Ok, so those of you who know me in real life (and really anyone else whose been reading long enough) knows that if Vera Bradley puts it out, I usually want it.

That included her china patterns, so when I registered for my wedding, I registered for the Java Blue (the Vera flava of the week) china. Except I’m not so crazy about the elephant on the dessert plate, coffee mug, or soup bowl, and so I decided that I didn’t really want any of the porcelain china, just the majolica china in the java blue color. (My logic behind that was that it didn’t make sense to me to only have a porcelain dinner plate and everything else majolica).

Fast forward a bit. I didn’t actually get much of my china. Just some dinner plates, a cake stand, a charger or 2 and the vase that matches it all. I really love(d) it……until, I saw this, which is stunning. (This is the Majolica that goes with it) Plus, I would still be able to paint my dining room (the one that’s in the house that I don’t have yet) chocolate brown, which was something I planned to do to coordinate with the other china.

So my question to you dear internets is this:

What the heck should I do?

Do I sell what I have (except for the vase, you can never have too many GORGEOUS vases) on ebay and delve into (slowly) purchasing the other stuff since it’s obvious that I love it so much?

I haven’t used any of what I have even once AND I still have the original boxes that it all came in. It’s actually all being stored in the boxes as we speak!

Enlighten my as to what my next steps should be friends, for I am lost!

(Although, I’m sure you all know what I really want to do, and that I really just need you to validate what I’m feeling. So go ahead, give me the answer that I want….)

Because, why not book-end a post about depression with a little dose of TMI?

Ok, So, I figured that the masses (or really just you DDTM, Lemons, girlymama, Em, Rachel, Ellen, Lynn, and you too Robyn! Hey, that’s eight readers! Go me!) would want to know what the heck I was talking about in this post when I mentioned infertility.

So I’ll tell you. But I’m warning you, there’s talk of menstrual cycles and ovaries and the like. It won’t be pretty.

Ok, so some history.

You know, if you’re going to read this it may be awkward the next time we see one another. I mean really. I’m going to use the word period, and not in reference to that cute little dot-thing that ends a sentence. Here’s your chance to back out. I’m just sayin’.

Back to the history.

The period. That lovely little week-long torture session that reminds us that we are, in fact, females just in case we had forgotten during the other 23 blissfully blood-free days in the month.

The cool thing? I have never gotten one regularly. I mean like, monthly. Sometimes I would skip months. I gotta tell you though friends, I was never worried. Seriously. Some people were all “Oh, you really should mention that to your Doctor.” or “That’s just not normal, maybe you should get that checked out.” But I’m here to tell you that those little “moments of concern” on the part of every other female were really moments of JEALOUSY. Don’t try to deny it. You would have been/are too.

So anyway, I was never concerned.

And so, the week before my husband left in November, I got my period (see why I don’t miss it? That was really not a great going-away present). And I was due to get it again upon his return in December around Christmas time (you know, if I was on a normal 28-day cycle) but I didn’t! Yay unregularness that is my female reproductive system!

But then, I didn’t get it in January either, and I was all “Oh my word am I pregnant?! How terrible would that be with my husband deployed? How will I ever handle this?! Oh the humanity!” And then I took a pregnancy test because what other explanation could there possibly be for all of that emotion? (The correct answer to that question is “Um, that your husband was just deployed to a foreign land for a year.” But you know, whatever.)

So it came back negative, and I’m all “Whew, that was close.” But some genius girl in one of my classes said something like “Oh, that doesn’t mean anything, my pregnancy tests came back negative with both of my sons.” So, I’m like whatever, that’s just you. (What I really thought was “Who sells those things anyway? What’s the purpose if they’re not accurate?!”) And when I didn’t get my period on the day (and subsequent days) in February that I was supposed to, I figured that was maybe the time I should go visit the Doctor that no female enjoys visiting.

