How I'm coping

Don't forget to enter the giveaway! You could win a $100 gift certificate to Swimsuitsforall.com!

Have you heard of Habib Koite and Bamada? Well, have you? If you have, then I bow in awe. You know great music. If not, let me tell you a little story.

I bought a laptop with Vista a few years ago, and one day I learned that I had free music on there. One of the free tracks was of Habib Koite and Bamada's song Din Din Wo. Internet, the very next morning I went out and bought his latest album, Afriki. And then I put it on my iPod, and listened to it every day. Sometimes I couldn't stop myself from dancing at the bus stop, it just wasn't possible to resist the urge. And then I lost my iPod. For over a year, my iPod was somewhere in this hovel and I had no clue where.

Well, as you may remember, I have been CLEANING. I found that wiley iPod last weekend (in one of my purses, because I have dozens of vintage purses that I change almost daily). And it's a good thing, too, because man oh man, Habib Koite sure does heal the soul, I'm not even kidding. Takes the baby blues right away. Now I'm trying to convince a friend to go with me to West Virginia to see him play live, or else does anyone know which public servant is in charge of bringing musicians to Chicago? Because I'd be willing to bribe them... or, er, um, make a donation.

Here's Din Din Wo, the beginning of my addiction.



And here's another of my favorite songs, Nta Dima. I just love how asymmetrical the melody and beats are. At least in the beginning, because listen closely, Internet. The percussion slowly starts to synchronize. Somewhere around 2:20 they come together for 3 beats, and then move apart again. How did they do that? Seriously, how? The sophistication of it floors me. Habib Koite and Bamada are geniuses, and that is so not hyperbole.



Now. Anyone want to go to West Virginia with me so that I can throw my panties on the stage? And, um, did you notice that he's got a gap in between his front teeth? Yeah, I think that must be a sign of greatness.

The post I've been avoiding

Don't forget to enter the giveaway! You could win a $100 gift certificate to Swimsuitsforall.com!

A few of my beloved readers have emailed and/or commented to ask how the cycle is going. Here's a one word update: Not.

I am still on stims, and like always, my uterus is desperately clinging to the status quo while my ovaries are sitting around playing cards and arguing over whether or not Thor won the latest round of dominoes. They are not, however, busy growing follicles or even considering the possibility. I mean, why, you know, do anything when it's summer and there are things like poker championships on the Travel Channel?

How am I doing? Me? Well, I've never been into poker, and have never quite understood how it relates to travel. But then, I also don't get how eating electrical appliances relates, either.

I guess that's besides the point.

Overall, I am sorta doing ok, sorta doing well, sorta sitting around on a Friday night feeling sorry for myself. Here's a run down:

I'm glad that I made a copy of my chart from the Dr. Hottie Pants days. This has helped me learn a few things. I'm a little perturbed (HA! ready to buy small arms, is more like it) that The GES put me on a lower dose of stims than my last cycle with Dr. HP. I'm also annoyed that day after day NOTHING IS HAPPENING. However, I just noticed that my current cycle is mirroring my best cycle (read April's post) with Dr. HP. On that cycle, nothing happened, and then nothing continued to happen, and then all of a sudden Freyja had 7 follicles and Thor was playing hide and seek. So who knows? The GES told me that he's going to reevaluate my meds on Monday. We shall see.

And The GES... There is only one thing to say about The GES: I hate that motherfucker. Seriously, that awful bastard is like the second nastiest lizard-like creature I have ever met and my skin crawls when I so much as see him. His face reminds me of cockroaches. And when I hear his voice? It makes my stomach cramp and twirl. And the really awful thing is that it isn't him. Internet, he has been kind and professional and patient, never anything less than totally respectful. But I can't stand him, in the way that when he says, "Good morning, Shannon" I instantly want to gouge his eyes out with something, anything (as long as it's rusty and blunt, because I have standards, oh yes I do).

I don't want him to say my name. Ever.

