Saturday, May 31, 2008
I had my retrieval and already have had two fertilization reports! AND I do my transfer tomorrow! So get a beverage and a snack, this is going to be long.
First: The Retrieval
This? Is Xena Warrior Princess. She looks like the doctor who did my retrieval. I shall call her OLGA.
OLGA came in to introduce herself, and the only thing I understood through the thick, thick Arnold Schwarzeneggeresque accent was "I Dr. OLGA. I retrieve zee eggs."
So after much smiling and nodding and not understanding, I headed back to the retrieval room. This is an interesting experience, because you are put on a table with your arms straight out to the side like you're gearing up for a crucifiction. But for added pleasure, your legs are also strapped on to giant padded leg stirrups and your vagina is out there for the entire room of 10 to see. I'd like to think that's OK because I have a really nice vagina.
At my IVF #1 retrieval, I went into the room and was knocked out as soon as I was situated. I don't remember much, except saying that I couldn't focus because I didn't realize that they had started the IV. Then I woke up to Mark and my mom in the recovery room.
This time? Well. I was awake for a long, long time. Which means I was awake after Dr. OLGA said, "Now, I clean zee vaginal cavity."
If anyone thinks that cleaning zee vaginal cavity sounds a little bit like, oh I don't know, HELL? You'd be right.
OLGA takes a long, metal skewer (probably from her grilling kit at home) and attaches gauze soaked in cleanser. I need to ask you a question right now: have you ever seen a liposuction video? Where they jam that sucker thing in and out of the person's flesh and you're all "OW that looks really rough and horrible!" Have you ever seen that?
That is how OLGA cleans zee vaginal cavity. With 4 long skewers and sterile gauze, jammed in and out of zee vaginal cavity while she talked about the details of her son's graduation. It wasn't zee Xena Warrior Princess sword, but it felt like it!
I was so annoyed. By the time she took out the 4th skewer, I was yelling, "OH MY GOD CAN I JUST BE KNOCKED OUT FOR THIS?!!" OLGA's reply? "Iz almost finish." Of course, two seconds later, I was knocked out. Damn.
The end result was awesome: 21 eggs retrieved!!
Jennepper = Best Hen EVER!
So somewhat worth the pain of zee vaginal cleansing. And now my vagina is so clean you could eat out of it! You know, if you ever felt compelled to do so.
So maybe the Duggars have 18 kids, but I had 21 eggs! So suck it, Mrs. Fertile Duggar! (And if the Duggars cousin is reading? The one who left me a comment? I'm freaking kidding so take a joke. Damn.)
Next: 1st Fertilization Report
On Friday, I got the news that out of the 21 eggs retrieved, 17 of them were mature and 16 of them fertilized. This is great news!
For my first IVF, I had 13 eggs retrieved, and 11 that were mature and fertilized. So this time we're starting out with a lot more embryos to choose from.
What they do is just put them back into the fake uterus incubator thingamajigger until the next day.
Finally: The Second Fertilization Report
I found out that of the 16 that fertilized, 12 are on track at between 2 and 4 cell. Three more aren't quite there yet, but are looking hopeful and are still being monitored. They may or may not catch up, but I'm still thrilled with 12!
Transfer will be tomorrow (Sunday).
Right now, I'm feeling really sore and totally bloated. I look 4 months pregnant. People are going to start asking questions. I look and feel like a total cow.
I completely expect to grow udders any day now.
At least we'd save on milk...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Good News: I am triggered!
But first, a Memorial Day tale of woe, since I am behind on my updating. Damn Conceive magazine, getting me all off track and whatnot...
Anyway, our city has the teeny-ist, most sad little Memorial Day parade. The parade goes right by our house since we live on one of the main roads. Every year we sit on the porch and watch, and every year we shake our heads and say, "We'll never get those 15 minutes back, will we?"
Maybe you've been reading long enough to remember the nosy neighbor situation? (If not, click here) Well, we have another set of neighbors with kids, and I haven't yet had the pleasure of laying down the proverbial INFERTILITY SMACKDOWN on this neighbor. I came close once when he made a point of calling us Dinks*, and then winking and saying, "but not for long, right?"
