Uncommon Julia

2006-16= Holy Crap I'm Old

In preparation for the Very Laid Back Diaper Shower I hosted for my best friend last Saturday, I paid a visit to our local video store -  list of suggested titles in hand.  I also had Hannah in hand.

I spent about ten minutes trying to surmise the most apropos genre for each film and alternately searching for the movie and jaunting back into the aisle to make sure no one had abducted Hannah from her post in front of the candy section (from which she could not be blasted).  I was rewarded with one, single, solitary movie: Baby Boom.

My find did perk me up, however, since I was a tad doubtful I'd even find it on DVD.  I was also excited because my best friend had somehow managed to never see the film - a movie I can easily point to for any one of a handful of misconceptions I had about being a woman or a mother.  (80s movies were choc' ful 'o neuroses for young girls to buy into.)

But I didn't feel like playing more freeze tag with Hannah, so I scooped her up and headed to the front to ask for assistance.  I explained to the young girl behind the counter that I was hosting a diaper party and wanted some baby-themed movies.  I then proceeded to name three or four so she'd get the idea and be able to contribute or point me in the right direction.

"Well, let me see," she said, pulling up something on her computer.  "What was the name of that first one?"

"Nine Months," I replied, baby on hip.

"Uh... we have 9 1/2 Weeks," she offers up, hopeful. (Later, when I recount the story for my friends, they offer up that 9 1/2 Weeks is what gets you into the trouble of Nine Months.)

"Um, no. That's not really what I'm looking for."  I'm a little surprised that she seems unfamiliar with Nine Months, but I give her the benefit of the doubt and move on to another title. "How 'bout Three Men and a Baby?"

"Three Minute Baby?" she asks.

"No, Three Men and a Baby," I state - making sure to enunciate this time.

She furrows her brow and looks back at the screen.  "Nope. We don't have that."

Now I'm really confused.  How can she not know these movies?  But I give her another shot. "Okay, let's try She's Having a Baby."  Surely she knows this one.  How can you not?  Kevin Bacon?  It's replayed on cable all the freakin' time!

"Hm... Nope. Not that one either."  There's not even a glimmer of recognition.

I look at her and try a reality check.  Maybe this is her first job.  That would make her, what, 16?  So, 2006 minus 16 give me... oh SHIT!  She wasn't born until 1990!!!!  Here I am, some ancient 29-year-old (with a KID no less) asking her about all these OLD films that were made way back in the 80s.

My friends said I should have really thrown her by asking if they had the movies in Beta.

That's a Joke, Right?

I'm not sure if this is a regional campaign or a national marketing effort, but I had to share:

Recently, a well-know fried chicken chain has been running new commercial and radio spots. Here's the hook: If you buy their chicken, you get a COMMEMORATIVE chicken bucket featuring a popular (well, if you're a red-neck) race car driver. They suggest you collect them.

That's right folks: COLLECT your chicken buckets.

Now, I live in the country, know how to ride horses, I can two-step with the best of 'em, and I even listen to country music from time to time. But come on! Commemorative chicken buckets featuring race car drivers?! How hick do you have to be to base your next fried-chicken purchase on the quality of the bucket it'll come in?

Reprogramming Successful!

Perhaps you'll recall my complaint a number of weeks ago about my husband's lack of knowledge in all areas relating to women.

I'm pleased to announce that the reasonable facsimile husband the aliens left in his place has completely made up for all such statements from my real husband with the following exchange:

RFHusband: "Have you seen the Playbuddy of the Year in this month's [mainstream gentleman's publication, which we receive and who's article I really do read]?"

Me: "No. Why?"

RFH: "She has the same figure as you."

Me: [Laughing so hard I literally snorted.]

RFH: "No, really. She does."

Me: [Cease snorting.] "Wha?"

After realizing he was completely serious, I ran upstairs to check out said hottie and to contemplate the wonders of modern science when applied to the re-education of husbands. What a wondrous thing brainwashing is.

My Part in History

Words That Come to Mind When I Think of the March:

Amazing, Beautiful, Buoyant, Uplifting, Camaraderie, Compassion, Kindness, Fervor, Awe-Inspiring, HUGE, Family, Sisterhood, Love, Acceptance, Understanding.

Arrival:

After two delayed flights and one missed metro train, I finally arrived at Union Station where I was welcomed by my good friend Whit. Having seen a small pack of women on my plane with "Don't Mess With Texas Women" shirts on (purchased from TARAL in advance) I was already beginning to feel the scope of this event.

The Fair:

After an evening meal and some much needed alcoholic beverages to soothe my travel-weary bones, we packed it in for the night. The next day we went for lunch and headed toward DuPont Circle for a fair for the March. It was a beautiful sight. There were stickers, shirts, buttons, and various and sundry other paraphernalia for the march as far as the eye could see. We stalked up and walked around the circle, familiarizing ourselves with the numerous groups and organizations involved.

There was one big feeling that I hadn't counted on feeling, and it repeatedly washed over me throughout the course of the weekend: Relief. I hadn't fully realized that I've been walking around on eggshells for a year and a half now, half convinced that everyone I meet in my daily life is judging me on some level. I cannot adequately express the joy my heart felt at being surrounded by like-minded men and women who would not only understand my decision, but throw a party for me, if they could.

