5. Zee

And let’s keep our other Cyber Sistahs in mind too — who all have a lot going on in their lives right now — and who are more than welcome to join the game of tag if they feel like a distraction:

1. Nikole
2. Meg
3. The Waiting Line
4. Stella Nova
5. Nico
6. Electric Lady

Sooooo…I am in period limbo, as it were. 

Plimbo as I like to call it.

I started spotting on Saturday morning, but my acupuncturist made me cross my heart with a Unicorn’s horn and take an oath on the Full Moon AND pledge to the Goddess that I would keep taking the progesterone tablets until I was SURE that my period had arrived. (Okay… she didn’t make me take an oath but she made me SWEAR.)

I guess the idea, which is really rather comical, is that potentially I could be pregnant and the spotting was an early sign there was something amiss and the magic progesterone pills could magically work their magic and viola!  Pregnant!

AS IF.

But because I am a compliant patient (and I took The Oath), I have been cramming progesterone tablets down my craw like they’re Skittles.

And I am still spotting.  No real period, just spotting and swearing and saying "For crissakes, just START already and put me out of my misery!"

I did take a HPT, which was so negative the stark whiteness of the result window practically blinded me, and my temperature is dropping, but slowly.

So, it seems I am at war with myself.  My body is trying to start my period, but my craw-jamming with progesterone is preventing this from happening and I am stuck in the middle. GAWD. I want to rip someone’s head off, eat a chocolate cake and go to bed crying, all at the same time.

Dear Friends,

Plimbo is hell. I never want to come back. The weather sucks.

Much love,

Watson

So when my dear, sweet Cyber Sister, Nikole, asked me a few days ago "if I was obsessing yet?"  My initial reaction was, "Huh?  Obsessing about WHAT?"

OH YEAH.  I am trying to get pregnant.

I knew there was something I needed to check off my list:

1.  Make BeBop do laundry

2.  Go to Whole Foods and spend my Whole Paycheck there

3.  Clean out the dog’s ears, not just threaten this time

4.  Get impregnated

5.  Find new recipe for white wine sangria

In terms of an update on that front, I don’t have any news. Today is CD27, and I have no idea what’s going on IN THERE. Or DOWN THERE.  Down in the dark, mysterious, mind-of-their-own nether regions often called my feminine jewels.

It’s like the hatch in Lost.  You know it’s there, it seems very crucial to the central story line, but what’s actually happening in there, no one seems to know!  IT.IS.A.MYSTERY.

Normally, as I’ve mentioned in stomach-churning detail, I put the LATE in ovulate (BA DUH BUM) but then have a very short luteal phase.  And as I’ve also shared with the entire world, I think I ovulated around day 17 this month. So will I have a short luteal phase which means I should be getting my period any day now?  Or will the natural progesterone I’m taking help lengthen (elongate? expand?) my LP and I won’t be starting until next week?

LORD knows.

I had a reading with someone a few years ago (I know!  How many of my posts have to start with that sentence?!) and she is a medical intuitive.  She’s an actual, real live medical doctor, but uses her intuitive sense to diagnose patients. ( She even wrote a book and everything.)

Anyway.  I had a phone reading, and she knew nothing about me except for my name and phone number.  At the start of the reading, she just began talking and didn’t ask me a single question.  She started saying how I’m carrying a huge burden at the moment, that I’m ‘taking care of things’ and how it’s putting an enormous amount of pressure on me.

"You are wanting to give birth to something now, but your body won’t let you."

[At this point my jaw drops to the floor and I am speechless.]

"Are you taking care of someone in the house, a family member who is sick, by any chance?"

What ran through my head:

"Well, if you mean ‘sick’ as in ‘sick in the head,’ then YES.  He’s called MY HUSBAND."

What I actually said:

"I am the sole breadwinner in the house, putting my husband through school, and it has caused a great deal of stress. I’ve been trying to get pregnant for a couple of years now, and nothing has happened."

"Well," she said very matter-of-factly, "you won’t get pregnant until your husband finishes school and gets a job."

WELL.

So that’s been in the back of my mind this whole time — BeBop had a job, but only for a month, and now we just took this giant leap of faith and he sort of has a job but who knows what will happen in a couple of months?  What if she was right? 