I finally figured out - after a waking-up-kicking-and-screaming kind of nightmare - that I can't stand The GES, not because of anything he has said or done, but because he bears a striking resemblance to a certain filthy, vile, festering glob of cretin belly button scum whose name is a synonym for VOMIT, did you get that L? (Sorry, Internet, for the inside reference there.) This association is visceral and immediate, and it is causing me serious anxiety and stress. It's actually making ultrasounds physically impossible (I'm not exaggerating here). I am thinking that if it doesn't get better I will have to get some therapy to help me through it. I've considered changing REs, but there really is no reason to do that: He's a good RE, he's got good success rates, and I can't constantly run from things that freak me the royal fuck out. I've got to face this, and have faith that I can get through it because it isn't rational and I am strong and unafraid. Fuck that bastard, and I'm not referring to The GES here.

But enough of that.

So far, the running total is that I have four follicles that are measurable, and a billion gazillion on Thor that may end up causing this cycle to get cancelled. My estrogen is still in the "acceptable" range, but I don't know the exact number - I told them I don't want to know until later in the cycle. Or maybe after. I just don't want to obsess. I am so sick and tired of obsessing, you know? I am exhausted with the obsessing. I mean, it's summer, for Spaghetti's sake. Summer. In Chicago. Summer in Chicago, if you don't know, is the absolute bestest time in the whole wide world, and I want to be dancing at lunchtime music fests in Daley Plaza, not waiting for the damn RE's office to call.

That, and there's one other thing that's totally keeping my sanity together. But sorry, Internet, for that, you'll just have to wait. And my oh my, it's so worth waiting for. [PREPOSITION!]

Probably isn't relevant

Don't forget to enter the giveaway! You could win a $100 gift card to Swimsuitsforall.com!!!

Public service announcements come in all levels of seriousness, and I'm very glad that Bionic Mamas clued me into this one that, while perhaps not applicable to my personal situation, certainly did give me a chuckle. Although... I highly doubt I'll be taking the PSA's suggestion, seeing as how my ovaries SUCK ASS.

GIVEAWAY: $100 gift certificate to Swimsuits For All

Have you been trudging from store to store, searching for that perfect bathing suit? And then when you think you've found it, it's not in your size, or the color is an entirely wrong shade of green, or the cut is for either your grandmother or the hooker down the street? Well then, you are SOOOOO lucky that you came across this giveaway, aren't you?

The generous people over at Swimsuitsforall.com are giving one luckerrific Musings reader a $100 gift certificate to find the swimsuit of their dreams. And Internet? They really mean it when they say "Swimsuits for all." Most of their suits range from 8-24, with a couple of cuties going up to size 34. WOOT!

Here's my favorite:


And you know what? It really bugs that I can't win this contest, because that is ONE FINE SWIMSUIT, am I right? First beads, now swimsuits.... sigh. I think I'll just have to suck it up and get used to this, you know? Because I really do love these giveaways, and I think it is so rockin cool that companies are generous enough to sponsor them, even if I don't bag free stuff for myself. THANKS SPONSORS!!! YOU ROCK!!!

Friends, you know the drill:

One entry:

Leave a comment on this post.

TEN - count 'em, TEN - entries:

* Go on over to Swimsuitsforall.com and add yourself to their mailing list.

Two entries:

* Follow or add Musings to your reader and leave a comment on this post saying that you have done so. If you are already a follower or have added Musings to your reader, leave a comment to let me know.

* Visit Swimsuitsforall.com and browse. Pick out your favorite item and comment on it in the comments section of this blog.

Three Entries:

* Add this giveaway to Digg, StumbleUpon, Delicious or Facebook or the social networking site of your choice, then leave a comment saying you have done so. A tip: SocialMarker.com will let you add this to several different social media sites at once. 3 entries will be given for each add.

* Blog about this contest with a link back to this post, and leave a comment saying that you have done so.

Come on back on July 25. I'll post the winner then. Good luck!

Magic pajamas

PSA: The next giveaway starts tomorrow!

I have plumbing problems, and for once I am not talking about my girly bits here. You see, I live in a high rise that was built sometime during the Age of Aquarius, and for whatever reason, buildings constructed during that great Age have crap plumbing (no pun intended). Something about rust and lime and galvanized something-or-other that has a planned obsolescence of 40 years. Don't ask me to explain it, I'm not a plumber. For all I know, my pipes could be made of lead and that's why my grrrlnads are on vacation.