Dink guy told me last year that they were going to try to get pregnant in the spring, and they must have been successful because they had a baby in February. We hadn't yet met the new baby. Until Memorial Day.
We're sitting outside waiting for the parade, and our neighbors with kids are all sitting together at the end of the driveway next door. Dink guy comes out with the new baby in a stroller.
He looks over at us.
He starts to walk over.
I tried to scare him away with a sheer look of HORROR. NO! Don't make me look at your baby! Just don't.
But he does, and it goes a little something like this:
Dink Guy: Well, I thought you'd like to meet our newest addition.
Jen: Oh, yes, I'd love to meet your new addition.
DG: Well, here she is!
Jen: Yes, I see…and what is her name?
Jen: She's adorable. Thanks for bringing her over.
DG: Yeah, she's a real porker! Look at these thighs! (uncovers the most delicious chubby baby thighs)
Jen: Oh, very cute. (And I hate you, go away)
DG: Yeah, she's a handful. I've got two kids and I need a nap! hahaha!
Jen: Yes, you should go take a nap.
DG: Yeah, we're done. Two kids is enough. I'm done.
Jen: Yes, well, congratulations. On being done. Good luck with that.
DG: Yeah, you know, we never get to sleep.
Jen: Well, that's unfortunate.
Mark: (completely silent, probably hoping I don't kill him)
DG: Well now you guys just need to have some!
Jen: Yeahhh….(avoids eye contact so that DG can't see red devil eyes)
DG: You have the puppies, now you just need some babies!
DG: Yeah, when are you going to have some?
Jen: Never, probably.
DG: haha! Yeah, well, I was 31 when I had my first, so you have some time…
Jen: Yep, we have lots of time. (and if you say "yeah" one more time, I might kick you in the weiner.)
DG: Yeah, well, I better get over there for the parade.
Jen: Thank you, Jesus!
Good times. To make matters worse, the neighbor kids were so cute during the entire parade – yelling and cheering at every display that went by. I kept welling up and choking back tears the entire time, and for once? Was glad to be in a small town where the parade only lasts 15 minutes.
But hey? What's a holiday without a good cry, right?
Back to business: I triggered last night, and my retrieval is tomorrow (Thursday). I am ready. I'm uncomfortable and am experiencing all sorts of weird side effects (click here to read about that weirdness). Looks like I had about 12 mature follicles, and countless smaller follies that may or may not catch up. I'll post an update as soon as I'm up and around!
*DINK = Dual Income, No Kids. I hate this label. Mostly because I deign to be a Dink, but also because I called penises dinkies when I was little. So when someone calls me a dink, it feels like they are calling me a dick while simultaneously pointing out the fact that we have all kinds of money and no kids.
Monday, May 26, 2008
And really, who isn't on my list these days?
But seriously, there appears to be an overstock of Conceive Magazine at my RE's office.
They have this ceiling to floor display of magazines, and 90% of it is covered in CONCEIVE magazine.
And have you seen this magazine? Well. Every issue has a picture of the cutest baby ever, close up so you can see every detail of its delicious little face. And sometimes? You can also see their thighs. Big, chubby, lumpy little baby thighs. In the office of your fucking reproductive endocrinologist. Anyone else find this just annoying? Anyone? Or just me? (You can say if it's just me...I'm kind of used to that, being a complete and total weirdo and everything).
I think I should start a magazine called "INFERTILE WHORE." All the articles will be rants from me and my fellow infertiles, and there will be no pictures of cute babies and pregnant women (which do show up in Conceive. Lots of bellies in that magazine.) There will be lots of pictures of martinis, and ads and coupons for Ben and Jerry's and Coldstone. There will also be a column where people ask for my advice, and I tell them ways to act completely inappropriate in public.
My magazine is going to be like a money tree. Because think about it: my readers are in it for the long haul! If this magazine already existed, I would have been a subscriber for TWO WHOLE YEARS (plus three months)!
If you were a good little blog reader, you already clicked on the link to my Redbook blog on Infertility Diaries, and you know that Mark was with me while I went off on a rant about the cover of Conceive magazine at the office this morning. And he suggested that I come up with a better cover photo.
