Wednesday, March 29, 2006


So today I was sitting in a very dry, very boring training with my pal Lori. We were listening to this guy drone on about how there are people in society who are devalued and, as people who are paid to work with devalued people, we need to help them find value in their societal roles. As we were lounging in our ergonomically uncomfortable chairs taking page after page of notes, the woman in front of us begins talking about her son who has disabilities. No big deal, right? Well, then she goes into how she has been at odds with her son's service agency because she does not want him to have staff who are of a different ethnicity than him. My pen skittered across the paper, and I looked at Lori who was mirroring the same WTF? look as me. Our eyes telepathically saying, "Is this bitch for real?" The woman then said, "I want him to have staff who are his ethnicity so that when he's out, like at the doctor, people will think that he's with family."
Oh hell no. She did not say this in front of 25 professionals and expect to get away with it. Neither Lori nor I could say anything to her - we were there representing our agency, which is very politically tied to our field. Inside I was screaming, "So, I guess I need to start interviewing
Chinese women my age to take my daughter to the doctor, that way they'll assume she's with 'family,' bitch?" Of course I couldn't say a word. But if she could read minds, man, she would have heard that and more.
You know what pisses me off the most, though? No one in that frigging room said a damn thing - no one. That makes me maddest of all.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Because We're A Little Bit Dumb

B and I just went to get our passports today. Yes, I know we're stupid. Honestly, though, I didn't think we would need them until we traveled. Hello! We need them to get the Chinese Consulate to authenticate our documents pre-dossier. DANG! IDIOTS!
I'll be 40 before we get Ruby.

Friday, March 17, 2006


So for the past month I've noticed this bump on my outer corner of my left upper eyelid on the lash line that (unfortunately) resembles a whitehead. It's not sore or achy, just itchy when I wear my L'Oreal Paris Volume Shocking Mascara. Well, last night I fell asleep with my cosmetically enhanced lashes on, and this morning I ended up with the stinkeye. You know, the crusty, itchy, greenish, gunky eye that requires the application of a warm washcloth to open? It was even prettier because I looked like Petey from the Little Rascals.
I de-glue the lid and see that my bump is bigger and the corner of my eye is a little irritated. I do the no makeup route for work, which is good for everybody, and call my optometrist's office. They fit me in after lunch. Logically, I know the optometrist's office isn't a real hotbed of crisis and drama, all filled up with emergency eye issues. However, it is nice that they always work me in on the day I call. In my heart, I like to think it's because I have been going to this same family practice for 30 years. That's a lotta clams on exams, glasses, contacts, and bump removal.
Dr O takes one look at my stinkeye and breaks out the heavy artillery. Within 30 seconds of sitting down, I have my head at a funky angle and he has on the headwrap/headlight and the magnifier. He numbs my eyeball with stinging yellow goop, and uses gigantic tweezers to pluck out several eyelashes. OUCH. For a minute there, I started feeling a little like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Marathon Man, even though Dr. O is not a Nazi dentist, and I am not a short, Jewish method actor.
Anyway, Dr. O informs me that I have a "blocked gland" and I need to put wet heat on my lid as often as possible in order for the white gunk to "express or disperse." If my stinkeye doesn't go down in a week, he's gonna "clip it off."
Uh, hell no.
After this trauma which has taken all of 10 minutes from start to finish, I decide to call my mom on the way back to work. As I am telling her all about it, she interrupts me and says, "Oh, you used to get those all of the time when you were a kid."

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

One Step Closer

We got our I-171H! The federal government approved us to be adoptive parents - B's rep as a punk rock rebel just flew out the window. Ha!
B & I went out to dinner at the Rio Grande to celebrate. Those who are familiar with us know how pathetic we are in our love for some Rio. This time, however, the excuse to go was pretty damn valid.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Guilty Pleasures

The other day while my friend Tami and I were in the car for an extended period of time traveling for work purposes, we were listening to the XM Radio, cruising for the stations and hit upon Berlin's The Metro. We turned it up and sang along with every word. This got me thinking about guilty pleasures. You know, those things you just don't like to admit you love? Well, I'll tell you my top ten and just let it all hang out. What's a little honesty between friends, right?
Shhhhh... Don't tell anyone but I love...

