I’m actually feeling a little better this week.
I know! Shocking!!
But the term ‘better’ is certainly relative, since last week I was on the verge of planning a one-way trip to the Golden Gate Bridge, and not to enjoy the world famous views if you know what I mean (and I think that you do).
My period arrived on Sunday after a battle royale with the progesterone pulsing through my system. That was the bad news. But the good news is that once I emerged from the progesterone-induced state of misery, I actually started to feel a little better.
And I made it through the family-themed Christmas party. Just barely. It was a huge party, with a giant, real-snow sledding area out front for the kids.
And OY! The kids…
By my count there were at least 17 gajillion adorable little tots running around, sledding, decorating upside-down ice cream cones to make them look like yummy frosting-covered Christmas trees, drinking heavily.
Oh no, wait, that was me.
But I didn’t drink too much, just enough to ensure I had a protective force field around me. That way, when BeBop’s co-workers asked if we had kids or were our kids there, or I saw the adorable little bastards running around in all their holiday glee, I would not have a nervous breakdown.
In fact, I had BeBop take a photo of me with my protective shield up, to give you a better idea of what I’m talking about:
Okay. That’s not really me. She has waaaay better tits than I do. But you get the general idea.
Overall, the party really was okay. I didn’t grope any Nemo fishes or try to tackle the fairy princess, although I did think about it, but just for a second.
I made small talk and tried to be charming, which under the circumstances was quite a challenge for me.
I’d say my only real faux pas was comparing one of BeBop’s supervisors to Saddam Hussein. You see, there was this whole conversation about this guy being on our city’s town council, and how he was wearing this distinctive-looking coat at the cringe-inducing tree lighting festival, and then his wife said he could have other people wear the same coat at events and then I piped in with, "Yeah! Just like Saddam Hussein! You could have your own stand-ins to trick people and then…."
And then? And then reality and, like, consciousness, stepped in and were all, "uhhhh, Watson? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?? Shut up you IDIOTIC ASS CLOWN!"
And it really wasn’t that bad, but it was kind of bad, so I just shut my trap and went back to sipping my wine and that was that.
So today is lovely CD3, and this is our very last cycle before IVF and oh yes, my 39th birthday is tomorrow.
I will most likely celebrate by leaving work early to continue with the blood-giving, as yesterday I was able to give four vials (like a big girl!) but I probably have about 20 to go and all of the results need to be back before I start Lupron.
And I don’t think I’ve told you about the cystic fibrosis, have I? My sister discovered she was a carrier, but thankfully my brother-in-law is not. (Have I told you this? I feel like I have.) Anyhoo, there is a 50% chance that I am a carrier too, so I really wanted to get those results back asap and then BeBop can get tested, once they know what my status is.
(You know that old song? All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth and a negative cystic fibrosis test? I love that song.)
I would say I’m precariously perched on a thin line between acceptance and resignation on one side and despair and self-pity on the other.
But what’s a birthday without a little despair and self-pity, right? And another four vials of blood?
Good times.
(Okay, that was going to be the end of this post, but HOLY HANNAH when I read it back I was all, you sound fricking pathetic dude. So I better come up with something else because I just cannot end on such a sour note.)
Knock Knock
Who’s there?
The interrupting cow
The interrupt-
–MOOOOOOO
Is that joke better told in person? I’m thinking that it is…
I better quit while I’m behind.
Dear Watson, you told the joke WAY better than I would have. I also loved your Saddam comment, not least because that’s exactly the sort of thing I say before consciousness sticks its oar in.
Good for you for putting up the force field. You’re a superhero indeed.
As for the cystic fibrosis, I don’t remember you writing about it. Of course that’s the sort of unimportant thing one just, you know, tunes out after a while… snort. Anyway, I do hope you’re not a carrier. You’ve got quite enough to deal with as it is. And I’m very glad that CF is not going to be an issue with your sister…
What’s a birthday without a little despair and self-pity? I wouldn’t know. Do let me know if you ever find out.
Happy Birthday! Hope it is a good one.
Glad the party wasn’t too horrible.
I love that joke. It is number two after:
How do you make a tissue dance?
You put a little boogie in it.
HA!
Have a good one Sweetie!!
Hey, thanks for the continued good wishes on my blog. And indeed, try the peanut butter oatmeal and berries for breakfast. It rawks.
Been there, done that for the CF testing and also for “the Jewish panel,” a slew of things I’d never heard of, but apparently diseases my people tend to develop. Thankfully everything turned out OK (i.e., the tests were negative), but they took an awful lot of blood out of me.
Good luck with the testing and Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday, and don’t let the bitch called life grind you down!
I am hoping for a negative CF test!
Happy Birthday! It sounds like we both had a pretty good weekend. I’m so glad because I was in a rut just like you.
I think the joke was a nice touch at the end. Thanks for making me smile 😉
Happy birthday, my dear Watson, and good luck and best wishes for your test results.
Watson, I hope you have a fantastic birthday and that this will be the year all of your dreams come true.
I also hope you get your 2 front teeth and a negative cystic fibrosis test for Christmas!
I think you do a fine written knock-knock joke. By contrast:
What’s the most important thing about comedy? The timing.
Doesn’t work, does it?
Wishing you a happy CF-free season.
Bea
Happy Birthday my friend! x
Happy Birthday, my dear! May this coming year be a great one for you.
I’ve always loved the Interrupting Cow Joke, regardless of format: written, spoken, sign language, heiroglyphics…it’s all good.
But more importantly: Happy Birthday, Dearest Watson! I hope this year brings all the good things you’ve been wishing for (and a few extra good things that you haven’t even thought of yet–just for good measure!)
Lots of love,
your ECDD
Zee
My Dear Watson… Happy Birthday from another December girl (I’m in 13 more days.)
Your ass looks marvelous in that pic, and the joke was hIlarious.
Glad to hear that you made it throught the party. I hope you get what you want for Christmas, and forever!
Wow! We have a lot of December birthdays in the bloggy world, don’t we?!? I had no idea that your birthday is a few days after mine!
I wish you a very, very happy birthday, and that this year finally finds all of your dreams coming true.
I think it sounds like you did pretty well at the party, all things considered!!
Good luck with all the testing, and I hope that the CF test definitely comes back negative!
xx
Nilla
HAPPY BIRTHDAY My friend, I hope it was AWESOME , mostly cause you’re awesome and you know you should *match* 🙂
I love that joke in person or not! I’m using it tomorrow.
Good luck with the testing and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
*Hugs*
Kir
Watson…dear child, why would you go to said party with said children. you should’ve told them you had your period and stayed home…that would have shut them up.
that you admit “your tits aren’t that nice” mean that your ass is? If so, you go girl.
Happy Birthday.
damn girl, I didn’t know you were a superhero! and super hot too! 😉
great use of wine at the X-mas party, and happy birthday to ya!
(Commenting late on this one, but hey, better late than never, right?)
1. Happy belated birthday! Hope this year has nothing but good in it (okay, maybe some annoying people scattered in, just so you can write funny posts about them, but NO serious bad stuff).
2. I love that joke. It is my favorite, and I cannot tell it without dissolving into giggles. Because I am three years old.
3. Nice ass, babe. 🙂