Monday, April 28, 2008


So Dave-O bought me this nifty laptop cooling pad. It arrived this morning in a box big enough to house Bosley. The cooling pad is maybe 10 inches by 12 inches. Oh, well. The eight inches of wadded brown paper used to cushion the cooling pad is going to come in handy. Can you say Rippy Bits?!?! OMG I sooooo love Rippy Bits!

I'm in a bit of a manic writing craze at the moment. Seriously, my wrists and fingers are killing me. I think I may have to look into those ugly wrist brace things. In the past eight days, I've written 30 thousand words on my urban fantasy novel. I know. It's insane. Somehow I'm managing to keep up with my daily duties and am squeezing in 45-60 minutes of cardio and strength training. I can't keep this pace for much longer. I might collapse. Or propel myself into a higher level of being...

Anywho. Must go. Laundry beckons.

Friday, April 25, 2008

(Can't) Fix You

It finally happened. Dave broke down. I've been waiting for this for months. He's always the rock of support, but you can only play that position for so long. I noticed his temper was a bit short lately and he seemed a bit glum. I've wanted to prod him a bit to get him to open up, but after listening to the other wives in my support group who had gone that route (and had disastrous results) I decided to leave it. I let Dave simmmer until he was ready to blow. And blow he did.

Dave: I just don't know why I'm so damn angry all the time!
Me: Because I can't have a baby, and you can't fix me.

He was speechless, shocked. He just sat there, considering my statement. And finally, he nodded. He wouldn't look at me, but I could see the sheen of tears.

Dave: It hurts. My job is to fix people, to make them better. I want to help you, but I can't. I can fix strangers, but I can't fix my wife.
Me: And that's okay.

I'm so glad we had that breakthrough. It's weird, but when you're dealing with serious infertility, you go through these stages. Denial, anger, sadness, acceptance, etc. I went through them fairly quickly. I've been at the researching/refusing to give in stage for a few months. Dave's been stuck on the anger/sadness stage, I think. Now we're on the same page. It's a good thing.

We're sifting through research and trying to map out our options. My situation is a bit odd since I have PCOS but also what appears to be mild POF. Basically, my ovaries are covered in cysts and have the egg quality and production of a woman approaching menopause. Yeah. I'm 24. That so seriously blows.

But whatever. We're taking it one day at time. Maybe we'll get pregnant. Maybe we won't. Either way we still have each other, and quite frankly, that's enough for us.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

I Survived...

My first Home Owner's Association meeting. Oh. My. Gawd. What a nightmare! Let's just say that I now know the identities of my neighborhood idiot, asshole, sweet (and nosy) old lady, frazzled hausfrau, drama queen, D&D phenom, man cave enthusiasts, and nerd. It quickly became clear that we're paying annual dues for a lot of nothing: neighborhood pool and common area upkeep, grass and sidewalk upkeep, and useless fines. Every time someone brought up a need in the community, we got the same answer: Call your county commissioner. WTF?

A lot of the problems in this subdivision are because the builders were stupid and greedy. Rather than making certain the roads were wide enough, they chose to go with the slimmest road they could possibly scoot past the city's plan inspectors so they could fit more homes and streets in the subdivision. If people park along the curb, it's impossible to drive down the street. No, really. It's horrendous. Secondly, this subdivision was always meant as a family subdivision. Why in the hell didn't the planners ask the county for speed limit, children at play, and school bus stop signs?!?!?!

I also realized that most of the people in our neighborhood have no idea how to properly organize a campaign for improvement. The resident asshole seems to think he knows EVERYTHING because, you know, he was a cop. Oh, puh-leez! Normally I'm more than willing to help with these sorts of things, but the thought of having to spend more than five minutes in that guy's presence made me want to hurl. I think I'll probably just put together a packet of all my old lobbying and grant writing templates and pamphlets and send them along to the first Neighborhood Watch committee. If I could lobby Congress for changes in rural health and school funding--and win--when I was, like, sixteen, then these people should be able to get a few signs from the county.

So that's that. We won't have another meeting until next year. I know. They really care about our opinions. Oh, well. At least I got a pool key...

Monday, April 21, 2008

Like Momentum Without the "M"

First things first: My baby sister turned 16 yesterday! Yay! And you know what means, of course. All drivers west of I35, watch out! Another lead-footed member of the H. family is on the road!