  1. All Michael Jackson songs up to the album (CD) Dangerous. Even though he's a freak and possibly molests small children, the man can sing. If he didn't have such rabid fans and could go beyond his freak stigma to tour again, I would be there. In.a.heartbeat.
  2. Blue books. The steamier and raunchier the better. I will own up to reading romance novels, but wont discuss the ones that make the faint of heart have palpitations with anyone but my friend Caroline (who reads them too).
  3. Laying in bed right before I go to sleep, I will picture myself walking down the red carpet waving to fans and talking to Joan and Melissa or Star Jones. It relaxes me, and it's way better than counting sheep.
  4. Rubbing my butt before I go to sleep. Most of the time I make B do it, but if he doesn't, I will do it myself. Shut up and get your mind out of the gutter. Think massage. The legal kind, people!
  5. Cutting my toenails in hotels. Yep, I am the nasty one.
  6. The band Styx. They are cheesy, but I have a deep abiding love for Dennis DeYoung and Tommy Shaw. The Grand Illusion is one of the best albums ever, and no one can change my mind. BTW, I forced Tami to endure Mr. Roboto the day before we heard Berlin. She was appropriately traumatized.
  7. Drinking my morning coffee before I brush my teeth. It tastes better that way.
  8. The TV shows thirtysomething and Saved by the Bell. I will stop whatever I am doing, and like a deer in headlights, will watch either of these anytime they are on.
  9. Catching C in a lie. I know it's bad of me to find pleasure in making her squirm, but in so many ways it's rewarding. She truly believes I can see and hear everything she does.
  10. Popping B's zits. It's disgusting and gross, but there's a sick fascination that drives me to just grab and go. He hates it, but he endures. Man, I am really sick.

So, now that you think I am gross, have terrible taste in music, and probably a sexual freak, let me ask you this - What's your guilty pleasure?

Don't leave me out here all alone. Freak that I am.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


Yesterday, I found myself wandering around T. J. Maxx killing time before my Curriculum Learning Theories class. It seemed like everything in the store was on sale. I was bombarded with 70% off signs on all sides as I cruised through the purses and was pretty shocked to see this bag for only $99! Not very tempted, I moved on, breezing through the shoes, socks, and panties adding black socks and pantyhose to my cart. I wheeled through home goods and debated sheets. I almost wrecked my cart in the gourmet foods section when I slid in some spilled jam. Then I caved to the sirens call of the children's section.
Like the Borg say, "Resistance is futile."
Ever the sinner I fondled, lusted, and coveted. I rubbed small marled cotton Calvin Klein sweaters marked down to $7 between my fingers. I imagined Ruby wearing navy blue $12 Ralph Lauren jumpers. I wallowed in seersucker sundresses with matching pantalettes. A sensual feast, I roamed and dreamed. As I rounded a 4-way filled with Easter frocks, my eyes were drawn to the Heavenly light bathing this...I rolled on the tide of tiny baby clothing and crashed right into that island. I inspected it from stem to stern looking in vain for a price tag. I finally located it hidden seductively in the folds of the seat and almost passed out.
One Hundred Thirty Nine Dollars.
A $300.00 stroller that's over 50% off!
Lust overwhelmed me as I slowly backed the cart away from the stroller. My hands trembled as I reached into my purse to grab the cell and call B. Knowing he would tell me what I wanted to hear, all I needed was the go ahead and it would be mine.
But I didn't. I resisted.
I put the phone back and immediately went to the checkout; the siren song of "Discount, you know you want this, you need this" echoing in my brain as I paid for my socks and pantyhose.
I don't buy anything baby because I am terrified. I am terrified we will be rejected. All of these rational and not so rational reasons float through my head all the time. Maybe China will say no because of my weight. Maybe because B has Lupus. Maybe they'll think we're ugly. Maybe because we don't have a religion. The list goes on and on.
I made a deal with myself way back during my infertility treatment that I would not buy any baby items until I knew for certain I was having/getting a baby. At this point, we still don't know.
Call me superstitious if you like, that's okay. I have to be safe and separated until I know for sure we are going to get Ruby (I didn't even want to talk names until B forced my hand and told me that the social worker would think I was too guarded and unsure if I didn't at least try). If I bring that into my house and my fears become reality I don't think I can handle it.