So yeah.

We're cancelled.

You may have figured this out by now.

Or you may have read about it elsewhere.

Regardless, it's true. Cancelled. Try again. Better luck next time.

Blech.

So here's a picnic. Since the meds didn't work quite right, we have to clear things out in an attempt to get ready to start anew.

Okay. Fun!

Basically I was told to give myself the 'trigger' shot, the special cocktail of hormonal goodness that forces ovulation. I've taken this drug a bunch of times for other cycles we've done in the past and it was no sweat. Out popped the egg, maybe two, that had been growing thanks to the medication, and on we went.

But not this time.

Oh no.

You see, while the medication balance for the cycle wasn't quite right for me, I still did develop a number of eggs. They may not have matured entirely, but they were big enough that they needed to go.

All 11 of them.

Yes, you read that right. I had 11 follicles developing, and the trigger shot ensured that they vacated the premises en masse.

Ever been punched in the ovaries before?

Me neither, but I now can relate to those that have. Fuck.

It's getting better now, thankfully. But ouchie ouch ouch, it hurt something fierce.

The silver lining in all of this is that now I get to do some fun things in August that might otherwise have remained on the back burner.

For example, Hubs, DeeDee and I can go to my sister's place in Waterloo this long weekend. I can drink. I can go in their pool. All things I would not have been able to do had things gone ahead as planned.

And I can drink. Did I mention that? Hehe. Yes, I realize it's somewhat sad to take so much pleasure in being able to drink, but cut me some farking slack, yo. I have to get through this somehow, and if a POMtini or two puts a smile back on my face, it's worth it.

Just ask Hubs, it would most certainly be worth it.

I'll also be able to drink for my 35th birthday, now merely three flippin weeks away. It would have been hard enough without alcohol, but hell, I would have been pregnant if this had worked, so I would have found a way to be okay with it.

Now, I can get blotto and not worry. Good times.

Sorry I haven't been around these past few days, but it's been hard. So much that I've wanted to say, yet so much time spent in limbo waiting for phone calls and confirmations of the worst. At the same time, I've been trying to focus on the good things in my life so that I can retain the already tenuous grip I have on sanity right now.

I'm walking one heck of a tightrope, folks. And seeing as I have the grace of a water buffalo, it's going to take all of my strength just to stay upright.

Thanks for keeping me steady.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Bitterness, thy name is diva

Well holy fuck.

Pardon the profanity, but I'm really pissed at the universe. Again.

Quel surprise.

I'm just damned sick and tired of being infertile and being crapped on by the babydust bitch.

That little tramp decided she'd left me alone for far too long and so today, she pulled up in her scuzzy paneled van and threw a flaming bag of poo at my doorstep.

And it stinks.

Yes, we're back in fertility land. I've kept a bit quiet about it because it's been awhile and I'm really trying to not have it dominate my entire being as it has in the past. And I had been doing a somewhat decent job of it.

Until lately.

So yeah, things aren't going according to plan. Which sucks hairy ass, 'cause as we started this whole thing, we were told that we were going into it with ideal conditions.

And no one had ever said that to us before, so you can imagine how we clung to that like a lifeline.

Well, now it appears as though we're drowning, and someone's yanked our precious floatation device right out from underneath us.

Bitterness, today thy name is most indeed diva.

Now, I should say that all hope is not lost. We're not completely out yet. But it really is looking that way. So I've done my crying (not all of it, I'm sure - but I do need to rehydrate in order to actually get my body to produce new tears) and I'm in my angry, bitter phase.

I do hope it's all for nothing, and that tomorrow I look like a real stupid diva for getting all riled up over what might actually never materialize. I'd happily take back this post and all the crappy things I said about the universe if she actually comes through for us just this one time.

Pretty please, Ms Universe. I've tried to be good. I've tried to be nice. I've even tried to be patient. But we've waited so long, spent so much and come so far, I'm just not prepared for this to be over already, ya hear?

Pretty please with sugar on top.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

My mother in law

Ah, the much maligned mother in law.

Some mothers in law make you nuts. Some make you angry. Some make terrible, inappropriate comments. Some make you feel like you'll never be a part of the family. Some make you cringe every time you have to set foot in their home. Some make you feel like you must deliver a grandchild (or seven) in the next year. Preferably less.