The thing is, I think it would be a better photo for the first issue of INFERTILE WHORE...I call it: Infertility (sigh). What do you think?
I was going to flip the bird, but I thought it would be too much for the first issue...
Saturday, May 24, 2008
There are so many questions with no answers when infertility is involved. I wouldn't be the first one to make the connection between the word if and the message board/blog abbreviation for infertility: IF.
Who says that sometimes an optimistic, gorgeous, prom-queen IVF just fails for no reason? I have many plausible ideas about what happened, and I know for a fact that at least one of these reasons has got to be true. You'll see – they're very rational, well thought out, medically sound. Brilliant.
My Embryos are Rebellious
I think that it's entirely possible that my embryos will have inherited a bad attitude and a problem with authority (from their father, surely). And the embryologist was probably, like, a total drag and was being all, "Stay in that petri dish, inside this drip of fake chemical fallopian tube liquid, and be quiet, and divide every day." Booorrriiinnng. Especially when the lab is directly beside an awesome mall and less than a mile away from The Melting Pot.
My guess is that my embryos, with their loose morals and authority issues, peer pressured a few other sets of embryos to head over to The Melting Pot for copious amounts of cheese and, knowing my embryos, probably a few of their delectable martinis. I mean, it's probably hard to implant when you're an embryo trying to deal with cheese and alcohol when you haven't even had a chance to form a digestive system.
I bet that if a detective ventured over to my infertility clinic and did a thorough inspection? He would find the microscopic holes where my embryos burrowed through the window on the way out to paaaar-tay. (Note to detective: bring microscope.)
My Uterus is an Undercover Badass
So maybe you remember the internal war of the worlds that occurred during and after my transfer. I think my analysis failed to uncover the major nemesis: my goddamned uterus.
See, my goddamned uterus appeared to be quiet and polite. Like one of those shy kids in school, who would be all well behaved during the day, but could be found on Friday night with a crack pipe and an oozie*, having unprotected sex with three under aged girls while flipping the bird. Except a girl. Because I don't think it's proper to make the uterus a boy.
My ovaries and bladder were making all kinds of noise, and hogging up all the space, and my uterus? Snapped. Started throwing 'bows to let my obese ovaries and bloated bladder know that she would not be having any more of this bullshit. So regardless of the embryo quality, there is no way that they could attach to a bow-throwing uterus, all while being hung over. And they were fat from all that cheese!
My Ass is Fat
I was talking to someone who had their IVF at the same time as me, at the same place (Hi Katie!), and she was telling me how the nurse was debating over the size of the needle to give her for the PIO (Progesterone in Oil, incase your Google is broken). The nurse was looking at her butt and trying to decide between a bigger or a smaller, saying she was right on the border.
There was no debating over my ass. I got the long needle, no questions asked, no looking necessary.
But I'm thinking that maybe my ass is so big, that I need some sort of industrial-sized needle to inject my PIO. What, with my fat drunk asshole embryos, and my gang member uterus, I need some serious progesterone to thicken up my uterine lining. And the needle, apparently, needs to be really long to get through the massive amount of fat stored in my ass region. Like, maybe if they make intramuscular needles for use in injecting orca whales? That might be long enough to get through the fortress of fat and into my actual, atrophied ass muscle.
On a more serious note, I am actually doing an IVF cycle right now, and not just cracking jokes about it.
Wednesday I had a progress check and was a little disappointed. My follies aren't growing as fast as last time. I was pretty discouraged. They didn't want to see me back until Saturday, which to me screamed "UNDERACHIEVER!" I had 9 bigger follicles, all around 8 or 9 cm, and Estrogen was 293.
Today I had the follow up, and I felt better. I mean, I probably shouldn't use my failed IVF as the gold standard, right? Why would I judge the progress of this IVF cycle by that one when obviously it wasn't a perfect cycle. It didn't work. Anyway, I had lots of sizeable follicles, all around 12 or 13 cm. Estrogen is 1,214.
I go back on Monday for another check up.
