Tag Archive 'stupidity'

Oct 20 2011

The things you overhear….

Published by under Pregnancy,Snippets

I’m sitting in the waiting room at my OB’s office. To my right is a man and pregnant woman sharing a couch. I’m not paying much attention to them, other than to note that the guy is a bit of a complainer. However, I soon get treated to overhearing this gem:

Man: You know that song that kids sing? When they’re teasing each other?
Woman: Huh?
Man: When they like each other? You know, “Mike and Lisa, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Woman: Yeah?
Man: I wonder how colored people sing that song.
Woman: Shut up.
Man: No, really. ‘Cause they talk different. “Kih-in. Kid-den.*giggles* How would they say kissing? Kitten.”
Woman: Shut up.
Man: Why?
Woman: You’re being stupid.
Man: I’m thinking. Don’t you ever think about stuff?

Yeah, that guy, he’s a real brain trust. Don’t bother him, he’s THINKING.

In baby news, 24 weeks tomorrow, developing normally, placenta has moved so previa is no longer a concern. Asher continues his perfect record of having his arm up over his face during ultrasound. This time, he also got his LEGS in the game, prompting the sonographer to comment, “He’s flexible.” My nurse practitioner liked Asher’s name so much that is going to put it on her “cool names” list, which if I understood her correctly, she recites to her daughters in the hopes that one of them will like a name so much that they will get pregnant again just so they can use it. This is a new-to-me method of fishing for grandchildren. Good luck, lady!

One response so far

Jun 30 2011

I do have road rage, thanks for asking.

Published by under Rants,Stupidity

I was driving home. I would say I was driving home “the back way”, but there really is no other way to get to my house from the south. All ways are “the back way”. Luckily, all of the back ways are also paved.

So, I’m driving home, and there’s a motorcyclist in front of me. I like to keep a respectable distance between me and any cyclists, because you never know when they might tip over, and I don’t want to be the person to squish a biker. There’s like a car length and a half between me and this biker. Pretty soon, he sticks his right arm straight out to the side in the universal sign for “I’m fixin’ to turn right, pretty quick”. I don’t often see motorcyclists use hand signals, but I figure maybe his turn signal is broken or something. Anyway, since he’s going to be turning soon, I slow down. Before long, he pulls his arm back in. I think that he must have miscalculated where he needed to turn, or maybe he decided not to go home just yet (all that was around to turn onto were driveways), so I started to speed up again. But, just as I sped up, he stuck his right arm straight out again, so I slowed back down. At this point, there are probably five or six car lengths between me and this guy, because I’ve been braking as though a massive slow down was incoming. He holds his arm out for a few more seconds, and then he pulls it back in.  Uh…OK….I started to speed up again, and then he sticks his arm out AGAIN. At this point I realize, he’s not signaling a turn, he’s going “WHEE! I AM ON A BIKE AND THE WIND IS PUSHING AGAINST MY HAND HOW AWESOME!”

That’s when I sped up and got pretty much right on his ass, because if you’re going to be a dumbass with your turn signals, I don’t really care if you’re the biker I squish.

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May 20 2011

No thank you for your support.

Published by under Infertility,Rants,Stupidity

When dealing with infertility, there are a number of places online where you can go to get information, share stories, and get support from other people in your situation. That is, if you don’t mind diving head first into the realm of inappropriate cutesy-ness and impenetrable acronyms. For some reason, the online infertility community has decided to basically surround themselves with animated emoticons and a whole lot of jargon that a newcomer has to pick up on if they want to make heads or tails of the conversations. When you are diagnosed as infertile and begin seeking treatment, your world becomes crowded with new terms and information just by virtue of your diagnosis; most of us are not casually familiar with the things that could go wrong when you’re trying to reproduce. You usually get a nice crash course when it turns out that you are not one of the ones who can just “get pregnant”. And while many doctors do take the time to explain things to their patients, oftentimes you will want to do some research on your own to educate yourself as much as possible. This is a serious problem, after all. It will affect your whole life, and may be the turning point veering you off from “parent” to “not so much parent”.

