Baby, It's Windy Outside

The Dallas area is on its second day of a Red Flag Warning due to high winds. Yesterday, the sustained winds were in the 40 mph range with gusts up to 60 mph. I work in a high rise office building on the 19th floor and you could hear the building creaking and once I swear I actually felt the building sway. I've found that it is best in those situations to remind yourself that is a good thing that the building moves with the wind; if it didn't, it could fall down due to the stresses.

When I was going on the second or third hour of hearing the creaking and groaning, I found what helped most was pretending that those sounds were actually occurring because I was on a wooden sailboat in the Caribbean--drinking a fruity rum drink, listening to some party music and getting a tan. (I never said I wasn't weird!)

No need as of yet to picture the blue water and puffy white clouds of the sea, but the day is still young. Wherever you are, try to stay warm, dry and out of the wind.

Welcome to Our Neighbors to the North

I don't know how many of you have noticed, but I have Sitemeter enabled at the bottom of the sidebar. It lets me see how many people have "hit" the blog each day. It doesn't give me specific information on who they are, but does give the ISP (Internet Service Provider) and city of each reader. Yesterday, I had my first extra-US visitor. Someone from Ontario, Canada Googled Inertia Girl and ended up on my blog. Since they didn't stay more than a second, I'm guessing that I wasn't the Inertia Girl they were looking for. But I'm not going to let that keep me from saying that I have a Canadian audience. Big time, here I come!

Brrrrrrr!

Greetings, blog readers! This message is coming to you from Cleveland, Ohio.

I walked the three blocks from my hotel to the office this morning and the thermometer on the Huntington Building said a whopping 13 degrees. I almost took a picture of it with my cell phone, but figured that I might look more than a little insane (or have someone turn me in as a possible terrorist). I did take a couple of pictures from my hotel room window last night and if I can figure out how to get them from my phone to the blog, I'll post them for everyone to enjoy.

Things I could see from my hotel room:

• The Cleveland Public Library (be still my heart!)
• Cleveland Browns Stadium
• Lake Erie

One of my co-workers who was also staying there was jealous, since her view only included the back of the building next door. Lucky me.

I really like the "oldness" of the buildings downtown here. It's so much less sterile than the glass and metal buildings of downtown Dallas. TLS said that if I wanted to move here, I was on my own, so I guess that isn't in the cards!

The State Nut

Listening to the radio this morning coming in to work, the DJs were talking about this being National Pie Day and commenting that Texas does not have a state dessert. They were also soliciting for suggestions. Here is a transcript of our conversation:

Me: (to the radio) Pecan pie, since the pecan is the state nut.
TLS: (Looks at me funny)
Me: It is! Google it.
TLS: I was going to say that YOU were the state nut.

Well, in the interest of providing accurate information, it turns out that Texas does not have a state nut, but that the pecan is the state tree. So it turns out that I could still be the official state nut. I wonder how I go about suggesting that.

P.S. Interesting fact (if you're me, apparently), I learned that Texas has its own tartan, the Texas Bluebonnet Tartan.

What Infertile People Want You to Know: A Primer

Well, I guess it might be a little presumptuous to speak for all infertile people everywhere, so the statements that follow are simply my opinion. (And you know what they say about opinions and a**holes? Everyone's got one.)

1. It is always permissible (and expected) when meeting someone for the first time to ask whether or not they have children. It is one of the questions that we all know is coming so the forward thinking among us have prepared a stock answer. I choose to go with a little soothing humor to balance the sting of the negative.

New Co-worker/Acquaintance/Person Off the Street: So do you have any kids?
Me: No, just the furry four-legged kind.

2. Please do not then ask about future plans to have children. This puts the askee in a weird situation. She is forced to, either, lie:

New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: (With a nonchalant wave of her hand) Oh, sure, one of these days. (As if it was as easy as picking up a ham at the store, which I suppose, for some people, it is.)

Or use brutal honesty:

New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: No, since it seems that my ovaries have shriveled into hunks of useless tissue. I know this because I've spent tens of thousands of dollars in medical intervention and medication and have been stuck more times than a pincushion. But, really, thanks for reminding me that I can't accomplish what a sixteen year old in the back of her boyfriend's Chevy seems unable to avoid.

Or play a little verbal game I like to call "Truth-telling without Full-Disclosure"

New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: No. We tried for many years without success.

This strategy (along with the Full-Disclosure, also known as Verbal Diarrhea) often leads to point number three.

3. Please do not then ask if she and her partner have considered adoption. The answer to that question is always yes. Unless you've been hanging out on the planet Voltron, you know that adoption is an option available to you.