*Apparently the correct spelling is uzi, not oozie. I like oozie better. So shoot me.**
**GET IT? GET IT? Bah ha ha!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Dearest Baskin Robbins,
Today I see that you are honoring the bump babes. The ladies with big bellies. The expectant mommies.
How very nice of you.
Please excuse me if I am way off base here, but I suppose you are trying to target the hormonal and hungry? Am I right? Did a bunch of people meet in a room one day for a brainstorm session to bring traffic into your stores? And someone had the brilliant idea to plaster that adorable cartoon pregnant lady all over the Internets in the hope that the pregnant ladies would see it and think, "OH MY GOD MY BABY NEEDS BASKIN ROBBINS NOW! NOW! NOW!" And then maybe once she has your ice cream for free, she will continue to have cravings and spend $3 a day on delectable globs of your new soft serve?
Well, I'm no marketing mogul or anything like that. I didn't go to Harvard, but to a state school, and everyone knows that state schools will take most anyone with a pulse and cold hard cash, right? I have a business degree but if we're being honest with each other, Baskin Robbins, I don't know all that much about mass marketing.
If you're targeting the hormonal and hungry? You are missing a HUGE section of the "Hormonal and Hungry" market. The Infertiles. We are the perfect target market for your sales schemery – we're not only hormonal and hungry – we're neurotic and emotional! Emotional EATERS! See where I'm going with this?
I'm not really sure how you would verify the whole infertile part. I mean, you could ask to see our horns and tails, or maybe require us to inject our meds at the counter before we get our free soft serve. Or maybe you could just tell by the smell of desperation when we walk in the door? I don't know, you can work out the details.
I look forward to Infertility Tuesday really soon. In the interim, I will be getting my ice cream from Dairy Queen, Coldstone, or from the freezer aisle at the grocery store. Or maybe I'll eat cookies. You can never tell. I'm unpredictable like that.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. And if you'd like to pay me for this fantastic idea? I wouldn't object.
p.s. – I do have some ideas for the Infertility Tuesday Free Soft Serve campaign. Have your people call my people.
p.p.s – I don't have people. Call me directly.
p.p.p.s. – I have lots of other ideas. Preview: Menopausal Monday. (Call me.)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Discuss here or there, I don't care.
(That last sentence sounds all Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Hammy, doesn't it?)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Dr. Goldfarb told me that every afternoon, all of the doctors get together and review every patient file. They have to do this, because they are very busy and work as a team, and this helps them to all be familiar with every case. And that all seems like a very good idea, except nobody ever knows who the hell I am without going through my entire file while I sit and watch, thinking, “Seriously? I’m going to be late for work.”
But my theory is that one day, while at one of these daily afternoon meetings, one of the doctors started complaining about how all the patients fall asleep on the ultrasound table between the time they tell you to STRIP! From the waist down and when they come back to view the girly bits.
Who hasn’t been tempted to just take a teeny little nap on that ultrasound table? Sometimes you have to wait for, like, two minutes! That’s two whole minutes of precious sleep! I mean, we’re on Lupron after all…and we can’t have caffeine, because it’s clearly Satan in a Styrofoam cup…
So the doctors came up with the brilliant scheme to keep us awake. Are you ready? Because I’m about to blow. your. mind.
I think that one of the doctors, or maybe an ultrasound tech or a nurse, had the brilliant idea to set the room temperature to a frigid 22 degrees. And just in case the arctic blast of the room wasn’t enough? Let’s not cover the stirrups! Let’s leave the metal bare, and maybe even rub it with ice cubes before each patient, so that when they lay down, they can’t nap! Because it’s cold!
And everyone at the big wooden table does a long, evil belly laugh…
Other than the frostbite that I got on my pinky toe during today’s ultrasound, everything else went well. The regular ultrasound lady, Martie, is back from Paris – so no more Teeny McShortarms. And Martie? Is fabulous! She explains everything – not in a condescending way – and says things like, “your antral follicles are like ladies in waiting,” and “your uterus is lovely, and your ovaries are really working hard.” And Martie? Calls you in by first AND last name. No confusion of the Jennifers when Martie is in charge.
And she wears cute shoes.
It sounds like maybe I have a girl crush on Martie, doesn’t it? Clearly not, but I think we’re going to get along juuuuust fine.