I guess, with most things, I just have to wait and see what happens.

So, in a very looooooing answer to the question of what’s going on with your reproductive organs?:

I just have no freaking clue. 

Well, then what in holy hell is going on with that damn hatch on Lost?

People, I don’t know. Geesh, do you expect me to have all the answers?

Yes.  And while you’re at it, send us that white wine sangria recipe once you find it.

Yesterday BeBop got an official offer for the two-month gig, it seems that they want to hire from within for the permanent position.  Which?  Is just fine.

We’re rolling the dice, taking a huge chance and hoping for the best.

I admit that I did have a total freak out this morning, since he’s giving notice at Company A today.

And it went a little something like this:

Sweet Christ!  WHAT IN THE H – E – DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS do we think we’re doing?!?  He didn’t work for FIVE long years while he went back to school…and then…[starting to hyperventilate]…and THEN it took him a YEAR to get this job and we’re actually thinking it’s a good plan for him to LEAVE this job and take a temporary job?!  [Panting now.  Bosco is looking at me strangely: I am a dog.  I am panting because it’s freaking hot out. Why on earth are YOU panting lady?] [I hate it when he calls me ‘lady’] Freak out resumes:  Are we insane in the membrane?  Mental??  Gluttons for punishment?  [Room starts to spin as I am clearly not taking in enough oxygen] [Why is that dog still staring at me?  Judging me!  The nerve!  I will clean your big bat ears out if you don’t leave me alone, damn judging, nervy canine!!!]  [FRICK!  Our front door is open.  I hope the neighbors didn’t just hear me threaten the dog!]

And then I managed to get a grip on myself and remember that this isn’t just any old job…it’s the chance to be part of a team at a company that represents BeBop’s ultimate professional goal.  This is a risk, yes.  But it’s also a door that we have to walk through.

Keep breathing, that’s all I have to do at this point.  BeBop has two months to impress the shit out of these people. Or else. 

Then why are you posting, dumbass?

Geesh, why are you people calling me a dumbass?

Oh, we’re just kiddin’.  But seriously, we’re busy, we don’t have all day to read non-updates and more stories about your crazy Mother and her psychic friends network. What’s up Watson?

I’m just posting to ask a quick favor, take a peep at this:

With a name like "Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters," how could you go wrong?!  Go on over and check them out:  the lovely and talented  Town Criers are compiling a blogroll as a resource for those fertiley-challenged among us and those dealing with miscarriage and other issues.

You can add your blog to the list, and they will send you a nice confirmation that says something like:  "thank you for adding your name to the IF blogroll.  We hope one day to be able to move you to the pregnancy/parenting list, so keep us posted."

Now that was so freaking nice I almost started to tear up. How can a girl go wrong with so much good energy coming her way?!?

Oh wait. DON’T answer that. That was a rhetorical question.

Well, first off, thank you SO much for all of your encouraging and wonderful comments!  Maybe the nay-sayers were intimidated by the cool kids and decided to stay in the band room during lunch, but everyone who responded basically said:  go for it!

Which prompted me to think a lot this weekend about having ‘dream’ jobs, and how few of us ever have an opportunity like that to pursue.  And how it’s sort of a new phenomenon, this wanting to follow our bliss and actually be happy at work. 

In MY day, we had jobs.  Good jobs that paid the bills and that’s all we cared about.  We were ‘happy’ with our jobs if we didn’t get our hand cut off.  Or run over.  And on the weekends we had fun things to do, only it was called the SUN and we would stare and stare until our eye balls burned out of our heads. And then, blinded, we would walk uphill — both ways — to our good jobs the following Monday and work and work and work until we dropped dead.  So there.*

But then it was hot (SO FLINGIN’ FLANGIN’ hot my brain melted and drained out my ears) and that was the end of that.) 

So, after a long discussion on Friday night (fueled by only a couple glasses of wine. Each.) we decided to go for it.  BeBop’s gut was telling him to take the job, and my instinct was saying the same thing.  So, today he contacted the person at Company B to say, "YES, I will take it!  I will give up my new job (that ohbytheway took me a year to secure) and take this chance that during the two months you will all come to love and adore me!  And if by some chance that doesn’t happen my wife will kill me.  Kill me DEAD.  And I will be forced to secure some kind of rip in the fabric of time to go back and undo this."