So I have this optometrist, Dr. C. He's sort of paunchy. He has a rather large "omentum." Oh, yes. I heart Dr. Oz. Anywho. Dr. C's omentum caused something of a beer belly which, unfortunately, rubs all over me while I'm held hostage in that damn exam chair. I mean, seriously, folks, it swipes my forearms and smacks my boobs. It really creeps me out.

At my last visit, his belly brushed up against and then rested on my wrist. He was all up in my face, checking my eyes with that horridly bright light, and all I could think was, "Maria, don't move your arm. Don't move your arm!" I just knew that if I did, it would seem like I was caressing his chub. Ick! Ick! Icky!

Later, I'm trying to explain this to Dave as we're pulling into the Target parking lot. For some odd reason, he finds the idea of Dr. C's omentum molesting me as hilarious. He then proceeded to act out Dr. C's point of view. "Oh, Mrs. O, your arm is so soft. I just want to rub my--"

I won't go into the rest of it. It got rather ribald at that point. Now I'm mortified. I don't know if I can go back to his office without seeing/hearing Dave's act. Jerk...

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Back On The Wagon

After a hellaciously painful weekend (I curse thee with the fury of a thousand suns, ovarian cysts!) I'm finally getting back on the diet and exercise wagon. My weight fluctuated a pound in both directions over the last few days so I'm not horribly worried. I got in an awesome workout this afternoon and have eaten extremely well. It's amazing how good I feel when I treat my body well.

On the work front--well, damn I am stinking it up! It's hard to write sexy scenes when you feel like you're going to die. Hopefully my pace will pick up and these WIPs stacking up on my Great List 'O Shat To Write will get crossed off one by one.

That's it for tonight. Short check in. Tomorrow I'll try to post some funny snippets. I'm going to see if I can get Dave-O to re-enact his "Maria Getting Molestered By Her Optometrist's Fat Belly" routine that he pulled in the parking lot of Target the other day. God, that is sooo youtube worthy. If he refuses, I'll just have to describe it. It's priceless.

Friday, April 11, 2008


Dave came home yesterday and saved the day. First he dealt with the wailing smoke detectors and then he dealt with me. I'm feeling soooo much better today. I'm so freakin' thirsty and sore, but whatever. At least I'm not hugging the toilet.

It has definitely been one of those weeks. First the transmission on my truck went haywire. We lost the rear seal and it dumped all the transmission fluid in the garage. Then Dave learned that one of his friends' grandmothers had passed. I've got a ton of cysts (or endometriosis or pick whatever random reproductive nightmare might be plaguing me this week) acting up and causing serious pain. I was sicker than a dog yesterday and the smoke detectors decided to go all kinds of crazy. To top it all off, Dave got backed into a few hours ago. AARRGGH!

The only good thing has been my weight loss. By Wednesday of this week, I was done another three pounds. I'm holding steady at 10 pounds lost since April 1. I only worked out twice this week. No excuse, really. One day I was sore, and the others I just didn't make the time. I must do better. I refuse to lose my weight loss momentum.

So that's me today. I'm off to down another glass of water and then it's back to work. I am so behind on my deadlines.

Thursday, April 10, 2008


The smoke detectors won’t stop beeping. I’m not talking about that annoying low battery chirp. Oh, no. I’m talking full out holy-shit-your-house-is-on-fire screeching. It started at 0627 and hasn’t stopped since then. All the smoke detectors are hard wired, have battery backup and are wireless so if one goes, they all fucking go.

I finally managed to get the four in the bedrooms and the one downstairs to stop, but the one in the upstairs hallway refuses to cooperate. It wails every thirty-forty minutes and sets off every other alarm in the house. I can’t find the manual to the damn things so I went online to the manufacturer’s website and it was completely useless. It doesn’t help that I’m 5’2" and the ceilings in the house are 10 plus feet depending on the room. Do we have a ladder? Nope.

I finally managed to climb up on the banister overlooking the staircase (we have one of those staircases that goes up, has a landing and then a second set of stairs to the upstairs hallway so from the banister it’s a 20 foot plus drop.) As I’m balancing precariously, beating the living crap out of the smoke detector and spewing a string of the vilest Russian, German, Spanish, and Arabic curse words I can manage, I realize that I’m probably going to kill myself. I’m either going to fall and break something or electrocute myself with the 110 volts running through the beeping bastard. Bosley seemed to share my worries. He paced nervously between the bedrooms and made anxious growling noises.

