Sarcomical

Only embarassing if you are alive...

Here's a little something that's been keeping me busy lately:

Babies.

Oh, fantastic. A post about babies. LAME. WHO likes babies? Who wants to hear about stupid, cute, layabout babies? Who wants to see fat, sweet, slobbery baby cheeks? Ew.

Well, as completely unappealing as they are I have to talk about them, because a lot of things in my life have been completely baby-centric the past couple of months. So...sorry, but you'll just have to bear with me. I know. It'll be hard. But I think a few of you can do it.

The fact is, Mr. Sarcomical & I have not had the best luck in the offspring department so far. For a while we thought it was timing, then we weren't sure, then we said let's just wait it out, then we said wait that is colossally stupid look how old we are, then we found out that the endometriosis that has pretty much traveled down my maternal roots for a few generations has probably been instrumental in halting the miniature person creation process.

So.

We scheduled a laparoscopy for myself with my doctor (who is perhaps the sweetest and most encouraging physician ever to exist outside of an episode of Grey's Anatomy but not those dark & twisty girls, you know that one smiley girl named Arizona or some other state who is always sunny and cheek-dimply?), and I actually had that done last Wednesday. (I'll be telling you about that experience in the next installment of Reproductivosity Weekly.) But first...FIRST, I decided to tell her in the appointment just prior that my mom happened to mention in a phone conversation that "oh by the way I've also had fibroids, I don't know if you want to tell your doctor that or not" and when I did Ms. SmileyPants Doctor got a flash of serious and said "Oh. ...well let's get you in for an ultrasound to check for those before your procedure. Because, you know, if that's an issue we'll have to take care of that first surgically."

Oh. Okay. Um, haha, let's check on that. And p.s. THANKS MOM. Great genes. Awesome.

Also, p.s. "What is fibroids?" asks Mr. S. "Uh...I'm not sure. Hmm."

Whee.

Mr. S. came to the scheduled ultrasound with me, because I was feeling kind of nervous about it. That flash of Serious Face on my happy doctor made me wonder if what I thought I was taking care of was going to end up being more serious than I had thought. Bleh. And just when he had kind of successfully distracted me, the door to the waiting room opened and for a microsecond I looked up and something immediately registered in my brain:

Our old next door neighbor. The one who moved out of the neighborhood with her husband & kids about 2 years ago. She's an ultrasound technician. Oh Sweet Torture Chamber.

Here's what went on in my head:

Oh dear God please please please do not let her be the one doing my ultrasound oh come on do you really think they have more than one person doing them in this little office right now? WAKE UP. YOU LOSE. Get ready to be spanked by coincidence and you know what else? I'm just gonna go out an a limb and assume that the simple ultrasound you thought you were getting is more...involved and may have required a leeeettle more..."prep work" than making sure you were wearing nice underwear. Oh my God if I am wrong about what this is that's happening and SHE is the one doing it then I am going to turn around and run out of here in a puff of cartoon-like smoke before the humiliation burns my face off ARE YOU SERIOUS, UNIVERSE?!?

After much nervous tight hand-gripping, we were called back and OF COURSE she recognized us "HEY GUYS!?!" Crap. Yeah...no chance this wasn't going to happen, was there?

...and no chance this wasn't going to be as horrifying as possible, right?

NOPE. NO CHANCE IN HELL.

We get back into the room, and I'm like "soooo...this ultrasound, it's..."

"...yeah. It's internal."

MOTHER. EFFER.

"Oh, Keri, let me apologize. I am not really...I mean...I didn't especially prepare for this. I'm stupid, I thought this was just the kind of ultrasound you see on tv, I'm an idiot, I..."

"Oh, please. Melissa, don't worry about it! I do these all day long. It's no big deal, it's fine! I'm sure it's fine. Don't worry, please."

Whatever. Because also? I mean, they knew this when I made the appointment (THEY SAID "OH IT'LL BE NO BIG DEAL), but this was also the first day of my period. (Any guys left in the room? Did that clear you out? I hope so.) So...I pretty much decided the only way to make it out alive was to go to my happy place and stay in a waking coma until I was out of the building.

The situation, you see, just wasn't grotesque enough. Wait, you thought it was? NO. YOU ARE WRONG. Because when I was in the other room changing, Mr. Sarcomical tried to break the ice by asking her how things were going...you know, how's your husband and whatnot...OOPS THEY GOT DIVORCED. I came back in and he whispered quickly "Whatever you do don't ask about her husband THEY SPLIT UP!" I swear to God there was NOTHING not vomit-inducingly uncomfortable about this day. NOTHING.

Except.

Everything looked okay, and finally some good news:  all clear on that front, thus the fact that I just spent the past week in recovery from the laparoscopy (which was an entirely other surreal experience for another day). Mr. Sarcomical was also convinced after looking up at the big projection screen during the procedure that there is literally no distinction between my ovaries and the fuzzy pictures of UFO's from the 50's.

Anyway. Working on that SarcomiBaby, that's what we are. I mean, not for 2-3 months according to doctor's orders, that is. But we are. There will be a lot going on here in the meantime, but there you have it. That's what's been brewing here while I've been a little blog absent.

