So Much

Well. There’s so much going on here, I’m not sure where to start. First of all, my Moon Cup arrived. Except it’s not a Moon Cup. I got The Keeper, which is so not what I ordered.

The Keeper. The one that looks like this, that I ripped on mercilessly here.

Where is my Moon Cup? Is this some kind of lesson not to judge a book by its cover? And the worst thing about it is that I’ll probably keep it (heh), because I am a wuss and don’t want to return and wait and return and wait and that whole not returning with the stem cut thing makes me irrationally scared that maybe if I get a new one, I risk getting a used one, which makes me want to cry. But then again, so does the Keeper. It’s BROWN. And POROUS. It’s going to ABSORB MENSTRUAL MOLECULES AND NEVER LET THEM GO.

And let’s face it, with the stem policy, who’s to say this one isn’t used? But let’s not think about that. (For those who missed the thread, apparently they don’t take menstrual cups back if they’ve got too much stem cut off, which begs the question: why not? WHY NOT? Are they sending unwanted cups back into the world? GOD.)

(Also, edited to add that I’m with Schnozz and I really don’t think they do, but that small, irrational part of my brain that is afraid of such things can’t entirely accept this.)

Ahem.

**

Unrelated, I went with a bold choice of earrings today, and while I wasn’t entirely sure if they were really for me, it was confirmed that indeed, they weren’t, when I returned home to find Adam staring at me, a bemused look on his face, until finally he said, “Wow. Um, you could use those as nunchuks later, if there’s some kind of…ninja emergency. You could just swing your head around. Nice.”

So there goes that.

**
Also! I am in the throes of plotting an upcoming weekend trip to Chicago, because – and this is so exciting – one of my best friends from way, way back is the lead! In Wicked! I know! If you live in Chicago, and you can go, please go. Because she’s amazing, honestly, and I quite guarantee it will be worth it. And it’s quite possible that she’s the nicest person ever, and I love when nice people get good things.

**

And now, ah, the misery that is the vet. The anal sacs just scratched the surface of the…issues.
She’s got fleas. And a yeast infection in her ear. Yeast. Fleas. Anal sacs. God.

Um, are you as itchy as I am? Because even though half of them were dead because of the Frontline. She’s Frontlined! And still! STILL! THE FLEAS OH MY GOD. She got them at the doggie spa last weekend while we were away and OH MY SWEET LORD, I can’t stop scratching and desperately seeking phantom fleas. FleaBusters are coming this weekend, and while she took some kind of Capstar something that had the fleas (THE FLEAS) literally falling off of her in little brown bits and I thought I’d kill myself right then and there, I really did.

I cannot. CANNOT STOP ITCHING, even though I’m not really itchy. However, the good news is that the infestation doesn”t seem to be bad, because the cat doesn’t have them, and thus far, Adam and I remain flea-bite free, save for the rashes we’re giving ourselves from scratching our skin raw in a bald panic. Gawd.

Lastly, because what’s a day without WW? Although I’ve been exercising consistently, I got to this point by using exercise as an excuse to hover over the sink with a jar of peanut butter after a run. Nice. And while I didn’t totally enjoy being healthy-but-hefty, one of the few side benefits of being…larger…was the boobs. Over the last few months, I’ve often looked in the mirror and marveled, because, whose boobs are those? I had boobs! Lots of boobs! And now, in a cruel twist of weight loss fate, they’re gone. The ass is there, but the boobs, they are dwindling, and it’s just one of the many, many ways that life is horrendously unfair.

ITCH. SANS BOOBS.

*The Sundays

25 comments March 22nd, 2007