As for me? My mother in law?

She makes me....jewelery.

That's right! I totally lucked out in the in law department. I believe I've mentioned this before but it certainly bears repeating. I got plain stinking lucky. And not just because she makes me cool stuff.

I've got two fab sisters in law and a mother in law that, besides never doing any of the nasty things I outlined above, has recently taken up jewelery making.

And the woman is a wiz with beads!

She's emptied out every bead store within a gazillion mile radius, and sweet holy crap the stuff she puts together! I'm seriously impressed! And you know it takes a goodly deal to impress this diva in the accessories department!

I've snapped some photos of but a few of the goodies she's compiled. Some specifically with me in mind, and others, well...I've snagged them from her massive bag of possibilities.

So far, she's made more than 150 sets. Most are necklaces and earrings, some are necklaces alone, and some include bracelets.

And they're all pretty freaking sweet!

Take a peek! Apologies for the crappy photography - don't have the super duper camera that would really do all of these justice. Someday though!!




Anyway, gives you a pretty decent idea of what she can do. Now is that impressive or what?

And the crazy thing is she has over 150 sets of these all done and ready to go.

But what to do now? We'd love to find a way to set her up so she can make a bit of money off of all her hard work. We've tossed around eBay but that's a challenge since she's not a fan of the computer. I think she might bunk with a friend at her local flea market and see if she can make some headway there.

Regardless of what she wants to do next, it's just so cool to see her get into something she loves and that she's truly good at. I just had to show off all her hard work!

Yep, truly hit the jackpot this time. Lucky, lucky diva.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Nothing much today

Howdy.

I'm trying to write every day, so here I am.

But not much to say on this Tuesday. I stayed home from work today because I had a terrible night. Woke up a bunch of times and was sick. Didn't get much sleep. Felt absolutely gross.

I wondered if it had anything to do with the drugs. Upon further reflection I don't think so - in fact, I think it was instead something I ate. Nevertheless, I was exhausted and dehydrated, so I made the decision to stay home, rest, and suck up the fluids.

I'm feeling a bit better now, just tired still and fighting off yet another headache from all of these insane weather systems. When will we see a nice, clear, stable-barometric-pressure day again?!

Sigh.

So just a really quick hello my lovelies today. Now it's time to head off to bed and hope that tonight is a vast improvement over last night's travesty.

Ciao for now! Hope I have much more exciting topics to discuss tomorrow!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Booze without booze

So.

We're back on the fertility bandwagon, and I'm at a point right now where it's not the best idea to consume alcohol while on the medication.

Okay, fine. The things I sacrifice in the name of trying to get pregnant.

It's not that I'm a huge boozer, truly. But I do enjoy my drinks. Always have, always will.

I mean, it's summer time! Nothing goes down better than a cold brewski after a long, hot day at work. Gawd, it sounds like I toil in the coal mines or something. But still...a cold beer is super yummy after a day at the office.

So I've decided that I won't give up beer in its entirety. As we were headed to a party on Saturday, I elected to suck it up, made a beeline to the Superstore, and for the very first time, purchased a 12 pack of near beer.

Whoooo-ahhhh. Near beer. Molson Excel.

I am one

wild

diva.

Watch out, I've had four Excel's and I...have to pee.

That's about it.

The problem, I've subsequently found, is that the stuff doesn't really taste all that much like beer.

Bummer.

They only sell it in cans, and I've always hated the taste of a canned beer. I lived in residence in university for four years and the only beer we could bring in was in cans. Blech.

Pfft. At least that beer had, well, beer in it.

I decided that I'd have one with dinner tonight. Try to spice up my meal. Make me feel like I wasn't missing anything.

Meh. Maybe I should have just quit cold turkey. This is such a tease, 'cause 'near' is nowhere near enough in my books.

I also procured some .5% wine coolers. $1.49 for some lemon ice wine cooler thing. Hehehe. Too funny.

But that fared much better than the beer. It looked like a cooler so I could blend in with my drinking friends, it tasted like a cooler, so I felt like I actually was drinking like all my drinking friends, and it had pretty much no alcohol in it whatsoever.

The kicker? 34 grams of carbs per bottle.

Snap.

I'm just not destined to win this mocktail game. 34 grams of carbs is way too much for this diabetic to consume in a stinking drink.