15 from my Coffee House playlist...it's a shuffle

Oooh...Sound Candy. Try them out. You'll love these.

1. Duet - Rachael Yamagata
2. No Woman, No Cry - Abigail Kiser
3. Les Etoiles Secretes - Ida
4. Relax - Scout Niblett
5. Covent Garden - Katie Haverly
6. I Had No Intentions - Damien Jurado
7. Morning Doubts - Barzin
8. Wide Eyed and Lying - Mic Christopher
9. Set In Stone - Dlugokecki
10. Don't Forget Me - The Walkmen
11. Epilogue - The Antlers
12. Tests On My Heart - Umbrellas
13. Wait - Alexi Murdoch
14. Train Song - Feist + Ben Gibbard
15. Gone Gone Gone - The Notwist

Freakout

This actually happens a lot at our house. Except they normally more first.

...HAPPENS A LOT.

Freakout from Sarcomical on Vimeo.

Tragically Awkward

I like to think of myself as a tragic romantic. If I were in Regency-era England, I believe Jane & Cassandra Austen and I would be a lovely trio of sighing moon-eyed friends. Or perhaps even more fitting, I could be a long-lost Brontë sister, savoring gothic daydreams of torturous longing and and writing about female strength through trial. Yes, I think that sounds lovely. Minus the tuberculosis and early death, of course.

And yet...despite this swooning nature, this tendency to imagine in the dramatic, I find myself often feeling awkwardly irritated by real-life sentimental gestures. Well, let me clarify. Not ALL sentimental gestures, just a lot of the ones directed at ME. I suppose mostly I am irritated by them because of how ill-equipped I feel to react to them. Unexpected hugs from people make me feel unprepared for my buffer to be breached. Saying 'I love you' to anyone other than my husband, even family members, is often unnatural for me; it feels like my throat is closing from inauthenticity. Surprise gifts with no occasion leave me fumbling to express appropriate amounts of graciousness. Romantic overtures sometimes make me giggle. 

In short, I am pretty much an emotional contradiction. My head space is full of grand observations and dramatic interpretations, imagined conversations & scenarios. Outside, there's a bit of restraint. Especially when RECEIVING. Life and some of the people in it have raised my guard, and so I hedge near the precipice of comfort when accepting real-life gestures of affection. Staying slightly stoic and self-deprecating is much more easy for me when you say something beautifully complimentary or present me with a token of your love. Or maybe I'll make a joke.

In my head, though...

In my head, I'm accepting with gratitude. Or at least trying to.

Dear God, it's crept up on me like a typhoon...or, how I spent my 34th birthday (with photos).

I've been a little pulled back from this space the past few weeks, which is bad bad bad. Hey, I've been busy with..life. Complex, grown-up, emotion- and creativity-sapping life issues. And also Guitar Hero. Of course, my plan is to fully compensate for this by barraging the internet with hundreds of photos and loads of stories about feelings and unicorns and disenchantment and "lady problems". I kid. Sort of. We'll just see, won't we?

First of all, take a look at some photos from my birthday a few weeks ago. I turned the big 3-4. What, are you saying 34 isn't a Big age? Well, wait until you are 34, then tell me you don't have a moment where you consider that you're pretty much 40, right? and what the hell have you done with yourself, just LOOK at yourself, this is it, this is probably the best you'll ever look...oh, who are you kidding the best you've ever looked was about 5 years ago you idiot Oh Crap you really had better start working out hard and using lots of creams because DAYUM GIRL seriously? What is with those lines and that sad, sad ass? Remember a couple of years ago when checkout people and ticket takers at the movies used to scoff when you tried to convince them you were over 21 REMEMBER THAT what the hell happened that was just a little while ago you slacker, you'd better get serious and anti-age your ass like it's 1999 when you SHOULD have been preparing for this, now get out of here I can't stand to look at you.

But otherwise, it's okay.

Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer

(let me know if you have troubles seeing the photo slideshow above)

Ogle My Stuff: Scenes around the SarcomiHaus Edition

...like a science experiment. with bonus Rude Stranger Affront!

This weekend I did the thing I have grown to loathe, down to even the cellular level. The thing that makes me cringe, feel physical annoyance, wish I were in someone else's body.

I went to the mall.

Priority one was to find some jeans that didn't make me feel bad about myself. In order to do that, you have to try on a lot of jeans that actually DO make you feel bad about yourself. Yay. The level of degradation depends upon the rate of occurrence at which you mindlessly enter stores catering to 12-year olds and/or 24-year olds with hips that could slide down rain gutters. I've found that I can be an easy with room to spare size eight at the Gap, but am approximately size seventeen-thousand in, say, Forever 21 or H&M. Also, I don't recommend going after you've spent a chilly season being depressed on the couch watching Law & Order marathons on USA. I mean...things don't exactly situate themselves in what you know as their optimal arrangement after such a period. Just so you know.

Well, enough about my sloth consequences in the dressing room. I actually was left with more of an impression from the day by a random interaction with a horrible, bully of a woman. Well, I don't know, it's possible she's actually a rather fine woman who does charity work and hand-addresses letters for her elderly arthritic neighbors.