One ultrasound down. One million to go.
Are you doing treatments right now? If so, where are you in the process? And also, do they cover the stirrups at your office??
Saturday, May 17, 2008
I just realize that I never really made a formal announcement about my blogging on Trusera (although it has been on my sidebar for a few weeks).
Trusera is a place to find information, connect with people, and get answers about health topics. If I had to compare it to a more familiar site, I'd say it is the MySpace of health issues. It's a very cool place, and I'm really excited about blogging there. I'm always looking for more people, more blogs, more connections…more ways to relate my infertility experiences to other people. If you're interested in joining, click here.
I had my suppression check yesterday, and will update soon…just so you're not disappointed later, there were no run-ins with Teeny McShortarms. I did, however, manage to make an ass of myself. As usual.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Things I am going to do, now that I'm pregnant:
Park in the "Expectant Mother" spot at the grocery store.
I mean really, would anyone challenge me? I think I could make it work, especially since my father-in-law called me Miss Piggy the other day.*
Let my fat roll hang right out.
Why even try to suck it in? I'm one day pregnant, after all. Maybe I'll even invest in one of those shirts that says, "I'm not fat, I'm pregnant."
Eat 7 chocolate chip cookies after dinner.
Because the baby wanted them. Not because I am a total hoss.
Talk nonstop about my day-old pregnancy.
Loudly. In the lobby of the fertility clinic. In front of all the baby-lusters waiting for their daily meeting with the vag cam. Hoping they won't have to come back next cycle, and wanting to kill me for my obnoxious bragging.
Wear a Bella Band
Because seriously, you've thought about it. Don't lie. Who needs Thanksgiving Pants when you have a Bella Band? Clearly, I'd be wearing it because I am totally pregnant, and not because I ate 7 chocolate chip cookies.
Tell me: WHAT ELSE SHOULD I DO??
*Then promptly told me not to put it in my blog.**
**Pfft...like I wasn't going to blog that. Come on, now
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
My blog buddy Io tagged me for this meme, and I love tasks so here goes:
4 Things I did 10 Years Ago (1998)
- I graduated from high school. Which was interesting, because I got the chicken pox my senior year – 3 days before prom and a week and 3 days before graduation. I have a funny story about that, which I will save for another time. Here's a preview: it involves herpes.
- I quit everything – all sports, all clubs, everything that was an obligation (well, except work) and just had fun. How nice would it be if that was an option now? Ahhh…the good old days.
- I ate ice cream every single day. And was still skinny. But thought I was fat. But didn't care, because I worked at Dairy Queen, and who passes up free daily ice cream?
- I may or may not have discovered the joy of the Screwdriver. I will not confirm or deny whether I am talking about the delicious beverage, or the helpful tool.
4 Things I did 5 Years Ago (2003)
- Met my future husband. We spoke almost exclusively in movie quotes during our entire first year of dating. I still have all the emails we sent to eachother, since we worked opposite schedules and only saw eachother twice a week. They could be made into one of those ridiculous movies that people go see and then say, "Why would anyone watch that?"
- I was still living in an apartment with my roomie Stephanie, and we were so stupid. We had these hot guy neighbors, and for some reason we decided to start leaving love notes outside their door on banana note paper. And we thought it would be a one time thing, but they wrote back, and starting buying us really cheesy stuffed animals and writing us funny poems. They were hilarious.
- Got my first "real" job at a financing company, and learned a lot of things about the "real" world. I loved my boss at that job, but it sucked out at least a quarter of my soul.
- Started, then quit, graduate school. After one class. Not sure why. I started again in 2005, and kick myself every time I think about how I could be done with school right this very second if I had the ambition in 2003 to go to class and not go to the bar with my friends.
4 Things I did Yesterday
- Wrote this scary entry for Redbook's Infertility Diaries
- Read 200 pages of "Such a Pretty Fat" by Jen LancasterJen Lancaster. If you need a laugh, please please please read her books. Read them in order: Bitter is the New Black, Bright Lights Big Ass, then Such a Pretty Fat. She is kind of my hero.