So I did, and I ran over my symptoms with her and she was like “Well, it sounds to me like your ovaries are Polycystic.” And I mean to tell you that I had a stroke of some sort right in her office because I know what that means because my best friend has that and I learned a lot about it in her early days of figuring it all out. And she must have seen my face drop to the floor, because all of a sudden she tried changing her story to tell me about some other possibilities that could be causing my period to hide for three months.

But all I heard was Polycystic. It just kept ringing in my head. And aside from the fact that it affects a plethora of different things with the female body, the one fact about it that hit me the hardest was that it causes infertility in women. NOT something you want to hear when you actually want children.

Now, it is not impossible for women with PCOS to get pregnant. After all, Lemons did just have a beautiful baby girl, and my other friend who has it has four, that’s FOUR children. But still. When it seems as though all your mother had to do was just walk by your father to get pregnant, (and really, that’s how it happened anyway) then you never really think that infertility will be a blip on your radar.

I was really upset.

They sent me for blood tests and ultra-sounds and stuff to figure out what the heck is going on with me.

Incidentally, on the day they called me to tell me that I was not pregnant (it was one of the blood tests they took) I ended up getting my period. Doesn’t it figure?

So now, a month later, I went back to find out the results of all of that torture. And you wanna know the report?

Nothin’. Not a single thing is wrong. My hormones are fine, my thyroid is great, and my ovaries are cyst-free. She even said that I’m not required to go on birth-control as long as I have at least 4 periods a year. So you know what? All that worrying got me absolutely nothing.

And this is why I hate going to the Doctor. Any questions?

Big dilemma, ya’ll. Huge. Monumental, even.

I need fashion advice.

I know, me. The fashion guru. The one who just watches E! and figures it out on her own needs your help.

So, 2 of my former youth leaders are getting married this year and within a couple of months of each other. I figured it would be the perfect time to get a new dress.

Well, I’ll be honest. The way my figure is these days, I was not looking forward to the prospect of dress hunting, but I never turn down a shopping opportunity, so I delved right in to the world of Internet shopping.

Through the lovely lady over at Frugal Fashionista, I found this little Internet clothing shop called Forever 21.

(As an aside, have you ever clicked over to the Frugal Fashionista? Well, you should because she takes some of the CUTEST celeb outfits and searches for you to find a very similar look at a fraction of the cost. Actually, once I hit my weight loss goal, I plan on treating myself by actually purchasing an outfit that I really like from her site that she bit and made cheaper. That, and I REALLY want a pair of Lucky Brand Jeans.)

So anyway, once I made my way over to Forever 21 I found this dress, which I totally already bought, so if you don’t like it, suck it up. I don’t need dress advice.

Problem is, I’m a shoe girl (purses of the Vera Bradley variety are a close second) and I REALLY want a pair of shoes that will match the color of the dress.

So I found these, which I love, but guess what? The mustard color doesn’t come in my size.

Figures.

Next, I found these, and this is where you come in my dear Internets. You MUST answer all of the following questions lest my head explode from all of the pondering and nail biting and such that’s been going on on my end of the monitor.

Are they mustard in color?

if so…..

Is the print on the leather appropriate?

if so….

Is the heal appropriate? That is, is it the right material? Are they dressy enough for the dress?

You see? Do you see what I’m going through? It’s just too much!

So if you don’t like the shoes for the dress, I need you to do one more favor for me….

Find me some stinkin’ shoes that will match!

And make sure that they come in a 10, my feet are kinda big!

*warning* This post is kind of, well, gross. Please do not read while eating or if you’re expecting the following story to be ladylike in any way. Thank you. 

Now that Lemons has gotten knocked up, our conversations are much more…..colorful. Well, ok, they were already pretty interesting, (it is us, after all) but now they’re just at a level that was never even heard of before now.

During our drive home from Em’s B-day celebration the other day (which, as a side note, was deliciously fun!) we discussed everything from names, to breastfeeding, to labor and delivery.

And that, my friends, is when the conversation got interesting.