When someone asks that of me, I immediately feel defensive; because, while we made a reasoned consideration of adoption, ultimately we decided it wasn't the right choice for us. And I feel like I have to provide (and more importantly, defend) all the reasons why it wasn't our decision. In my experience, people will try and talk you into adoption--almost as if they are getting some kind of commission off the deal. I don't mean to imply that I think of adoption in anything other than a positive light. It is a wonderful institution and the people that go through it are some of the most unselfish people on the planet. It just isn't in the cards for us. Someday I may write an entry about what led us to our decision, but until then know that, yes, we have considered it and moved on. I guess I should feel honored that others think well enough of us that they feel we need to have a child no matter what. But mostly when people ask the adoption question, my eye just starts to twitch.

4. Let the infertile person guide your conversation. If you get a monosyllabic answer to a question you've asked, it might be time to find another topic of conversation. I'm probably in the minority of people when it comes to sharing personal things. (Exhibit A: this blog) I'll tell people most anything they want to know about the process of fertility treatment along with my thoughts and feelings, but most people are much more circumspect.

5. If the person you're talking to asks for doctor recommendations or your knowledge of adoption, by all means, give them everything you know. But if they don't ask for advice or help, my suggestion to you is not to bring out the story of your brother-in-law's cousin's plumber's wife's use of ancient Navajo ritual in order to conceive. And please do not ever utter the phrase, "Oh, you've just got to relax." If relaxing is all it takes, we'd have been able to field a baseball team with our own passel of children.

In a moment of crystal clarity during the IVF time, I formulated what I call The Green Bean Casserole Theory in order to cope with (unwittingly) insensitive questions or comments. (Case in point, the person who said to me that "God just thinks you're not ready to have children." My immediate thought was, "Oh, and God thinks that child abusers and molesters are ready, but not us?! Huh!") I finally realized that nothing was ever said to me with malice--some insentivity, yes, but not with any intended cruelty. So really, it's very much like when you have a family member die and everyone wants to do something but doesn't really know what to do. So they show up at your doorstep with green bean casserole. Now, they may not know that you hate green bean casserole, or that you're allergic to the little toasted onion things on top of it, or that you already have three of them in the Frigidaire. But you don't tell them any of those things; instead, you just smile, thank them, and put the Pyrex dish into the fridge. So it was with comments that stung. I would try to simply smile (while mentally chanting: green bean casserole...green bean casserole) and remember that it was only because they cared about me and were trying desperately to find something to say.

I don't want to scare anyone away from talking to people experiencing infertility. We're just people like everyone else and most of the time we just want to make some conversation without having to pull out our whole sordid medical record.

You can never go wrong with saying, "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what this must be like for you." I promise, the next infertile person you meet will thank you.

Ode to the Ladies of Bookclub

I was at my monthly bookclub meeting Tuesday night. TLS likes to call it "bookclub," complete with the air quotes, since he refuses to believe that all we do is discuss books. I'm pretty sure he's convinced that there is some secret cauldron stirring or Le Bare's dancers or money changing hands, but wine-drinking is about as wild as it gets.

Our book for January was Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert and it was a big hit. There were times that all of us were talking at the same time, which, to my knowledge has never happened in the eight years or so that I've been a member.

The book has a very "everyone is connected to everyone else" vibe so it was natural that our conversation eventually came around to the bonds between the members of our group. While we may differ in our ages, marital status, religion, or age or existence of children, I've grown to realize that we've formed a family of sorts. Over the years, we've seen our fellow bookclubbers have babies, change jobs, get divorced, lose family members, experience the empty nest, get promoted, and all the other triumphs and tribulations of normal life. Our breadth of experience almost guarantees that someone else has been where you are today and can provide advice. And even if they can't "know" how you're feeling because of personal experience, the ladies can all empathize and at the very least provide a shoulder to cry on or a cheering section when you've conquered the world.

On a personal level, when I was going through all my infertility nonsense, I would share my disappointments and in return I always received validation that I was remembered, cared about, and supported. While most of us don't communicate on a daily or weekly basis with everyone in the group, we know that come the third Tuesday of the month, our friends and cohorts will be there to laugh or cry with us. What a beautiful gift that is and I suspect one that not everyone has the privilege to receive. So, in some small way, this is a thank you for the friendship I've been given and a pledge to continue the circle of support.

You're Gonna Wish You Were Me

Guess what groovy blogger chick will be going to the exciting, happening city of Cleveland, Ohio next week?

Yeah, that's right. Me.

I know what you're thinking, "Cleveland in January. Girl, are you crazy?!"

I know it isn't the optimal time to visit the so-called "mistake on the lake" but I had no choice in the matter. The training I need to take is there and January 24th-25th is when it is happening.