However, when you go out searching for answers and to talk to other people who are in your situation, you’re going to have to put on your sparkle panties and start speaking a specialized form of txt tlk. Because apparently infertility turns you into a 16 year old. (I feel extremely sorry for the men who venture into these communities for this reason.) It’s for this reason that I hardly ever go to these forums – I find the whole atmosphere to be ridiculous. But you might choose to go there because, let’s face it, they are some of the only places to talk to other people in your situation. Let’s get you geared up to make your debut!

Stupid Sig File

The first thing you’re going to need is an abnormally long signature, detailing every single step of your infertility journey. It may look something like this:

TTC since 11/07

HSG on 12/07 – tubes clear

6 IUI between 1/08 and 8/08 – BFN! (animated emoticon of someone beating their head on a wall)

IVF Cycle 1 10/08

Retrieved 8 eggs – 5 mature

Transfer 2 embryos 11/08

Preg test 11/08 – BFP!!!!! (animated emoticon of a dancing smiley AND/OR a small two-line gif indicating positive pregnancy test)

M/C 5 wks. (animated emoticon of a smiley with angel wings and a halo)

IVF Cycle 2 3/09

Preg test 4/09 – BFP!!!! (animated emoticon of a dancing smiley AND/OR a small two-line gif indicating positive pregnancy test)

DD born 2/10 (some kind of girly emoticon)

Remember, that whole things shows up underneath EVERY SINGLE POST you make on the message board. Even the one-liners that say “Keep trying! Baby dust and sticky thoughts!”

Baby Dust and Sticky Thoughts

You can’t say “good luck” or “I’m thinking of you” or “I’m praying for a positive outcome” on the infertility forums. You are just about required to say something like “baby dust!” or “sticky thoughts!” You say “baby dust” when you are wishing that someone will get pregnant in the near future. You say “sticky thoughts” when someone has just had an embryo transfer and you are hoping that the embryo will implant and result in a successful pregnancy. There’s nothing like trivialization!

Did you want some acronyms with your advice?

Finally, you’re never going to communicate on the forums unless you learn the language. And by “language” I mean “stupid acronyms created to make newbies feel stupid”. You may have noticed some of them earlier in your sample sig file. SOME of the acronyms are actually from the medical community (such as IUI and IVF) and those ones you are probably already familiar with if you’ve started treatment, but some of them are just there for…I don’t know why. Stupidity’s sake, I guess. I’m going to just provide some examples, because there are TONS and TONS of these.

TTC: Trying To Conceive

IVF: In-Vitro Fertilization

IUI: Intrauterine Insemination

BBT: Basal Body Temperature

M/C or MC: miscarriage

DD, DS, DH: Dear daughter, dear son, dear husband

BD: Baby Dance. It means sex. Isn’t that revolting?

AF: Aunt Flo. Menstruation.

BFP/BFN: Big fat positive/big fat negative. Refers to the results of your pregnancy test. Can’t just say “positive” or “negative”. Not cute enough!

HPT: Home pregnancy test

LO: Love Olympics. Also means sex. Do you get the feeling these women are a little loopy?

PG: Pregnant

Extra Credit: Emoticons

While the use of emoticons is not required, per se, it is heavily encouraged. How else is everyone going to know that you are frustrated that your latest progesterone test showed that your levels have inexplicably dropped unless you include an animated gif of a yellow head beating itself against a brick wall? How else is someone going to comprehend how traumatizing a miscarriage (or M/C or MC) was unless you put a little angel emoticon in there? If you can find an emoticon waving a magic wand and spreading sprinkles to use whenever you wish someone “baby dust!”, well…that’s just gold, right there. Solid gold.

In conclusion, many women frequent these forums and they must enjoy them or at least enjoy the sense of community that they find there. However, I cannot bring myself to become a regular because I can’t stop seeing the posters as those kind of women who wear pink kitten sweatshirts with fold-down collars. By which I mean that they are well-meaning, but out of touch, and have very little to nothing in common with me. I get the feeling that if I were to be sarcastic or swear on one of these forums, several thousand heads around the world might explode from the non-cuteness of it. I don’t have anything against these women, it’s just that they create an environment that makes me feel that I don’t have anything in common with them, either. There are already a huge number of women that I don’t have something in common with: I can’t get pregnant the “normal” way. Why do I need to feel out of place in the community of people who are supposed to be “like me”? I don’t.