- Ate Pizza Hut for dinner, and then had a horrible stomach ache all night.
- Watched the "Business Time" video no less than 45 times. So productive.
4 Shows I love to watch
Unlike Io, I do watch a depressing amount of TV. So narrowing down to 4 was tough.
- The Hills – and the answer to your question is YES, I am ashamed of myself. But really people, the drama in this show is just delicous, and I love watching those skinny bitches stab eachother in the back. Who cares if it's scripted reality? It's a good script!
- The Soup – so snarky and funny. So many things I love. The segment names crack me up: Let's Take Some E! Let's Talk About Chicks, Man. Oprah's Va-jay-jay. If you don't watch this show, you need to.
- The Office – I really think that this is a show that you need to watch from the very beginning to really appreciate the humor. We DVR The Office, since I am old and crotchety and go to bed at 9. And I always watch it at least 3 times because there are so many subtle things thrown in, that I usually find a few more things to crack up about after the initial viewing.
- Project Runway – Who doesn't love Heidi Klum? She's adorable. And this show is so crazy addicting. The people on it are actually talented. And this past season, I was introduced to some cool new catch phrases, like: TRANNY HOT MESS. Love it.
4 things I love to do
- Read. I love to read, I always have. I can get through a good book in one day if I have the time. I'm not a book snob, either – I'll give anything a try. I am especially excited for the summer because I will have time to read for leisure, which is definitely not the case when I am in school.
- Cut my toenails. I fully realize that this is weird. But seriously? I think it feels so good to have freshly cut toenails.
- Lay out and swim. Especially in quiet, private places where I can relax and enjoy a nice day. I grew up with a pool, and loved to lay out and swim on summer days when school was out. Yes, I know, sun is bad for the skin and I'm going to be a prematurely wrinkled old hag. But still. My parents moved last year, so they no longer have a pool, but my in-laws still have a pool. I die a little bit inside every time they talk about filling it in…
- Walk our dogs. They love it! They get so tired that they get that happy face – their mouths are hanging wide open, tongues dangling to the side. We recently discovered a dog park, and they didn't really know what to do but seemed to like it.
Now, I tag:
Tiffanie at Equal Opportunity Hater
Mrs. Higrens at Does This Suit Your Copperosity?
Jill at Desperately Seeking Spawn
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Because I can make anything into something about infertility. Try me.
It's work safe, and funny. Watch it or else we're not friends.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
#1: I woke up.
Clearly, this was a mistake. I should have stayed in bed, put the covers over my head, and maybe taken a couple of my leftover Percocet from the laparoscopic surgery I had in October. Because the Percocet high? Would've easily been the highlight of my day.
#2: I popped a zit.
Because really, who doesn't love to pop a zit? It's satisfying – admit it.
I've had a gremlin growing under my skin all week – it was an invisible bump, it was itchy, it hurt like a bitch. It did not, however, have a big white head until today. Apparently. I am not sure. Because today was when Mark said, "Oh, you got a popper there." So who knows? Maybe it had a big head yesterday and neither of us noticed, because I've been quite the adolescent boy in the face department lately.
After I finished feeling incredibly vixenish and supremely sexy, I went to pop it.
MISTAKE! SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED AND NOT POPPED ZIT!
Now have giant red mark and scab! Am disgusting and look diseased!
#3: Went to Panera. At Noon. On a Sunday.
Any normal person knows better. But I was wild and crazy last night, and stayed up until 11:30 (the time of night when only hookers and thieves are awake). And then I slept in until 8:30. Which was stupid, because I have finals on Monday and Tuesday and have managed yet again to put off studying until the day before, and needed to be at Panera at 7 when they opened. Instead, I got there at noon, after I dicked around on the Internet for a few hours.
The problem with getting anywhere at noon on Sunday is the church crowd. Church people always go to lunch afterward, and apparently Panera is THE SPOT for post-church lunch. I would not know, because I don't go to church. Which is why we don't have kids – god hates us.