So I have two choices....beer that doesn't really taste like beer, or caffeine free diet Coke.

With options like these, however shall I choose?

Sigh.

All for the greater good, I keep telling myself. Please god, let this all be for the greater good.

Off to finish the last of my 'beer' now. At least I can use it to wash down those meds!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Put your danged belly away!

No, despite the title and my current infertile status, I'm not issuing a blanket directive to all pregnant women. They only have so much choice of where to put the belly anyway!

Instead, I'm referring this evening to those of the so called fairer sex who decide it's hip, cool, and generally okay to expose their midriffs for all the world to see.

A small percentage of the female population can actually get away with this. The ladies with the concave bellies who work out like crazy, eat really well, and upon viewing, basically make me feel even worse about my diva physique than I do on a regular day. Yep, they're the ones.

They can pull off the belly shirt. And I'm okay with being exposed to that flat patch of flesh - hell, they work that hard to get it, hells yeah, show it off to everyone who walks by!

The rest of the ladies out there - and really, you should know who you are - should, before leaving the house, ensure that there is full fabric coverage throughout the entire midsection area.

See, this is a no brainer for me. Never shall my fish belly white tummy region see the light of day. Never gonna happen.

Hence its current state of fish belly whiteness.

Shit, I'll even do the stretch test just in case. You know, I'll stand in the change room as I'm trying something on and do a fake reach up with one arm to be sure the belly doesn't slip out the sides of my shirt. 'Cause you never know when you'll be called upon to fetch an item from a tall shelf or forced to thrust your arm skyward to grip the middle bar on the subway.

But for some reason, other gals just don't get it. They apparently see nothing wrong with flaunting their muffin tops and love handles to anyone graced with eyeballs. They care to not cover up in public. And to me, it's just plain wrong.

Maybe they don't see anything amiss when they look in the mirror. I suppose that's not entirely a bad thing. In this day and age of 12 year olds wearing minuscule string bikinis and modeling their diet and lifestyle after the Olsen twins, maybe feeling okay about your body, muffin top and all, is a rather healthy mental state.

But when I see a white belly replete with stretch marks and ripples coming my way, I nevertheless break out into a full body shudder.

I say this somewhat tongue in cheek of course, mostly because I am nowhere close to those super fit, flat tummy-ed girls that I barely have the energy to aspire to be, let alone aim for. I know that no one would ever want to see my belly in its fleshy goodness. Hell, my upper arms rarely make public appearances - there's no way my diva pooch will ever see the light of day.

And therein lies the difference.

I know better.

I KNOW not to wear a shirt that's too short for me. I KNOW that my pants/skirt/shorts must come up to a certain point in order to prevent exposure. I KNOW that specific tshirts will never meet my length requirements, and therefore I do not leave the store with them in my possession.

Now if only I could convince some of the walking fashion disasters that cross my path on a daily basis to embrace my simple techniques I'd be just plain delighted.

Until then, I'll have to stick to my current practice of averting my eyes as best I can.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

First one's free, next one's $5.99.

I've become a pusher.

Not really anything I ever aspired to do, but here we are nonetheless.

But fret not - no need to shield your children or addictive-personality friends, etc, I ain't peddling crack.

No no, my good friends...instead, I've recently been peddlin' some kick ass chocolate. As addictive as crack, but without all those pesky side effects and legal ramifications.

And it's soooooo goooooood.

Here's the story - a few weeks ago, maybe even months now, MMK emailed me a link to get free chocolate.

Talk about a call to action - I clicked on that sucker PDQ, filled in their online survey, and waited to see if I was accepted.

Turns out they were looking for 300 people from a few cities across Canada to be part of Dove chocolate's word of mouth marketing campaign. And hells yeah, they chose me as one of the lucky 300.

My job? To eat chocolate. Give chocolate out to other people and listen to what they had to say. Talk about chocolate.

How I suffer for my treats.

I became a very popular person, especially when my package of goodies arrived. And despite my desire to lock the door, turn off the lights, and keep all the chocolaty yumminess to myself, I did my Dove-ly duty and became the Robin Hood of chocolate. I gave rich, chocolate goodness away to my poor, unsuspecting friends and colleagues.

I've never felt so popular.