My plumbing problems - thanks to the rust and limestone - required calling a very special plumber, one with a patented thingamajig that made all kinds of weird noises (and the noises, surprisingly enough, sounded somewhat like techno) and that vibrated the water in the pipes. It didn't vibrate the pipes, mind you, because that, I was told, is an entirely different patent. No, this vibrated the water, which turned out to be a good thing because I now have freely running hot and cold water. HUZZAH! My cats, on the other hand, may take several days to get over the noise and OMG the strangers. In their domain. And a very handsome stranger, at that.

The upshot of all this is that 1) I didn't know plumbers could be so droolingly attractive, and thankfully he didn't show crack, despite having a cute butt; and 2) I got to work from home yesterday.

Internet, I love working from home, really, I do. I am seven times more productive, and definitely more cheerful. I think it has to do with the magically motivating properties of good pajamas. Worn all day long, of course (yes, even when Hottie McPlumber was here). Either that, or there is just something normal about working with the windows open. I worked to sounds of the Lake, children playing (there's a school across the street), and a marching band practicing. At work, all I hear is white noise and my coworker's stapler (thing sounds like a shotgun, I'm not even kidding, and no, it isn't red). In retrospect, it seems mighty artificial to be without listening to normal city life for 8 hours a day. No wonder I get more work done at home.

And then we can't forget that there's no commute when you work from home. This means no strangers sneezing all over me with their gross germy germs or crowded into a delayed train that smells like wet dog. And no crazy people, and noone breathing on my ear. Holy beJeebz, the breathers always freak me out. But I digress.

To celebrate my newly fixed water and lack of commute, at 5:15PM I went swimming in my pool, and then I took an extended shower in hot water. And then? Then I bribed my cats with the canned cat food, hoping they'd come out of hiding. Alas, it's now Tuesday, and I still haven't seen them. But that's ok, because I have hot water!

And, um... Cats.

And sorry I didn't get a picture of the plumber or the patented machine thing that he dragged up my stairs. I was working on a deadline. I tend to tune things out - even attractive men making all kinds of loud techno music in my shower - when I'm working on a deadline.

Side effects

One of the side effects of IVF - not the drugs, but the procedure - has been the overwhelming, undeniable urge to clean. And I mean the type of cleaning I usually reserve for the aftermath of catastrophies. Like after my dad died, man, my apartment was the poster child for the benefits of baking soda and white vinegar, I'm not even kidding.

Lately? Not so much. I just haven't had any reason to vent my spleen on the floors, you know? That, and because my condo is half the size of my old apartment, and has NO storage (and I really do mean no storage), wow, it is a sty. A sty. Let's just say that between the clutter and all the things for which I'd pay a handyman handsomely, I haven't invited anyone over in a long, long time.

But the thing is, I'm not a pack rat. Seriously. I don't collect anything, am not emotionally attached to stuff, and I could part happily with 90% of all the crap laying around. And the clutter is driving me insane, and the thought of adding another human to this hovel? YIKES. So, since I'm on an extended freak out over the egg retrieval (ANESTHESIA!!! AAACK!!!), I've been cleaning. Like, a lot.

And you know what happens when you haven't decrapped in a long time and your house is a sty? You find stuff. Oh my, yes, I have found stuff. Like lots of stuff. Here's a quick rundown:

Books. I have found books that I've been searching for, and that - :::cringe::: - I've bought more than once. And Internet? If you want to learn all about the 100 stupid its-all-your-fault-you-dumbass accidents that can happen while scuba diving, well, then email me. I have three copies of the book that will explain it all.

Cat toys. Can anyone explain to me how a handful of fake mice got on top of a 7 foot tall book shelf? Because I know I didn't put them there.

Toilet paper. I have 42 rolls of toilet paper in my upstairs closet. I know this because I counted. I'm thinking of making an art installation out of it and posting pictures here. I mean, seriously, how did I get 42 rolls of toilet paper? And my upstairs closet? That, by the way, is actually an emergency exit, but at the moment it's currently, um, more of a fire hazard.

