The Way Things Are



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I received some spam
2005-07-15, 12:33 p.m.

I received some spam concerned with increasing my sperm load today, from one Lara Funk. Thatís a good stripper name, but I think I will stick with Fannie Stern.

OK, I think itís high time for an annual checkup. First of all, because itís been a year, hence the name ďannualĒ. Second, how many ovaries do I have and how many of them are supposed to ovulate every month?

Honestly, since Iím off the pill (as DWís sperm count is low, VERY LOW, ever since the vasectomy), I keep track of what to expect when by marking my little calendar based on when I ovulate. And believe me, me ovulating is an event the whole house experiences, either directly or vicariously.

First, Iím horny as hell for the two or three days preceding, and then when the actual event occurs, Iím in dire pain. Iím groaning, Iím clutching my side, Iím bitching and snapping and carping. Iím not noble about pain Ė Iím very cranky.

So that happened Tuesday before last, so one would assume that my period will start this coming Tuesday.

BUT.

The following Saturday, I experienced a milder (I typed milker at first, and I like that) ovulatory event, and I thought, huh! Both ovaries are wanting to get in on the action. OK, you just keep trying with your last gasp of fertility, right ovary. Go on with your bad self.

But now, a week later, itís doing it again. If DW werenít fixed, would I be gearing up for triplets? Are my ovaries just cranking them out in a last ditch attempt to spit out some eggs before the whole thing comes crashing down and Iím a dried out old crone?

Ha ha Ė just kidding. I know menopause, or perimenopause, or whatever, doesnít cause one to become a dried out old crone. Iíll be a dried out HOTT crone. Mmmmm Ė hott crones with butter.

Itís also time for an annual checkup because my little fibroadenoma (a little Skittle-feeling doohickey that lives in my left breastage/armpit area) no long waits to make an appearance at the onset of PMS. No, I can find it all month long, and it just gets a little sore at PMS. And how do I deal with soreness and pain? Yes, Iím cranky.

Seems I need to get this all checked out. Now, the hyper-ovulation isnít worrying me. Iím amused by it, except I could live without the achey pinchy feeling in my side. But my doctor gets very alarmed at any changes in my breasteses, and well, I like having someone fussing over me like that.

I feel that as long as Iím on top of it, monitoring it, checking it out, making a fuss, nothing will happen. Itís when we raise the alarm that events conspire to make us look foolish and alarmist. And itís when we let things lie that the old c-word creeps in andÖwell, we wonít talk about that, except to repeat, yes, once again, my mother had breast cancer at 42, and what am I looking at? Yes, Iím looking right down the barrel of 41.

Iím not worried so much as I am diligent about keeping on top of it, constant vigilance! so that I can ward it off with a combination of voodoo and irony.

In other news, I went for a little jog/walk/stagger/stumble this morning, and got so winded and sweaty that I thought I might puke. Since it was rather late in the morning, around 8:00, and it was broad daylight with lots of folks up and about and around, I decided to slow myself down, cool off, and avoid puking. Not that I have a horrible aversion to throwing up, no, not since the fishing trip last August (ever since which, I view a little throwing up as a manageable inconvenience, a pause in the conversation), but I just didnít want people to see me. Believe you me, if it had been super-early and dark, I would have gone for it, just so I could report to you, dear readers, and all those in my real life, that I am so freaking tough that I ran til I PUKED, man.

Instead, Iím just saying I felt like I might puke earlier today. How pathetic.

In addition to the Iggy Pop double-album anthology I pre-ordered yesterday (oh, and the latest Harry Potter book on CD [can you say $50+?] that should be shipping tomorrow), Iíve decided that what I really want for my upcoming birthday is a camera. A REAL camera, not a shitty little pitcher phone. A good camera for takiní real good pitchers. So that I can treat you all to many, many quality pictures of me like this:


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