One response so far

Jan 24 2011


Published by under Friends,Pets,Snippets,The Fam,The Man

(UPDATED! Originally, this post was one conversation [the hole-punch one] but then I thought of another one and then I decided to just keep adding on as I thought of them. So, this post might be different depending on when you first read it.)

No. 1

The Man is using my one-hole punch to punch holes in the corners of index cards, so that he may put them on a ring. He is Way Too Organized. I’m reading blogs.

The Man: (jiggling the hole-punch) I think I broke this.

Me: What?

The Man: (demonstrating that the hole-punch does not squeeze properly anymore) It’s broken.

Me: You broke my hole-punch!

The Man: Well, I didn’t mean to!

Me: You know what’s funny about this? I use that hole punch to punch holes out of FABRIC, and it works just fine. You use it for its intended purpose, and you break it.

The Man: I use things too aggressively.

My husband, the Aggressive Hole Puncher.

(On a side note, how many other former cheerleaders learned to spell “aggressive” from that one cheer? You know: “Be. Aggressive. B-E aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.” I was only a Middle School Cheerleader, but I think it was worth it just to learn how to spell that one word.)


A bunch of us are sitting around my father-in-law’s house. I’m sitting on the couch with one of my sisters-in-law, and two of her kids are hanging around, too. My two-year-old niece comes in the room and I notice she is wearing fleece pajama pants.

Me: Aw, look at her little Ugly Pants!

Bert (four-year-old nephew): Those are NOT ugly pants!

Me: Oh, well, that’s just what your uncle and I call our pajama pants, whether they are ugly or not. All pajama pants are Ugly Pants.

Bert: Those pants are NOT ugly!

Me: I know that -

Bert: YOUR pants are ugly.

Me: OK, then.

Bert: (going back to his Lincoln Logs and muttering) Ugly…

For the record, I was wearing jeans.

No. 3

We’re talking about the “Dangerous Cold Warning” that my mother-in-law’s area apparently received from the National Weather Service.

The Man: What makes it “dangerous” cold?

Me: I don’t know. I guess it’s really, really cold.

The Man: But, it’s winter.

Me: I know.


No. 4

The Man and I stopped in to Julio’s on our way to Grandma’s this past Sunday. I was dropping off a lip balm and a Babies R Us coupon book. Julio has a Chihuahua/demon mix dog that has a really loud yapper, and her brand new baby had just fallen asleep, so she picked up the dog and held it while we talked to minimize the yapping. It’s probably worth noting that Julio has mentioned several times that she’s having a hard time establishing a routine with the baby, and her nerves might be a little frayed.

Me: OK, let me know if you like the lip balm. You’re not allergic to anything are you?

Julio: Like…what?

Me: I don’t know. There are no chemicals or anything in it. It’s all natural stuff. Like beeswax or shea butter or anything.

Julio: Tell you what, if I look like Angelina Jolie in a couple days, we’ll know for sure.

Me: Sounds good. Oh, and that coupon book also has some sale things in the back that I couldn’t really get all the details for, because for some reason they have to seal it up like the damn SAT exam…

Julio: I know! What do they think is going to happen if – (she stops talking and looks at her dog, who she is holding over her shoulder, while patting it on the back). I’M BURPING MY DOG.

Me: Is it working?

Julio: Oh my God, I’m going insane.  The other day I was sitting in a chair, not holding anything, and I realized I was trying to rock the baby to sleep. So, I was just rocking myself back and forth.

Me: Wow.

Julio: Next time I’m grocery shopping I’ll probably try to burp a frozen turkey.

No. 5

The ongoing struggles of living with a brain-damaged cat…Please be aware that the following scene takes place every. single. day. Also, that the whole thing creates in me a slowly growing feeling of suspense that really stresses me out.

I’m sitting on one end of the couch. Fate (the normal cat) is on the other end. Between us is a WIDE OPEN EXPANSE of sofa. Destiny (the brain-damaged cat) likes to nap with Fate during the day because they keep each other warm.

Destiny approaches the couch. She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.

She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.

Repeat anywhere between 5 and 15 times, depending on how tolerant I’m feeling that day.

As she rounds the coffee table, I bend down and pick her up and put her on the couch.