I had the pleasure of sitting beside three church people. An older couple, who I assume were a pastor (or whatever term you like) and his wife, and a younger guy who was interviewing for a position at their church. While I was trying my best to learn about auditing, all I could hear was this interview, and it was DRIVING ME CRAZY. The entire interview reminded me of what I imagine could be an interview for a marketing position: how will you lure people to follow the word? What music will you choose to keep people coming to service? How do you feel about discussing issues like * gasp * divorce and premarital sex, and pornography? How will you effectively manipulate the feeble minds of the masses?
And then they were making fun of the way people dressed. Because apparently, is bad to worship the lord in flip flops. Just stay home, for Christ's sake, if you are going to wear flip flops to worship.
#4: Was not specific enough about the quantity of beverage I need.
OR: Panera – it's no Saks.
After being there for about two hours, I was hungry and thirsty, so I decided to transition from loiterer to bona-fide customer and purchase a cup of broccoli cheddar soup and a beverage.
The typical, annoyed high school girl waited on me, and was sufficiently annoyed with my very existence and my sheer will to ruin her life by ordering food. At the restaurant where she comes to get paid to hang out. She gave me my total, and I didn't really pay attention to what she said and just handed over the debit card. But then, I looked up at the register screen and noticed my total: $23.98.
$23.98…for a cup of soup and a pop.
So I say, "Why is my total so much."
And she shoves my receipt in my face and says, "check your receipt." Translation: shut up and pay, you cheap asshole.
Now, I'm no accountant or anything. I don't work for NASA. And I'm no economist. I'm not a doctor. I don't belong to MENSA. So you'll forgive me for being smug when I ask why I am paying $23 for a cup of fucking soup and a drink. I mean, this girl is clearly from the well-to-do town where Panera is located, so she must routinely eat soup made of goddamned gold and unicorn piss, right?
And I have to point out to annoyed teenager that, while I am annoying, SHE CHARGED ME FOR 14 POPS! 14 sodas, if you prefer.
So I say, "Well, you charged me for 14 pops." And I offer the receipt as proof, since I am a lowlife and am probably lying and should just pay $23 and get out of her life forever, right?
Was she sorry, you ask? Did she apologize?
She yanked the receipt out of my hand and walked to the back. A few seconds later, she's saying "She paid for 14 pops but only wanted one, I guess."
Stop the presses. Slow the bus down. Shut the fuck up.
This girl has the balls to act like this is my fault? Like it was perfectly plausible that I, alone in this Panera Bread, would order 14 carbonated beverage cups? All for my little self?
I laughed. Out loud. It wasn't really an I'm-a-jerk-and-am-pissed laugh. It was more of an I'm-nice-it's-no-biggie laugh.
The manager, who must have been a year older than the annoyed teenager and who was not finding my humor in the situation, comes out to the counter and says, "Give me your card." No: sorry, no let me credit you for the 13 extra pops, no: I'm sorry that I'm dissatisfied with my life but I will still be nice to you.
He credited my card and walked away, and annoyed teenager handed me my card and new receipt, saying "Here."
And I said, thank you so much for being so very helpful. Because that's how you talk to assholes, right?
#5: Am not smart enough to use a bathroom stall lock.
After drinking my 14 pops, I had to pee. Natch.
So I go to the restroom and hover, like normal, because do you think that dissatisfied manager makes annoyed teenager clean the bathroom? I don't think so, either, so I don't sit on the seat because hell. I already have infertility, I don't want to catch poor, or ugly, or fat from the toilet seat. I already caught infertility that one time I sat on the toilet at a turnpike McDonalds.
About half way through a perfectly satisfying pee, the stall door flies open! AHHHHHHHH!
And who else is there, but the pastor's wife, who makes fun of people who wear flip flops when praising Jesus. Of course. The look of shock (and maybe terror) on her face was priceless. It almost made me wish that I had my iPhone at the ready while hovering just in case this very situation came up. (Maybe next time)
So I guess I didn't push the latch over all the way, and of course I had to spend the remainder of my studying time sitting by the lady who saw my cooter, because I am a high-hoverer.
It was awesome.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Yes, I keep my fertility drugs right by my knives.
You have a problem with that? Huh?
IVF # 2: Jen ain't takin no shit this round.
I really needed that sharps container, because I was keeping my used needles in this shitty coffee can.