“You know, Mary told me that she pooped on the table when she had her kids. I am more afraid of that than anything. Screw the childbirth, I CAN’T, poop on the table!”

“Well, it happens sometimes you know, you can’t avoid it, your pushing and stuff, it’s bound to come out.”

“I know, but I don’t want to.”

“Well, I know a woman who, as soon as she started having contractions, pooped and showered so she was nice and fresh when she arrived at the hospital. They say not to do that though, ’cause your pushing it out, and you shouldn’t be pushing at all.”

“I’ll probably do that though, ’cause I don’t want to poop on the table. They say you lose all sense of modesty during childbirth anyway.”

“I know, when my mom had the twins, they were so big that there was a team of interns in there observing, and every now and then random doctors and other people would come in to observe as well.”

“Ew, can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to poop in front of all of those people. What if you had the runs or something.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“I know, and like, you pushed so hard that it shot in the doctor’s face, how embarrassing would that be?!”

*Severe, hyperventilating laughter follows*

“This is so gross, I have to blog about this!”

*Mass chuckling follows*

So, here I am blogging about it. There’s not much that doesn’t get said with the three of us in one vehicle. I’m not so certain that any topic of conversation is safe from the likes of us. We can take even the most basic of things and turn it disgusting.

Here’s to best friends.

Next Tuesday, I’m slated to go to a hair appointment with the hairdresser I’ve been going to since I was 4.

I want to cancel.

For a couple of years now, complaints have been floating around about her from some family members that go to her and even best friend, who went to her a couple of times and then stopped abruptly.

Why? She doesn’t listen.

At all. When I say to her “Please just dust the edges.”, that means, take the least amount of hair off that you possible have to. Her interpretation? Oh, I’ll get rid of an inch and a half, then! I’ve been trying to grow my hair out for 6 or 7 years at least and it’s still the SAME LENGTH that it was when I was in high school. It’s probably even shorter now! The only person in the entire world that she allows to grow her hair out is my sister. But that’s because her hair is perfect. Seriously, look:

I on the other hand, did not inherit my daddy’s pretty hair gene, and so instead of being perfect platinum blonde like my sissy, (not to mention perfectly thick, never dry hair) I’m stuck somewhere between sandy blonde (I refuse to call it “dirty” blonde, we are not dirty) and mousy brown. So I “have” (I use this word loosely) to highlight it.

The problem with her highlights? I have insta-roots when she’s done. She doesn’t highlight as close to the scalp as she possibly can, therefore requiring me to come back for another highlight sooner, and also taking away the natural look that it’s supposed to have.

I have also recently discovered that she’s sort of a rip-off. My Aunt had a bit of a confrontation with the hairdresser recently and it came out in the conversation that she sort of double charges us. Here’s how:

When you go for a highlight they mix the color up in a little cup. This little cup should last enough for your entire head of hair. Sometimes though, your hairdresser may underestimate and have to go back for seconds. You should not be charged for this, because it was their error, not yours. My hairdresser charges. The thing is, she’s been highlighting my hair since I was 16, so she should freakin’ know how much color to make up beforehand! She still does it anyway, and I’m the one who suffers.

I know at this point you’re thinking, leave her! It ain’t that hard! She’s rippin’ you off!

It’s not that easy though. I’ve known her since I was four. She’s practically watched me grow up! In spite of all of the negatives I’ve posted here, she really is sweet and very personable and I just love talking to her.

But I’m not happy. And this next appointment I plan on going back to a blonde, lighter than I’ve ever been before, and I don’t want it to be messed up. I want to go here. It’s where I go for my waxing and EVERY SINGLE girl that works there has the most adorable cut/color. And I wouldn’t be paying any more because my hairdresser pretty much charges the same prices! And she’s not even a real salon, she works out of her basement!

How do I do it though? How do I cancel without really hurting feelings and stuff. I’m really worried about this.

Help!

