Delores Melon

I have this friend. Wait.. lately, I have LOTS OF FRIENDS. Hells yeah. But we’re not discussing that at the moment. This is a dear old friend. She’s way old too. LOL Ok, so she has this blog. Read it here: Don’t Expect Much. We’re going to try something new and do a blog style Q & A. I’m going to ask a lot of the absurd questions that pop into my head and she’s going to try not to cry and answer them as best she can. heh heh.

So.. keep an eye out for that. *wink wink*

I just heard today from my IM. So far the egg donor has 19 follicles.. which means there are potentially 19 eggs. They did say the follicles were just a bit smaller than they wanted so they’ve increased her meds and this might only set us back a day or so. No biggie. We’ll know more about eggs and follicles on Friday. Fingers crossed.

I was told today I have a “beautiful” uterine lining. Please please… hold the applause. I have been injecting strange things into my body in recent weeks and today, I knew it was worth it. So, here’s what’s up wit all dat….

Basically my IP’s are using a new egg donor this go round. They are also doing a shared donor cycle which means they and two other couples are using the same donor. Now, because my IP’s already have a child they are knocked to the bottom of the list. So, if the egg donor doesn’t produce a certain amount of eggs, my IP’s are out this cycle. Yeah, I know right. BOO.

Let’s just assume things work out fine. In fact, let’s meditate a moment and bring calm to this blog post. Thank you. Now, when things work according to plan, we go to transfer either June 3rd or June 5th. Squirtin the ole embryo into the ole baby baker. That sounds crass.

In other news, I’m planning the worlds largest yard sale ever. Planning being the operative word here. What I’ll manage is probably just a ho hum yard sale. I am so sick of my decor, and the funny thing is.. I really don’t even have a “decor”. I have crap slung around. I’m sick of my dishes, but I can’t really afford the money to get a new one or the energy necessary to pick out a design. I’m ultra anal and it would take months to pick a decent design. So I’m selling all the extra fluff from my pattern that I don’t use. Like saucers. Who the hell uses saucers? That and my useless canister set. It’s not even AIR TIGHT. How am I supposed to store my sugar if bugs can just climb right in? Tell me please. I’ve eaten buggy sugar before. It ain’t so sweet.

I also seem to have an abundance of hermit crab supplies. That’s mildly embarrassing to admit. My in laws took Thing 1 to the beach one year and brought him back with a hermit crab. Shouldn’t you run these things by the PARENTS before you do that. Me being the ridiculous individual that I am, insisted on providing a mansion for this hermit crab. We somehow ended up with 22 crabs at one time. That was our peak crab population.

So this should be an interesting yard sale.

I love when I lose my train of thought mid blog post. YAY for ADD!

Man and I met in an ONLINE CHAT ROOM. That’s me emphasizing the point. I think I’ve discussed this previously but in case I didn’t I’ll try to recap briefly. I was doing my normal AOL “*insert my state here*’s chat room” shenanigans and apparently, so was Man, from the comfort of his room. He, however, was showing his cousin the fun to be had online. So somehow we started chatting in a private room. Which isn’t nearly as dirty and nasty as it sounds. What I did not realize though, is that I was chatting with two people. Not one.

They combined the finer points of each of them into this persona. Unfortunately I was completely annoyed by this “person”. I definitely remember telling him I lived in bumblefuck, *insert my state here*. I’m so eloquent. I didn’t learn until later that he was a prude that didn’t use “harsh” language. Whatever. For some reason, though, I was intrigued all the same. We chatted for weeks and I eventually found out about the initial LIES. Man got me straight on the facts that pertained to him. I honestly couldn’t stand him those early chats. His ego was astounding. Still is. At least now I can withhold sex to spite him.

So after a few weeks of mindless chatting, we upgraded to the telephone. That’s when I started to soften. Although he would imitate his DOG TALKING.. which was pretty damn annoying and I remember telling him not to do that anymore. It annoyed me that much, I remember it thirteen years later. So, we chat, then talk, then agreed to meet. By this time, though, I was pretty much mush for him. I don’t know what changed but it did. My parents could tell I wasn’t nearly as nasty as I normally was. I don’t think I was farting flowers or anything but I wasn’t kicking puppies either.

We planned to meet at the mall that was pretty much equal distance to both of us. I figured a mall was safe since most serial killers don’t massacre their victims outside of Sears. Although, how convenient would that be… run into Sears, but a chain saw, hack up the body in the parking lot with brand new chain saw. You could handle any returns immediately should your brand new chain saw have trouble cutting through the skull. I digress.

What I remember about our first meeting: I parked near his vehicle without knowing which was his. I was really shocked how good looking he was, since the picture he sent almost made me change my AOL account information. He had REALLY NICE LEGS. *still does.. heh heh…* I remember this but it’s fuzzy… apparently we were discussing how people that live in his hometown are notorious for missing a lot of teeth, and he showed me that he’s chock full of pearly whites. Like, he grinned this crazy person grin to prove he wasn’t a true hillbilly. Swear to god.

What HE remembers: I wore a skirt with sneakers. In my defense I wore Keds. It’s totally OK to do that AND this was the nineties. He’s now my official fashion consultant. He remembers that I made him go shopping with me prior to the movie so I could buy an ugly skirt. That’s what he remembers. My skirt and sneaker faux pas and ugly skirt fetish. He also remembers what he wore.

So we went to dinner first. I ordered a stuffed baked potato. I am positive I went for that because whenever I go somewhere that even slightly involves anxiety, my intestines form a revolt. I could go a week with no food, barely any water and if someone invited me to a public gathering, magic poo would form in my bowels and cause me to have diarrhea. All NIGHT. Anyway, he ordered the same thing because allegedly, he couldn’t think straight and just ordered what I ordered.