Oh, and did I tell you the best part? My flight leaves at 6:45 a.m. Thursday morning. Ooh yeah. I'll be getting up about 3:15 a.m., but in the life-is-good column, TLS is taking me to the airport and picking me up Friday night. Kudos to him! (Love, love, love that man.)

I promise to try and bring back some hilarious travel story or stories for you. In the mean time, here's the link to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

I'm Not Only LOL*, I'm ROTFL**

My BFF Pam (shout out) turned me on to another blog, The Sneeze. I went out there today and read this entry. Listen to the sound file of his four-year-old son opening a box of raisins Christmas morning. I am seriously keeping this link so I can listen to it everytime I'm having a bad day. (Raisins?!)

* LOL = laughing out loud
**ROTFL = rolling on the floor laughing

And Over On The Sidebar...

Turn your attention, folks, to the sidebar on the left. I've added a link for a notify list. If you sign up, you'll receive an email when I update the blog. Or you can just check back at your leisure. Either way.

UPDATED WITH WORKING LINK: Evidence That I Am Probably More Than A Little Demented

10

Take this quiz or one of many other time wasters. Oh, and there'll be no judging. I'm sure several of you are going to take it yourselves. (You know who you are.)

Don't click on the red square above. Use this link instead!

http://www.howmanyfiveyearoldscouldyoutakeinafight.com/

Belated New Year's Day (With Recipe!)

Although it was a few days late, I did manage to complete my New Year's Day rituals last Saturday. I made my black eyed peas and put up the new crop of Christmas photos on the fridge. Here's the evidence:

Spicy Black Eyed Peas:

3 Tbl. olive oil

1 cup chopped onion

1 large clove garlic, minced

1 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. dry mustard

1 tsp. chili powder

1/2 cup dried black eyed peas, cooked

2 10-oz. cans Rotel tomatoes and chilies

1 cup cooked shredded pork (optional)

1 tsp. white vinegar

salt and pepper to taste

Boil the dried black eyed peas with plenty of water for 45 minutes to 1.5 hours, or until soft, then drain. In a separate pan, saute onion, garlic and spices in olive oil until the onions are soft. Add the peas, tomatoes and shredded pork. Simmer 20 minutes. Add the vinegar, salt and pepper. Best when served with warm corn bread. These peas are very spicy. If you like more mild food, adjust the amount chili powder to 1/2 tsp in the beginning and add more with the salt, pepper and vinegar, if necessary. I use shredded smoked pork roast, but diced ham would be good as well.

And the Universe, It Laughs and Laughs

I've filled several different administrative functions at my current employer over the last eight and a half years I've worked here. A few years back they posted a position for an administrative supervisor and I applied for it. There was enormous response from the rank and file because, in general, the opportunities for those types of upward mobility are few and far between around here. That observation isn't a knock, just a statement of fact about the ways of the firm. What I heard back from recruiting at the time was that they couldn't interview everyone and that they were using prior supervisory experience as the "weeding" factor. I'm the first person to admit that despite having a couple of prior job titles that seemed to imply said experience, I didn't have any; so that was that, as they say.

Flash forward to late last week when my current administrative supervisor called me into her office. (I immediately had the thought that I was going to get chewed out for something, despite the fact that I've never been remotely chewed out at any job before. Ever.) She wanted to tell me that an administrative supervisor position had been posted and that she and the other supervisor had racked their brains to come up with names of people they felt would both be interested and capable of the job. And (drumroll please) the only person they came up with was...me. Which I found hilarious, because I haven't magically gotten any supervisory experience in my spare time, at night, before I go to bed.

So, now that I've put myself on the road to a career in Library Science (and don't get me wrong, I'm 100% convinced it is the true and right one for me), I get offered a job I tried hard to get years ago and couldn't even win an interview for. Oh, Universe, what a jokester you are!

P.S. I thanked them for thinking of me, but respectfully declined.

I Couldn't Have Said It Better

At the risk of turning this into a "failed fertility" blog, I'm posting a link to a NY Times article from last weekend's edition. I was alerted to it by one of my daily must-read bloggers, Julie at alittlepregnant.com. Julie (on the internet, we're all on a first name basis) gave the link with the following dare:

Dare you to read it without either crying, nodding your head in recognition, or spending a fevered half-hour on Google trying to find contact information for the writer so that you can a) beg her to be your new best friend, b) stalk her but in a nice way, or c) thank her for her courage and perceptiveness.

The Blank Space in our Family Album - The New York Times 1/6/2008

I think Ms. Hockmuth made most of the points that I made in my previous post far more eloquently, and most definitely more succinctly. But then again, she's a paid writer and I am but a mere dabbler. So there.