Every year since I was about 15-ish I’ve been breaking out with these little mosquito-sized bumps all over my body right around this time of year. Ok, well not ALL over, just in places that are very convenient to itch. Like my knees, elbows, hands (yes hands you have NO idea how annoying that is!) butt, chin. You get it, right? Its very endearing to my new husband when I walk around scratching my butt you know. He just loves it!

Anyway, last night lemons and I went out to dinner at Texas Roadhouse, (hold the fabulous rolls and cinnamon butter please, we’re trying to lose weight!) and during the conversation I brought up my mosquito bite problem. (For the record they are not mosquito bites, that would be petrifying)

“Well, they sound to me like hives.”

“Huh.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Well yeah, the ones that aren’t on the surface yet do, the rest of them just itch.”

“Yeah, I think that’s what it is.”

I’m ok with this diagnosis. In spite of the fact that she is no medical professional, I at least know that she has some knowledge of something, right?

That’s good enough for me.

As many of you know, hubby is being deployed in October. It is in our plans that we (or really, I) will be moving in with my parents around that time. Probably, September-ish. Recently, hubby was offered a job with his unit from now until deployment. While the commute is pretty hefty, the pay is much better than his other job, AND since the “job” with his unit were orders, he can keep his current job and get paid while he’s doing the one with his unit, well for the first 3 months anyway. Too wordy?

So the army has all of these fabulous ways for compensating their people, what with them putting their lives on the line and all.

One way is this pay called per diem. If I’m spelling it wrong, I’m sure Vanessa will tell me!

In this area, per diem is an extra $200 something dollars PER DAY, which would essentially be an extra $6,000 a month, not including his salary and BAH pay which is basically money they pay us to pay our rent. Did I mention that we’re saving for a house?

In order to qualify for this per diem, we have to live 50 miles from his unit. Guess how far we live?

47.5 miles away.

So hubby calls me this morning and suggests that we move and benefit from this extra cash. FOR FOUR MONTHS!

I don’t necessarily think it’s worth it.

Before you go all crazy on me and smack me around verbally, consider what a pain in the butt it is to move. Packing up all your crap, unpacking it only to pack and unpack again 4 months later.

Plus, our lease isn’t up until June, so we would have to break it. While we have every right to, because he has military orders and they basically break every contract you’ve gotten yourself into, I don’t really think it’s the right thing to do since we’re not moving closer to his unit, we’re moving further just so we can make an extra buck.

Ok, an extra 18,000 - 24,000 bucks, but still.

 Am I crazy? Are you all sitting there shaking your computer screens as if you were actually shaking me?

What to do?

While I’m not one who’s totally into gender stereotyping (I’m a female football fanatic, ok?) I gotta say that after observing how men act in relation to women for some time now, I’m not all that impressed.

Exhibit A: My sister and I were walking into the mall from the parking lot last Friday when we heard “HEY!”. We of course ignored this childish attempt at getting our attention, when we again heard, even louder, “HHEEEYYYY!!!!”. After this, what I can only assume, is a young man who’s mind (and pee pee) is stuck in high school days, was ignored for a second time, he decided to angrily pull his car out of the parking spot he was in, roll his window down and say, to our backs I might add, “You couldn’t handle this anyway!”

There are many points I would like to make after such an “encounter”.

1. My name has never been, nor will it ever be “HEY!”. The same goes for my sister. Maybe you might want to work on your social skills.

2. I’m married. Please note the rock on my left ring finger that you could never afford with your fast food restaurant job. I’m assuming you work at a fast food restaurant, because no decent corporation would ever hire some nut job who only knows how to greet people with “HEY!”.

3. My sister, in spite of her fabulous adult-ish appearance, is only 16. I would also like to add, that she’s way too pretty, sophisticated, intelligent, and smart for the likes of you.

4. Generally, while trying to “pick up a chick” you don’t do it in the parking lot of your local mall.  Unless of course, you’re in Junior High, then it’s totally acceptable.

5. I can’t handle you? I believe my dear, that I handled you just fine, because you’re the one who drove away angry while my sister and I laughed, quite haughtily, at your pathetic expense.