Golf clubs. Ok, I love to golf. I'm total crap at it, but I love it. And bonus! It only takes one bus ride to get to the driving range. But... why do I have three drivers, all the same size and brand? The only answer I can think of is that I buy my clubs at thrift stores and garage sales and must not have inventoried before purchasing? (And OMG, here's a tip: If you want amazing clubs or bikes or inline skates, frequent the rummage and garage sales on the North Shore - bitter divorcees ROCK THE REVENGE by selling their ex's stuff dirt cheap, and hey, as long as it isn't cursed, I'm all about the bargain).

And with that, I head back to the hovel - without a shovel (HA! I'm a poet) - to continue on with my cleaning bender. I think I might treat myself with a martini afterwards.

And then maybe I'll call my friend S and beg her to help me organize my kitchen next weekend? Because she sorta offered? Are you reading this S? If so, you may not want to answer the phone when I call later today.

Happy July 11!!!

Internet, you may not be celebrating July 11, but I sure am. Know why? Do ya? It's because today I get to cut the Lupron in half. WOOPIE!!! Women-folk in the know swear to me that the side effects go to almost zilch when that magic day (TODAY) comes around, so I am all kinds of happy dancing right now.

Last night? Last night I could barely walk, let alone dance. Up until yesterday, the bone pain was pretty much from the hips up, but yesterday afternoon my muscles went all jello and my femurs started a bitch slapping contest with my tibias, and my tibias, in turn, began wailing at the moon. Meanwhile, the jello? Did I mention that, once again, my legs wouldn't walk? So between the slapping and the wailing and the jello, I now understand why the elderly walk slowly and a little stooped over. (And at the very least, Lupron has made me a much more compassionate person.)

Anyhoo, while at the 9 to 5, I considered my options. Door #1: Prescription ibuprofen, which didn't do anything besides make me wonder how the bloody hell I got that mammoth thing down my throat. Door #2: Go home and drink. (If I could barely walk sober, there was NO WAY I was going to a bar.) Door #3: Figure out a way to deal.

And so I went with Door #3 and headed to the movies to see The Hangover because if there is one thing I know cures pain, it's laughter. And word on the street was that The Hangover was funny. But that turned out to be a lie, because The Hangover wasn't funny, it was HYSTERICAL. Internet, if you haven't seen it, are not easily offended, and want to find yourself HOWLING with laughter, quit reading this right now and go to the movies. Seriously. I almost peed myself, and I think the guy behind me actually did pee himself. Oh my goodness.

And here's a tip: Make sure to stay for the pictures shown during the credits. I actually got to the theater early, and saw the pictures before the rest of the movie. It made no sense whatsoever, and I was all, Why are these wierdos laughing? It's not funny. But then? After I watched the movie? Well... Let's just say that I was the loudest of the wierdos.

So now here I am, blogging so that I can procrastinate doing yet more laundry, and all kinds of excited to start stims tonight. STIMS START TONIGHT! !!!YAY!!! I'm so lucky that I get to give myself three - THREE - injections: Menopur, Follistim and Lupron. And I'm totally stoked about it, if my dear readers will allow me to get all Spicoli with the 1980s surfer slang. Either way, happy dancing continues unabated!

And the winner is....

Janet and Maya

See that? I can play nice and tell you right away who won the magnificent area rug from CSNRugs.com. I won't make you wait, oh no I won't! Well, sometimes I'll be nice, anyway. And today? Internet, today is one of the days when I'm being nice. Enjoy!

A big thanks goes out to CSNRugs.com for their generosity. And another big thanks to everyone who entered my little contest! If you are looking to enter another giveaway, well then, come back here on July 15, when I'll be giving away a $100 gift certificate to Swimsuitsforall.com.

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Where I'm at

IVF is really wierd, you know? I thought it would be like injectible IUIs on steroids. Injectible IUIs are grueling in their monotony. One cycle ends, and three days later the next begins. I felt like I was never truly off the drugs, I was just in a lull in between the drugs and the ultrasounds. I thought IVF would be like that, only more so.

IVF, I've learned, is slooooooow. I have to remind myself that I'm actually doing this, because my Outlook calendar doesn't remind me EVERY FREAKING DAY that I have a wanding scheduled before the next sunrise. It really is all about hurry up! now wait! now hurry up! now wait! It reminds me of that Red Light Green Light game we used to play as kids. I would have almost forgotten that I was actually, you know, cycling, had I not just spent $450 on drug co-pays. Yikes.