HOWEVER.

On this day...at the moment in time when our lives intersected...she was sort of vile.

If there's anything I dislike with more intensity than trudging in and out of dressing rooms, it's walking among hordes of people who do not believe that space and particles and motion have anything to do with them. They are floating in their own continuum, chatting and daydreaming while walking through the bodies of us boring earthbound folks.

This woman (Horrible Fine Charity Bully), was turned & talking to her daughter, walking in a crooked line and generally not paying attention to the universe. Enter ME, walking directly toward a rack of tops, seeing Horrible Fine Charity Bully to my right and actually slowing down so as to avoid the impending collision. She stopped just short of nailing me in the arm and uttered a sweet-sounding "oop! sorry!". Whew! Impact averted! "That's okay!" I said, thinking what a polite lady.

Oh, but then...

Immediately following, I heard her make an animal-esque hacking noise of disgust. A SCOFF, if you will. Followed by snarky grumbles. I turned around and saw her continue down the aisle with a contorted face (apparently) still venting her anger to her teenage daughter. I was sort of transfixed, a little in shock over how this 40-something woman, who seemed the kind who might have a good job in a colorful, lavish office - who was well-groomed and nicely coiffed with a pretty teen in her charge, felt the need to be loudly pissy after {SHE} almost ran into {ME}, apologized with fabulously feigned sincerity, and I had been (dare I say) pretty damn gracious. She had snapped afterward and was suddenly and oddly ugly about it, and I was surprised.

I was admittedly still observing this when she turned around, and a furious gasp opened her mouth wide. "OH MY GOD and she's LOOKING at me!" she hissed to her daughter, and I couldn't hear but oh, I could see...there were more words MANY MORE WORDS and lots of eye daggers. I didn't have much time to react, as it was so brief and I was still puzzled over this woman's responses. I just turned around and my eyes widened, as if asking the tank top in front of me "wowww...what the whatwhat is WRONG with that angry lady?"  Her eyes were on me even as I could peripherally see her daughter encourage her out of that section of the department store. But I wasn't feeling any of my own ire bubbling up. I wasn't upset that this stranger had almost assaulted me with her torso and was then smack talking me to her high school child in a display of woeful parental example. No, I really wasn't. I still felt peaceful and calm. I know that there was a time when I would fight Rude Stranger Affront with Bitchy Viper Sass-Back, but I'm glad that I'm not as easily roused to defend myself in anger. I guess after being 27 for six years in a row you really do grow into your maturity. 

When I shared with Mr. S. what had happened with Horrible Fine Charity Bully while he was off having an easy breezy fun time looking at nerdy electronics in Best Buy, I told him the reason I felt myself staring at this woman during that span of about fifty seconds was because it was like watching a mad science experiment. I got temporarily locked in; despite my better intentions, it was sort of fascinating to observe.

You know...much like an episode of 16 and Pregnant.

SarcomiDogs Caught in Unfortunate Expressions, first edition

Big...Very Big News.

I'm not going to Rickroll you today as some sort of sophomoric April Fool's Day Joke. Oh, you'll probably see it resurrected in some way today, if you haven't already. Not to be a killjoy, but that is stale, my friends. Actually, I'm not going to do anything close. 

Instead, I have some special news to finally share...so if you want to take the high road with me today, check out this photo of the big announcement!

Things people never tell you...

I meant to write about this a few weeks ago, but it kept getting pushed on the back burner and eventually after several times thinking about sharing it, I had forgotten about it completely until today when I flipped past the note I wrote in my journal about it the day it happened.

I was passing time in Borders, drooling over printed notecards and giant pads of paper in the gift section, when I looked up and noticed a couple sitting nearby in the café area. They were talking, and it was clear the woman was very upset. She seemed to have already been crying. Something about it made me stop, even though I was sure I was encroaching on a private moment, and I listened while every once in a while looking up to see them from above the small aisle.

He was wearing a Colts jersey and baseball cap, she a black t-shirt and jeans. He was a little chubby and scruffy; she, thin, with sad, flat dark brown hair. They both wore wedding bands. Each had a paper cup  of coffee at the table, and she fidgeted with hers uncomfortably. They both looked down into their drinks more than they looked at each other. I was really only there, stopped, for about a minute, but it's what I finally did hear her say after some hushed words passed between them that made an impression on me and prompted me to write some thoughts down about it shortly afterward.

She exclaimed sadly through tears, "I'm 40, you're 41 - I don't want to have to start over."

He sat silently seeking an answer in his coffee cup.

They continued talking, essentially deciding if they should continue their marriage, and I walked away. It seemed heartbreaking to me. How many of us have faced a moment like that in our relationships - the foreboding choice to forge on alone into an unknown future or risk failure in a familiar relationship that may or may not end up happily? Their scene stuck with me for several days, because it isn't often we so clearly see such a moment of critical decision between two strangers as it happens. It made me sad for them, and I couldn't help but think...

No one ever tells you when you are starting out young and dizzy with love and possibility that the fate of your relationship could come down to a strained conversation in a bookstore.