This happens quite frequently when I go out with my sister. (picture Jessica Simpson 6 years ago, with natural, pretty blonde hair) Most men have done nothing to improve my view on how they react when they see a pretty woman. Most of the time, it’s just staring that lasts way too long, whistling, and even a “hi” with that stupid ‘I know you want me’ smirk on their face.

Grow up!

We’re not cave-people anymore. Grunts and other such noises are not impressive to us.

Tall, dark, and handsome ain’t all it’s cracked up to be either, because sometimes, the most attractive ones are the biggest jerks (probably because too many women have allowed them into their pants, ahem). So for any men who read this, I thought I’d make a list of things that will not disgust women who are in your presence.

1. Knowing where our eyeballs really are. (I’ll give you a hint, they’re not anywhere in the vicinity of our breasts)

2. Being able to start and finish a sentence properly, without filling said sentence with any form of slang. (HEY! falls into the slang category)

3. If you really feel the need to approach us, try something more creative than “HEY!” or “You couldn’t handle this anyway!” Suggestion: Try “You look really nice, would you like to go out for dinner?” This proves that you have some sort of grasp on the English language and that you’re patient enough to get to know someone over dinner as opposed to a five minute rendezvous in the mall.

I know this seems a bit demanding, but we woman are worth it. I know because I am one. I know it can work for you too, because my husband made it past the whole dating stage by not acting like a complete moron.

Give it a try, I guarantee it’ll work or your money back!

The last time I went to see my hairdresser I did the big hair color change of 06′. The problem with that was that she put WAY too much red in my hair. I wanted straight brown. Chocolate if you will. Almost black.

You should see me now. I have faded to this ridiculous light brownish-red color. I’m not particularly fond of it, and quite frankly, have considered going back to blonde since apparently, all hair color fades. I’ve been using color-treated shampoo too, so if you were going to suggest that I start using that, don’t.

In spite of my initial feelings, I am going to try once more to acheive the color I originally set out to do.

Here is what I was thinking. Or this.

So what do you think?

Recently, friend H discovered what she wants to take in school.

This is somewhat troublesome to me as I am still unable to make a decision as to what to take if I ever chose to go.

Of course when someone close to me “takes the plunge” like that, it always shakes me from deep within and that small voice says “When are you going to go?” Of course, I never have an answer to that question because the question of what I’d actually take when I got there is always difficult to answer.

Or maybe, I’m just too indecisive.

H said to me “You need to have an epiphany like I did.” Right, can I buy one of those online?

It’s not like I don’t have any interests. It’s that I have too many.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a teacher. Then I discovered that I get really frustrated when people don’t learn as quickly as I do. A big problem, I would think.

In high school I wanted to be a lawyer. I was really gung-ho about that one because everyone that knew me said I’d be perfect for it. I’m really argumentative, I’m fascinated by our judicial system and the law (I actually want jury duty) and I’m actually pretty smart (not to toot my own horn…). But then the daunting task of eight years of school (not to mention the cost associated with it) and it’s just a waste because I’m going to be a stay at home mom anyway thought, sort of stopped that process.

Then I thought interior design/decorating would be super-cool. Except for I got this really great job that pays really well, so who needs to go to college? Yeah, that was smart.

Then I started hating said job and decided that being a wedding planner would be really cool. I mean, who doesn’t love watching “Whose Wedding is it Anyway?” I actually took this idea further than anything and interned with a wedding planner in the Philly area. But, when I discovered how much of a headache planning a wedding can actually be when I planned my own, that idea was nixed.

Recently, H and I have gone back to our “roots” and started making the bouquets, corsages, etc. for a couple of weddings including our own. We’ve even talked about opening up our own flower shop. It would be really fun, but how long before I’m tired of that?

I need focus, I need drive. I need to know what the heck I’m gonna do with myself before I start singing that sad song that is “I wish I went to college…” to my kids.

HELP!!!!