An Infertility Funny

I promised back in this post, to share some of my funny infertility stories. (Although I do wonder if using the words funny and infertility together is some sort of oxymoron.) Here's one of my most famous.

In reality, all fertility drugs are hormones and we all know that hormones have a huge impact on our moods and behaviors. (Think about the way testosterone and estrogen affect men and women, if you need some examples.) Since each medication had its own effect on me, TLS used to say that I had alter-egos and named said alter-egos after the appropriate medication: Clomidia, Follistimia and Lupronia, etc. Clomidia had a tendency to be a teeeeny bit forgetful, as you'll soon see.

Actual Conversation:

TLS: (from the master bathroom to me in the living room, minding my own business) Hey, Inertia Girl, did you forget something?

Me: (thinking) Uh, no.

TLS: Are you sure?

Me: (indignant) Yes!

TLS: Come in here for a sec.

Me: (walking in the room) What?!

TLS points to the sink, where I can plainly see the dogs' water bowl sits completely filled and abandoned.

Me: Oh.


I had picked up the empty water dish, carried it to the sink, filled it, turned off the tap, and then just walked away. It's really a wonder I didn't burn down the house.

How Not to Spend New Year's Day

I guess I'd have to say in the continuum of fear of possible embarrassment that I must be somewhere on the far left of the curve. I am apparently unafraid of airing all my dirty laundry on the world wide web since I'm about to post on how I spent the first day of 2008. I would like to tell anyone that is related to me to stop reading now. (I think that should take care of about 75% of my readers.)

I have a couple of New Year's Day rituals that I like to observe. They really wouldn't mean much to anyone but me, but I like them. They give me the feeling of normalcy that I crave. I may not know anything else that is going to happen in the next year, but I do know what I'll be doing on January 1st.

These include preparing black eyed peas from our garden's summer bounty. I know that eating black eyed peas on New Year's Day is a Southern thing and having grown up with two parents raised in the Midwest/West, it wasn't something that we did. In fact, I'm not sure I ever ate any black eyed peas at all when I was growing up, but sometime after I met TLS, I got into the tradition. Now that I have grown and shelled the peas, it's that much cooler. I also found a great recipe that uses lots of spicy goodness to make them a little more palatable. Black eyed peas in their original state are a tad bland, but put some tobasco and rotel tomatoes in them and zowie! are they good.

The second tradition involves the refrigerator and all those Christmas card pictures I've received during the month of December. (Remember how I said the only Christmas thing I really get into is my Christmas cards? Well, one of the great things about sending them out is that people send theirs to me. Reciprocity. Ain't it great?!) I love getting anything in the mailbox that isn't a bill, catalog, or junk mail, but I especially love it when people put a picture of their kids, their pets or themselves in there. The entire top half of the front of my fridge is covered with Christmas card pictures and every January 1st, I take down the old crop and put up the new one. So, if you send me a picture, I will spend the next year looking at it every single day. I've watched friends' children grow from babies to kids to young adults. Very cool.

I announced to TLS the other day, "I have an idea." This phrase is usually the start of some costly, involved project, but God love him, he's never yet looked at me and said to stick it where the sun don't shine. I do love that man! My current idea had to do with redecorating our master bedroom. I had ordered a new quilt and that meant I'd need to repaint, which meant that we'd need to take down the wallpaper border around the ceiling of our room. And since we were taking that wallpaper down, how about taking down the wallpaper in the kitchen, which was starting to look fairly shabby? TLS agreed to help with the "demolition" projects for New Year's Eve as long as we had some adult beverages to keep us company. Sure thing!

I turned on my iPod to some rockin' playlists and we started stripping wallpaper about 6 p.m. Monday night. We started drinking Bloody Marys about 7 p.m. By 9:30, we were calling all our friends and leaving rambling, incoherent messages or giggling our way through conversations. By 10:30, we had removed all wallpaper from Chez Inertia and had vowed never to replace any of it. By 11:30, we were in bed "asleep" (although comatose would be a more likely description since we never heard the phone ring at 12:20 a.m.). I woke up about 6 a.m. yesterday and stumbled into the bathroom wishing I were dead. The comedian Ron White has a routine where he describes a hangover so bad that it had a name. Mine's was Beealzebub. I got up exactly twice yesterday. I did eat some breakfast, went to lie on the couch, then took a shower and went back to bed. TLS would come in every few hours and ask if I needed anything. (My response was usually something along the lines of "putting me out of my misery" but luckily, he knew I wasn't really serious.)

So, long story short, I accomplished neither one of my New Year's Day rituals because I was an idiot. Resolution for 2008? Keeping away from the vodka.