Sure, they only wanted me for my chocolate (picture knocks on the door, random email messages, Facebook wall posts, all politely requesting more, more, more). But I figured they could come for the chocolate, and stay for the diva.

The jury's still out on that one.

Nevertheless, it was great to actually be involved with a really good product. I'm relieved to say that no one I shared it with thought it was crap and/or that they'd never eat it again. Instead, I've had lots of people ask where to buy it (try your fave mart - Shoppers Drug Mart, Wal-Mart, etc), how you can buy it (larger tablet form, purse packs with four individually wrapped pieces, and larger cartons with more than four individually wrapped pieces), and what flavours they have (milk, dark, 71% dark (in tablet only), and my personal fave, dusk, a mix of milk and dark. Rawr.).

I've attached some photos for your reference, 'cause if you've ever been in the US and purchased Dove there, it's the same brand, but different. This is the good stuff you can get in Canada, so don't miss out! The photo on the left shows you the purse packs. Strange though - not sure how many of these actually make it to the purse. It's just too easy to consume four of these puppies in one sitting.

Then again, I've always had issues with self- control...

Moving on...

So there you have it. All in all it was a very good experience, but then again, when is getting free premium chocolate a bad thing?

Exactly.

Give it a try if I haven't tossed a nibble or two your way as of yet. You won't regret it. Try the Dusk...it's my fave.

And just to make things perfectly clear, I get nothing from the Dove folks other than some free chocolate, a notebook, a pedi kit and a wine glass. Yes, a somewhat odd assortment of goodies, but I believe in being transparent, so there ya go. I don't make any money if you buy Dove, and I won't lose my house if you don't, so let your taste buds and pocketbook guide you!

Speaking of what I get and don't get, and on a completely different note, I wanted to thank everyone for their comments and suggestions on what to do with that pesky upper lip fur. I did try the Parissa and I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it. I don't think I used it correctly, 'cause it didn't do what I had hoped it would. I don't think I warmed it up enough in my hands, because it didn't pull much off, to my chagrin. I got the after burn feeling but the hair remained.

I will say, though, that the little bottle of oil stuff to cool your skin afterwards worked like a charm. So I'll reserve my judgment until I try the stuff a second time to see if I just did it wrong. Totally possible.

In a weird twist, I actually got an email from the people who do the PR for Parissa because I had mentioned their product. Intriguing! Hi Parissa folk! Your product does come very highly recommended, so I'll give it another shot and hope for better second results.

So there you have it, Monday's product review post. And look at me, posting so early in the day! Gotta love taking Monday's as vacation day.

And now the whole night lays ahead of me. Hubs is cooking stuffed sole for dinner tonight - yes, that's right, I'm actually going to attempt adding fish to my culinary repertoire. If you know me, you know that's huge. So wish me luck.

In the meantime, I'm a wee bit PMS-y today. Lemme see, where's that Dove chocolate?

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

A diva confesses

No, I'm not here to once again confess that I've been a bad diva for not writing enough. You already know that - hardly a confession!

Instead, I write today to discuss something I rarely talk about but that haunts me on a daily basis. I can barely look in the mirror without obsessing over it. I see it, and I know others can potentially see it too, if they look for it. I think of all the different ways I could deal with it, then attempt to go about my day as best I can.

My confession?

I kinda have a moustache.

Now before you start picturing me with crazy black hairs sprouting in every direction from my pretty upper lip, stop yourself. Back that truck up and allow me to explain.

First, it's a somewhat blonde 'stache, thankfully. There are a few thicker, coarser, black hairs, you know the ones - they just keep coming back despite repeated pluckings. But generally speaking I can keep them at bay with my handy dandy tweezers. Fabulously painful tool, those tweezers.

But tweeze my entire upper lip I simply cannot. Too many hairs, most of them fine and lightly coloured, and just too much pain to pull them all out one by one. My pain threshold just ain't that high.

So what's a diva to do? On occasion I'll splurge and spend an extra $8 to get the upper lip waxed when I'm out getting my mani pedi. But wax and I aren't always the best of friends.

No, that waxy bitch leaves behind a whole host of other issues. Sure, the hair may be gone, but it its wake is left a trail of blemishes (that's fancy diva talk for zits) that overtake my upper lip area.

WTF?

Drives me nuts.