She freezes, acting like I’ve just placed her into a lake of lava.

She jumps down and does a lap around the coffee table.

She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.


One response so far

Aug 24 2010

Danish Festival 2010

Published by under Friends,Stupidity,Work

So…Mackers and I went to Danish Festival this year. Not for the beer tents, or the aebleskivers, but because we had signed up and paid cash money to be vendors. Yes, it’s true, we paid money to sit under a canopy for eight hours a day and try to sell things to people who have no money. Because, did you know? People in Michigan are POOR.

All in all, it didn’t go too badly. We both made back what we paid for the booth, and then some. It just didn’t go as SUPER MEGA AWESOME as we wanted it to, and to be honest, I think we would have sold just as much at a small craft show. So, that’s what we’ve decided to do from now on: small craft shows where the booth fees are reasonable and we don’t have to bring a tent and sit outside.

One of the hazards of sitting outside is the weather. Sure, no one wants it to rain, but when it’s bright and sunny it’s really no picnic either. You have some shade while the sun is in the right position, but at some point in the day, you’re going to fry. We got lucky in that it didn’t really rain until the end of the last day, when we were packing up. And then it also didn’t rain. Or, I should say, it didn’t just rain. It downpoured. Torrentially. Luckily, we had all of the product in weatherproof plastic totes by the time the rain hit, but we still had to pack the truck in the downpour. All three of us (Princess Precocious, Macker’s daughter, was there to help) were soaked to the skin within 45 seconds.

We had too much stuff to make one trip back to Macker’s house, so it was decided that Princess P. and I would take one load, drop everything in the glassed-in front porch, and come back to take down the tent, load up the rest, and pick up Mackers. That plan should have gone off without a hitch, except that as I was getting out of the truck to help Princess P. unload, I locked the doors. With my purse and phone inside. And the truck was running.

I now had no phone. Princess P. had no phone. Mackers doesn’t have a land line in her house. I tried to jimmy the lock with a wire hanger, and though I could get through the window and TOUCH the lock button, there wasn’t enough leverage to push the button. After 20 minutes of trying, I sent Princess P. on her bike (it’s STILL downpouring at this point) to her friend’s to use her phone – to call Mackers and tell her what was going on, and have her call AAA. Ten minutes later, Princess P. pulls back in. Her friend was not home. The retired cop next door is not home. No one is home; they’re all at the beer tent or trying to buy a kringle before the kringle guy goes home. So, Princess P. volunteers to bike herself back uptown (in the driving rain) to update her mom. While she’s gone, I keep working at the lock, I guess hoping that some helpful leprechaun will materialize inside the truck and push the unlock button for me. Several sometimes later, Princess P. returns with the keys to her mom’s car. As soon as she pulls in the driveway, it stops raining. NICE TIMING, WEATHER.

We leave the locked truck running in the driveway and take off in Macker’s car to pick her up. We cram the last bit of stuff in the car, shove Princess P. in the back seat, and I drive back to the house while Mackers walks, for reasons best known to her. I volunteered to cram her into the car as well, but she said walking was a better option. I think she wanted the extra time to curse my name and my lack of brain. Not that I can blame her for that. She also promises to call AAA on the way back and send them over.

We get back to the house, and the truck is still in the driveway, running. No leprechaun. I go back to work on the lock, but after about five minutes, I hear someone holler “Hey, need help?” from across the street. I look up, and there’s a dude in a tow truck, who is coming over. He says, “Cord called and said his sister needed some help.” Cord is Macker’s brother, and as I found out later, called his buddy after AAA refused to deal with Mackers.

This friendly cuss had my door open in five minutes flat. “My hero!” I cheered. Pretty soon, Mackers came walking up, and seemed very happy that the door was open and I wouldn’t be sitting in her driveway for a few hours while we found someone to open the lock. However, at this point, I was ready to go back to my mom’s house and dry off. I was done with rain, being wet, stupid vehicles that don’t have leprechauns inside of them, and my own stupidity. I stayed to wrap up a few more details (like counting money and singing “Prince Ali Ababwa” to Princess P.) and then I went to mom’s, took a shower, and collapsed.

No more Danish Festival. Unless it’s for the beer tents.


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