After dinner we went to a movie, The Rock I believe. A good movie. He didn’t talk through it. I might have. We didn’t make out. Remember, he’s mister goody two-shoes. Plus we weren’t fourteen years old. After the movie we laughed when we realized how close we parked. I tried to show him my tattoos.. on my boob and pelvis. He recalls me throwing myself at him. I recall being miffed he didn’t want to see my tattoos. He kissed me on the cheek.

I drove home and called my mom on my cell phone that was as big as a shoe (nineties, remember) and said “hubba hubba”. Yes, I really said that.

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first. go HERE: Awesomeness
Come back when you’re done. It’s 18 minutes long.

Surrogacy update:

Started lots of fun meds on the 7th. I’ve been giving myself Lupron injections in my gut. I have various blue, purple and brown spots… that sort of resemble hickeys on my belly. It’s lovely. (I started this post a few days ago). I’ve now moved on to the bigger needles that go in my butt. Now THAT is lovely. I’ll get into this more in a soon-to-come post. I promise.

A request has come in for information on my first date with Man. A tale indeed. I will begin the brainstorm and delight you with the deets soon enough!

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I’m going to begin the fishing story. I’m not making promises that the story will be told in all it’s entirety in this post.

My son received a set of kids fishing rods for Christmas last year. Recently the idea of fishing came up. The other day, he and Man pulled out their fishing collection. Man decided to clean up his old fishing rods and sort through his tackle box. While doing this in the driveway, the children, Thing 1 and Thing 2, entertained themselves by casting into the front yard. Hookless. Fortunately the neighbors car made it through the fun unscathed.

Seeing what fun this was, I too wished to show Man I could wrangle the rod. (oh go ahead.. laugh, that’s a good one). In a moment of mental lapse, I commented that I loved fishing. Ok, now let’s pause the story a minute to analyze my comment to Man. First of all, the one and only time I recall actually fishing, I was with my homosexual variety neighbors. I was also somewhere in the ballpark of 12 years old. Bass Pro shop didn’t need me as their spokesperson. I really don’t recall being overly enthused about the whole ordeal. I vaguely remember a fishing trip on a big boat, but to be perfectly honest, the only thing I recall about it is the man with the humongous stomach that looked like a big bagel to me. I don’t even know who I was there with. I know I couldn’t get over a human being having a stomach that huge and there not being several fetuses in there.

So, I tell Man I’m this avid fisherman and “I sure as shit would LOVE to go fishing”. Next, and clearly because I’ve got some sort of brain aneurysm, I tell him I’m going to go buy my OWN fishing rod! HOLY SHIT I’VE LOST MY MIND. “What’s the big deal?” you ask… I’ll tell you. Now, NOW, Man thinks I want to do something WITH THE FAMILY. Initially that sounds fine. It is. Really. However, and don’t tell a soul.. Mom’s don’t ALWAYS want to do things with the family. Once in a while, we like to be alone. By ourselves. No kids allowed. See now though, he thinks I want to go fishing every friggin time HE wants to go fishing.

Now I’m “hooked”. (OMG, best pun ever.) So we decide one fine afternoon to go fishing. There’s a family that lives down the road that has this gorgeous lot with a huge pond filled with Bass and Sun Fish. They graciously welcome Man because they love him. *gag* Man has dutifully readied all of our fishing rods, all five of them. (Yes, there are only four of us). He even puts the worms on. This should have tipped him off about the true extent of my fishing enthusiasm. I wasn’t touching worms.

We’re all set, he gets the kids’ rods cast out and casts mine out for me. Pffff…. piece of cake. So I reel it back in so I can cast it myself. It’s at this moment I vaguely recall him saying something about the tree I’m standing next to. The weeping willow that is hanging low over the edge of the pond. So I pull it back and let ‘er rip. Yes, I did in fact hook the god damn tree. Not just hooked, I lasso’d that bitch. The hook had completely encircled a few branches, leaving the bobber and the poor worm still wiggling on the hook just dangling in the tree. I did that. All. By. Myself. I felt bad for the poor worm still wiggling on the hook.

I yanked on it a bit, thinking I’d just rip a few bits of the branches off and it would come free. Nope. Somehow, the line did eventually break freeing the bobber, but the hook and that poor worm still hung in the branch. I noticed some time later they had fallen in the pond.

Wait, there’s more. That was just the first ten minutes.

Man gets my line straight, sets me up with a new hook and worm and sends me farther down the pond where there are no trees. Meanwhile the kids start actually hooking fish. Even Thing 2 snags a couple. It took me many tries but I eventually got the hang of casting and was able to put my hook out where the fish seemed to be loitering. Yeah, I totally snagged a few.

Interjection here: Man had bought himself new fishing paraphernalia. Included in that was new fishing line. He replaced the cheaper line in the kids rods but we figured my Target store rod was ok with the line it came with. Therefore, I had the only rod without the new, fancy schmancy fishing line.

Back to the story, with my cheap line: I cast out and my frickin line snapped; once again leaving the bobber and hook out on their own, thanks to me. Man somehow used his fishing line to hook my wayward bobber and hook. At this point I was pretty much done fishing. I contented myself with taking a billion photos of Thing 1 and Thing 2 as they reeled in fish after fish. Somehow seeing Thing 2 reel in a bass on her Snoopy fishing rod made my fishing fiascoes that much worse.

I endured two hours of this.

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