After ten minutes of messing with the detector, I realized that whoever installed the damn thing broke the battery release tab. When I touched it, it fell off in my hand. I can’t get the battery out. The wiring attached to the back looks a bit iffy as well. (I don’t have a lot of confidence in the wiring of the house. Just ask Dave about the ceiling fan with five wires. Our next door neighbor is an electrician and when Dave told him about the five wires he found, the guy was liek, what?!?!) I tried to pull the plug but it won’t budge. I can’t remove the battery or cut the power. Motherf$%&@!

Any other day I’d just put on my headphones and pretend the noise doesn’t exitst. Today, though, I have a low fever, a pounding headache, and am experiencing a variety of gastric pyrotechnics. Every second not spent cursing at the smoke detetors (Carajo! Scheisse! Yebnen Kelp! Kol ayre wle! Svoloch! Zarasa! Zavali Yebalo!) is spent worshipping the porcelain king. Bosley is just as bad. Strange noises agitate him. He hasn’t eaten all day and keeps going into the laundry room for peace and quiet. I’m embarassed to admit this but I’m locked in the laundry room too. It’s the only semi-quiet place. I’m about to crack.

Seriously, folks, I’m about five minutes away from throwing some clothes in a suitcase, coaxing Bosley into the truck, flipping all the breakers that carry power upstairs (since I don’t want the neighbors calling in to complain about the noise) and getting a room at the HoJo down the street.

OMG. Dave just called. He’s on his way home. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I’m sobbing right now. In the laundry room. Sitting on the dryer. God, I’m pathetic.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Polygamists, Tumbleweeds, and Me

Yeah. So good ole E-Town is in the news again. Sigh.

My Eldorado

219 Children Taken From Polygamist Compound

It's really disgusting to see the place that I call home (cuz no matter where I move that itty bitty dusty place will always be home) stained by the association with those polygamist nutters. I'm all for letting people believe in whatever cultish ideas make them happy, but I draw the line at kids. If consenting adults want to marry their cousins and have loads of inbred children, whatever. When young girls are forced into marriages with stank old men who may or may not be their relatives, I want to vomit. Enough. Seriously. Get in there and take those girls away. Now. They might think we're being cruel, but it's for their own good. They just don't know it. When you're cut off from the outside world, you don't realize what's right and wrong.

That 16 year old girl who was ballsy enough to call in and ask for help is so incredibly brave. I feel so badly for her now. I can't even imagine what they've done to her and her baby. It's not clear whether or not they've located her. I wouldn't count on it. I'm sure it wouldn't have been that difficult to smuggle her off the ranch in the middle of the night. People from urban areas might find that odd, but out in E-town, well, there's really nothing but miles and miles and miles of open land.

Mom says everything in town is crazy. She couldn't even go to Mass on Saturday evening because of all the damn news trucks parked near the Catholic Church (which just happens to be down the road from the FLDS compound.) Nuts. Seriously.

Anyone interested in the story of the FLDS folks just popping up one day on the edge of town send me a PM. I'll fill you in. I'm not gonna get into it here. Way too long of a post, lol.

Friday, April 04, 2008


First things first. Yesterday was my daddy's birthday! Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

So my new phone came in and it's AWESOME! The camera is amazing and the screen is big and bright and clear. The sound quality is crisp and clear. I'm in love! As for the old phone, well, I managed to get all my old phone numbers off of it, but I haven't had a chance to see how many pics or videos are still on the memory stick. My laptop doesn't have the proper port for the memory stick, and I can't find the adapter chingadera. It's in the garage. Somewhere.

Oh, and I've finally started the Insulin Resistance diet. Yeah, I'm not insulin resistant, but this diet is all about maintaining level blood sugar levels. With my hypoglycemia, it's turning out to be a godsend. Seriously, folks, I've lost seven pounds since last Friday. 7 pounds in seven days. OMG!

I totally expect the huge numbers to taper off next week, but whatever. My goal is 1-2 pounds a week so I'm fairly easy to please. And I'm not even working out. I worked out on Friday and Saturday and then nothing all this week. My support group says sex counts so I guess *technically* I have worked out quite a bit this week. At any rate I'm going to try to get in 3-4 workouts this week. They won't be long, maybe 30 minutes tops, but I have to start somewhere.

Writing is going well. I'm juggling three WIPs. I try not to do this to myself but it's unavoidable this month. I have a May 15th deadline for an anthology I want to enter so I need to finish that novella. I also have two full length novels that I'm 1/4 of the way through so it's not as if I can simply stop working on them until May. It's crazy but then so am I. C'est la vie.

All right. Must work. Wonderful weekend to you all!!!