And they're painful blemishes too. Darn right! As if the searing (albeit short lived, thank goodness) agony of the initial rip isn't enough, now I have to put up with the nasty prolonged annoyance of zits lining the rim of my sexy pout.

Kinda takes all the sexy right out of the equation!

So. Where does that leave me, other than either hairy or zitty? How's that for being between a rock and a hard place?

Recently I've become aware of a product called Parissa (I think?). Yes, they're wax strips, but the at home kind. I'm left to wonder if the at home kind can possibly be better for you than the spa-grade wax, but I sense I'm about to find out.

I've had the stuff in my possession for almost a week now, but I can't quite get myself to open the package, let alone try it out. I want to, don't get me wrong. Every glimpse of mine hairy reflection in the mirror makes me want to rip open that package with increasing abandon.

But as always, I'm worried about the repercussions. What if I try it and my face stays red all through the next day? Or I break out in hives? Or some other dermatological misfortune befalls me? How do I show myself to the world? Sit on the GO train? Actually turn up at work? Yeesh.

Luckily, I'm about to enter into a three and a half day weekend. So I think I'll give it a whirl tomorrow afternoon and see what happens, let this be my science experiment for the month. I'll be sure to fill you all in and let you know how things turn out.

If you have any other suggestions on how to manage the wee forest that grows unwelcome on my otherwise happy face, I'm definitely open to suggestion!

And if you're one of the gal pals I'll be seeing for our bbq on Saturday, don't laugh too hard if things don't turn out right, okay? I mean, you'll be able to tell just by looking at me, that's for sure.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Is it hot in here?

Or was it just the firefighters?

Yes, I'm back. I realize it's been a while, that I've been shirking my bloggerly duties. I'm a bad diva. Diva culpa. But life's just been plain ole crazy lately.

Since I've been gone, life's gone on for all of us. Captain obvious yet again, that's me. But it's true, no? Life has gone on for you. Heck, last time I posted we were but two days into a new season. Now we're in a new month, seeing some serious heat and are finally getting a break (it would seem) from all that rain.

Canada Day has come and gone. Hope you had a good one, and hope that you also managed to swing the Monday off. I did, thankfully, and thoroughly enjoyed my four day weekend. I didn't do much - slept a lot, trying to shake off a bug that's desperately trying to take hold, but I refuse to let the bastards in. Methinks I might be losing that war though...the battle rages on.

But before my four day weekend was the much anticipated Friday night - the Toronto Firefighter's Calendar Competition at the Phoenix.

Rawr.

Now, I can't explain it. There's no reason behind my abject affection for the boys in reflectively suspendered cargo pants. I was never rescued by one following a traumatic experience. I don't have hero fantasy dreams (although I'm thinking that might not be such a bad idea). But despite it all, those firefightin men somehow manage to transform rational, self-assured me into a mumbling pile of gelatinous goo.

The fact that it was sizzling hot outside as well as in didn't do much to discourage shiny face either.

Hubs knows about my predilection. Would we call this a fetish? I'm not quite sure, and am way too tired (read: lazy) to google the requisite definition. Either way, he knows, he does his best to accept, and tries to keep me on the straight and narrow. Tries to snap my attention back to reality in the car as we pass a firetruck, etc.

Doesn't help that we're mere minutes away from the regional headquarters of our fire department.

Well, doesn't help him much anyway. For me, it was an excellent selling feature for the house.

:)

Anyway, I kept joking with Hubs that he should be prepared for pretty much anything when I got home that night. I knew I'd be having a few cocktails with the girls, I didn't have to drive home, and anything was possible. He didn't seem too enthused by that premise. I tried convincing him that it didn't matter where my appetite came from, as long as I ate at home.

He wasn't impressed.

Turns out, he had nothing to worry about. The week leading up to that Friday night had been insanely busy and by the time we were on the train home I was ready to pass out. In fact, I think I might have. I can't recall a time that I was more excited to see my bed, to take my shoes off, to close my eyes and just sleep.

Besides, Hubs barely woke up when I came to bed anyway.

So yeah, there's but a glimpse (a fun one, at least!) into what I've been up to for the past little while. I'll try to be a bit better about posting in the coming weeks. I'm getting my hair cut on Monday - that's always post worthy if nothing else!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?