And you know what's the wierdest thing about this whole IVF cycle thingy? It's that I feel so liminal. Like, there are all these women I know - online and in real life - who are either pregnant or have babies, and I have no way to relate to that. It isn't even a jealousy or sadness thing, it's more like a "I don't know what to say to that story about yellow-green poo," thing. Because I'm not sure I've ever seen yellow-green poo, and if I have I've totally blocked out the memory. I don't like to think about yellow-green poo, and I certainly wouldn't bring it up over dessert. Unless... Unless I was a new mother, because that's what new mothers talk about. Ditto for pregnant women, but the stories revolve more around how last night started PukeFest '09 and fatigue and Was it gas or the baby moving? And since I'm not a new mother and I'm not even close to being pregnant, I have no way to relate.

Then there are the women who are on the IUI bandwagon (or hamster wheel, depending on your perspective). I don't know what to say to them, either. They are all about injection this and Gonal F that, and I'm not there right now. I'm not stuck in IUIville anymore; I was there for far too long, even though I so don't want to be doing IVF. I feel guilty that I have such good insurance coverage that I can move on to IVF, and it's like I don't want to be Ms. Expert or Ms. Gloaty-Pants so I don't comment or speak or post messages for fear of offending.

And it doesn't really feel like I'm doing IVF, you know? It just feels like a nice break from Follistim and Menopur and (AAACK) progesterone and sobbing over discouraging pee sticks. I never ever thought I'd say this, but I'm actually looking forward to starting the Crazy Drugs on Saturday, because then I'll really feel like I'm cycling. I don't know if I'll ever feel like I'm making a baby, or that I'm on the road to the Mother 'Hood. I think IUI #6 crushed that optimism into the ground. But at least I'll feel like I'm doing something, like I'm being somewhat productive. And I'll start getting some feedback. Those AM dates with the dildo cam may suck ass, but they do, if nothing else, let me know what Thor and Freyja are (or are not) doing with their free time.

So yes, I'm actually eager for my first ultrasound tomorrow. I've had my break, and it was just long enough. I'm ready. I'm ready to face this and deal with it and go to the egg retrieval (please God let there be an egg retrieval!) with my head held high. And I'm realistic. For lack of a better simile, I'm like the soldier who has already had three tours of duty: I know what I'm in for, and I know the best and worst case scenarios. And I'm ready to deal with it, Crazy Drugs and all.

Public notice, or me begging the Intertubes

Work on that damn site is moving apace, albeit only from my end. I'm in need of some help, dear readers, so that I can launch the site on August 1. Did you see that? That, my friends, is a deadline. COME HELL OR HIGH WATER OR A HALF-FINISHED SITE, SO HELP ME GOD I WILL LAUNCH MUSINGSOFAFATCHICK.COM ON AUGUST 1. I will, I swear I will. You just watch me.

So now I could use a hand or seven. I have some needs, and I'm hoping my fantabulous readers will be able to help me out. If you've got any leads for me with the list below, please email me at shansterbaby at gmail dot com. Or leave a comment. I do so love the comments.

• A web designer. I only have a few things left to do to customize the blog. I've been told it will only take a few hours. So if you know of a web developer who is proficient with Wordpress and php and who is reliable and honest (and don't even get me started on the four web designers I've hired previously), please send them my way.
  
• A graphic designer. I'd like a banner for my site, one that is pretty and girly and matches the rest of the site (which, hopefully, will one day be pink).
  
• Etsy shop owners and crafters. See how there is a craft section on mah new bloggity blog? I'd like to post crafty stuff, like a picture and a quick pattern or write-up. If you or someone you know would like to be highlighted and enjoy some linky love, send an email or comment my way. I'm also getting together an Etsy-a-Day Giveaway for the month of August. If you or someone you know would like to have their shop highlighted and are willing to give one item to my readers, I'd love you forever and call you George. Ok, maybe I wouldn't call you George (unless that's your name), but I'd still sing your praises for a whole post.