Okay, he didn’t say exactly that, but you get the point. 

And then? 

And then, she said, "hold on a minute there, partner…the people who interviewed you for the job job a few weeks ago still like you and might want you for THAT job.  So they don’t want me to finalize plans for the temp job yet."

So. Once again as soon as we think we have a plan in place, that perhaps we can tempt fate by getting into something resembling a calm and stable life, things get screwy! Screwy, I tell you!  Dogs and Cats Sleeping Together Screwy!

We’re in a holding pattern now, waiting to see if the people can make a decision about the ‘real’ job, which would be his preference (no duh there).  And if that doesn’t happen, hopefully the two-month gig is still an option because now that we’ve made a decision and gotten our hopes up, it would be just cruel to take that away.

You know?  Just like when you try and try to make something happen, something that you and your significant other desperately want, and you do everything in your power (and more!) to create this outcome, and then you wait and wait and wait to see if it’s working? 

Yeah. Like that.  Something we fertile-ly challenged have noooo experience with, right?

*Props to that crotchety old man character Dana Carvey used to do on SNL about a million years ago

So, Watson and BeBop have themselves a little dilemma.  Seriously, this is from the Never a Dull Moment File.  Which?  I really want to throw out and use only the Always a Dull Moment file for a while.  Can I?  Pretty please?

So, as I’ve mentioned, BeBop has been through the ringer in terms of finding a job over the last year and quite frankly, so have I.  After a grueling search, he finally found something last month.  He started on the 26th of June at Company A, and so far, so good.  (This is Company A from the infamous Whirley Gig post.)  He doesn’t love it, doesn’t hate it either — but he’s not exactly sure how much practical knowledge he will learn in this new field. It’s okay for now.

Here’s the kicker:  this week his DREAM company called him.  This is Company B.  For back story, he’s interviewed 2-3 times over the last year at this place.  He’s either under- or over-qualified for the jobs.  Each time he interviews, they bring him back because although they seem to really like him, he doesn’t have the work experience to prove that he can succeed at these jobs.  (He was a designer when we met. After going back to school — during which time I complained each and every day that he wasn’t working and goddamn you for THAT tried to cheer him on and encourage him to follow his bliss — his ultimate dream was to work at Company B.)

So, Company B called this week and get this:  they offered him a job. (Yay.)  ( I can hear you now:  Where’s the but? There must be a but, Watson, or you wouldn’t be posting this sleep-inducing tripe!!)

BUT.  This job is only a two-month temporary position. (Not so yay.)  While they hope to find him a full time permanent gig at the end of the two month period, they can’t make any promises.  And of course, because sometimes the Universe just likes to bitch slap you for the sheer fun of it, he would have to leave his full time job (that took him a year to find) and take the chance that this will work out.

Wowsers.  What to do, what to do?  What makes this even trickier, and therefore even more likely to send me scurrying for the Chardonnay tonight, is that Company B really IS the end-all, be-all.  It’s a company a million people want to work for, and not in a The Devil Wears Prada kind of way.  I wish I could tell you its name, because that makes the story even better — but I promise you, it’s BeBop’s ultimate, most-awesomeness place to work EVER.

It’s the kind of company where he could work for the next ten years and love every freaking minute of it.  He would get to work on creative movies and meet the coolest people in the industry.  And if I could provide more specifics, I would, I promise.

And I mean really!  Stop pestering me for more details because I just can’t say anymore [fanning myself with a lace hanky and looking very indignant].

So, does he take the safe route and stick with his current job, hoping that something opens up in the future at Company B and that he’s a good fit at that point?  Or does he roll the dice, take a huge chance, and go for the riskiest move ever by leaving his job and taking this assignment, hoping that it pays off and turns into a permanent position?

WELL?  That was a real question, people, not all rhetorical and shit!

You ponder that, talk amongst yourselves and get back to me. 

I’m off to chill the Chardonnay.