Sarcomical

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.

Lucy's Soccer Ball is Dead

This is a sad, sad event.

Treat Thyself

 

Green

We've never really been St. Patrick's Day Celebrating People. I've rarely gone out of my way to be seen wearing green. We aren't a couple who has ever been a "let's go out to a bar!" duo (even on non-holiday evenings). Once before in our decade living here we did venture out with some friends during the day o'vert, but from what I remember the most wondrous part of that evening was my first giant avocado burrito from La Bamba's on the way home.

This year, we did tiptoe out early(ish) in the evening, mostly to join in with Girls' Pint Out, which I recently found out about through a friend. This newly-formed group of ladies gets together a few times a month to socialize & prove that women do not have to merely sip white wine at dinner parties. They visit cool places and sample craft beer. It's something out of my typical circle of activity, but I like how diverse the range of women is and it's nice to have a the option of a new non-business-network group to congregate with occasionally.

Here are some pics (taken with poor pocket camera) from the evening, where we walked to three different spots within a local neighborhood (boys were invited along on this night, too):

Kilts. Yes. Alrighty then.

Suzanne gets cute with that free plastic hat. / Blonde Ambition the best of the 3 I tasted that night.

Obligatory self-shot in the bathroom!

This one was like licorice and you could practically chew it. I mostly just looked at it.

Shiloh looks cute in hats, no? ATTENTION HOG.

Striped Socks, Asymmetrical Robes & Dignity

I had my first *ahem* appointment with a gynecologist in approximately 7 years last week. As part of the whole "yeah, maybe we'd better look into the possibility of this 'procreation' thing with a little more clarity and intention" process, my trip to the most dreaded of all offices above even the scraping dentist and the glaucoma air puff eye doctor was imminent.

Having made it so long without having to go through the...hoopla, let's just say I felt anxious. But really, I'd call any woman out as a rotten, no good liar if she said the experience was ever breezy as a butterfly landing softly on a kitten's nose. No. In fact, I'd liken it much more to the anxiety of seeing a diapered sumo wrestler running toward you while you're backed up against a wall of Saguaro cacti. ...Yeah. Much more like that.

Let's even skip discussing the amount of energy and annoyance brought on by the idea of the prep work alone. Ah yes, I've read the articles that claim your doctor has little to no expectations in that arena, AND YET. We obsess. And assess. And now, because now I've begun to drum my thumb against my keyboard and seek awkwardness refuge glancing outside my sunlight-saturated windows, we move on.

I felt socially inept in that office. Not in a haha way, either. On top of the general pressure of the visit itself, I have so craftily avoided doctors' offices for such a long time that I was pretty convinced the building itself had me a little stupid with unfamiliarity. After the nurse took my blood pressure there was a nanomoment when it seemed she was trying to...hand me the cuff? I don't know, I reached out for it and then pushed my hand forward in a pseudo stretch move when she instead grabbed the other end and took the thing back over to the desk. Whatever. I told myself she probably didn't see that and gave myself an "I'm still cool and also super sophisticated" pep talk and moved on. 

Then came the fabulous question & answer part of the game when, as a new patient, you get to regurgitate all matter of responses to inquiries into your habits, history, and the current state of your innards. Am I the only one who feels a disproportionate level of smugness when I get to say "no" to nearly all of the "Have you ever had...?" and "Do you have a family history of...?" questions? Oh, yes. I'm sure I've just impressed them because my family's stroke-free and I'm not a smoker. Then of course comes "Any family history of endometriosis?" (YESYES) and "Have you ever had issues with depression?" and you kind of want to say, "...uh, well, define 'ISSUES'", etc., etc., ick.

The fun just starts there. Truly. Then it's time for robes with weird asymmetrical openings in wrong places, avoiding the cold floor (and, let's face it, trying to feel a little less naked) by keeping on cute striped over-the-knee socks, having the "Well it's really good that you're coming in to start this process now while you've still got a little over a year before hitting 35, because..." conversation, trying to get dressed again fast fast fast yet gracefully before that stupid knock on the door, OH and I forgot to tell you about the way I wouldn't let them tell me my weight because I threw out my scale 4 years ago to avoid the very nitpicky way I watched the numbers move all day long, so they had me step on the scale backwards. Yep. This entire visit I was pretty damned dignified, alright. PRET.TY. DAMNED. MUCH.

Also, I got lost exiting the office and wandering the connected medical building/hospital hallways to find the blood lab...where I was violently assaulted by a mean, horrible sadist from the dark forces man who turned my inner elbow green and made my entire right arm ache for 3 days.

On the up side, my doctor was completely and utterly awesome, caring and upbeat. So. I'm kind of looking forward to seeing her again this week. Also because I'll get to keep my clothes on. And my blood in.

Cake to the rescue...

About two weeks ago, I happened to whimper & whine have a weak moment and lamented the lack of cake in the SarcomiHaus on Twitter. Impeccably true to form, The Internet heard my pleas and responded in an unexpectedly glorious way. ENTER:  Deb Lumos of the Cake Pop Company. As a Twitter follower, Deb saw my desperation for even a crumb of sweet, air-pocketed decadence and asked if she could send me some of her genius little treats. I was unabashedly squealy when I opened up the box and saw the pretty little pops beckoning me to take a bite out of them, yet skeptical that they'd be satisfying in such small doses. OH YOU STUPID, STUPID GIRL. Basically, here's my verdict:

• Candy Shell: Delicious, perfect amount, surprisingly intact upon delivery! (more icing-like than candy-like, and also didn't fall apart as I feared they might when bitten into)
• Cake: Lovely texture, not at all dry, even stayed delicious a few days later when I forwarded a few in the mail to my mom! (in the original box)
• Flavors: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. (carrot cake, chocolate, red velvet, white, strawberry, butter pecan - mix & matched with different shells)
• Portion: Just enough (truly) to make you feel like you've had a proper indulgence.

In a word...YES. Don't believe me? Look at the evidence.
(p.s. you can follow Cake Pop Company here on Twitter - THANKS, DEB!)