The Planned Parenthood booth at the fair had a heart wrenching display: They were giving out pink pieces of paper and black markers for people to write down their reason for marching. The pieces were then tacked onto wooden scaffolds.

I wrote one for Thomas, and then promptly teared up. So many of the stories on the board were truly heart wrenching.

That night, Whit helped me work on a simple paper sign to wear during the March. I was so thankful to have her with me because attempting to summarize my thoughts, feelings and viewpoints in a few short phrases proved beyond challenging. The next morning we woke early and got ready. We plastered ourselves with stickers and buttons and headed down to the metro.

The Big Event:

Fortunately for them, but not for me, the Texas pre-march rally was completely full by the time we arrived, so we headed on to the general rally on the mall. We wandered about the throngs of people, listening to speakers, scoping out T-shirts, and reading peoples' signs for a few hours. The March itself got underway around 12:30. Perhaps it should've been called a shuffle. The masses were so thick that it took us three hours to complete the two-mile parade route. That's slow, even for me!

Favorite Chants:

We marched with a Latina delegation for the first part of the march (they happened to be nearby and the most fun and rowdy of the group). Chanting in Spanish is great fun, and I may decide to take it up as a hobby, should I find a reasonable outlet.

"Que queremos?
Justicia!
Cuando?
Ahora!"

(For those of you who fell asleep during Spanish class, that's: "What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!")

Then there was an old favorite high-school cheer adapted for the cause:

"We are pro-choice,
couldn't be prouder.
If you can't hear us,
we'll shout a little louder!"

This one exclude the numerous men (they made up a third of the crowd), but it's still fun:

"2-4-6-8
We're the ones that ovulate!"

And then, when the crowd would pass by the few (and I mean FEW) anti-choice demonstrators, this would start up:

"Pro-life,
that's a lie!
You don't care
if women die!"

and the one I leaned toward:

"Pro-Family,
Pro-Choice!"

The Speakers:

As the marchers began to gather on the mall after the march, the speakers started up. It was like being on holy ground. With all of the groups that organized this (Planned Parenthood, NOW, Feminist Majority, the ALCU, and the likes) the star-power was phenomenal. I won't even bother to list them - it's too overwhelming. Suffice it to say, I left hoarse and had a smile from ear to ear, and tear stains on my cheeks.

In My Heart:

I wanted to let all of you know how much your messages of encouragement meant to me as I prepared for this trip. I thought of each and every one of you as I walked along that parade route. And I thought of the women who couldn't be there, those who fought for our rights decades ago, and those who will pick up this torch again over the coming years. It felt so good to be amongst the most diverse group of human beings I have ever laid eyes one, and know that we shared a common goal.

And though they'll never know it, I want to thank the anonymous women who patted me on the back and thanked me for having the courage to march with Thomas's story on my back for all to see.

Please take a few minutes to read more about the march in the Washington Post's articles. They also have some fantastic photos. You'll have to sign in, but it's worth it.

On Husband Training

I love my husband to death - let me be clear. However, I have noticed that he sometimes seems to be out of practice when it comes to some of the basic training men receive (from whom, I'm not sure) regarding the opposite sex.

Case in point:
A few weeks ago I lamented out loud that I wouldn't mind getting a boob job after we're done with children. For a little background: I've always been fine with the size and shape of my breasts. They're fine - nice even. However, the migrated notable southward after my pregnancy with Thomas and I wouldn't mind eventually having them hoisted back into their original place.

Now, as far as I know, every man alive knows the proper response when one's wife/girlfriend/significant other says they'd like a boob job. It goes something like this: "Why? I think you're beautiful just the way you are. You really don't need one." Or perhaps they even throw in a "I don't think you need one, but if that's really what you want, I'll support you."

What they do NOT say is:
"Well, you know, they're really not that expensive anymore."

My husband did, however, make that exact statement - verbatim.

All I could do was die laughing. Thankfully, I really don't have much of an issue about my boobs, or else he really could've sent me over the edge with that one!

To illustrate his mistake, I used the following example. I hypothesized that if he had approached me and mentioned that he would like a penile enlargement surgery, he might be somewhat taken aback if I were to reply: "Well, you know, they're not that expensive anymore."

The light bulb went on above his head and he suddenly saw my point.

Does anyone know if they offer refresher courses at community colleges?

Contrary to Popular Opinion...

... I am not a pimp.

So, to the gentleman (or lady) who searched Google for "Andreah nookie" and reached my site (alas, it was the only hit): you may be better served at this site.

Oh Yeah, I Meant to Rant

I'm sure some devotee will hate me for this one but it's got to be said:

Princess Diana was a spoiled brat.

Now, to be fair, I didn't watch the show about her secret recordings, so I may be speaking out of my ass. But how could I watch a show about a woman who states that she threw herself down a flight of stairs, "bearing in mind I was carrying a child." I don't care how much social pressure you felt to marry a prince who didn't love you. Get over it. Pick yourself up and deal with life. And if you can't, get some covert-ops type to find you a counselor pronto. Take some effing responsibility for your own life.

I used to think she was a lovely, graceful woman whose concern for the welfare of others who were less fortunate was commendable. Now I have to wonder. These secret tapes haven't made me feel sorrier for her, they've made me want to go back in time, grab her by the shoulders and give her a wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee-bitch! shake.

So there. I've said it. Any other martyrs I can take down while I'm at it?

I Tried to Pretend It Didn't Happen

But it did.

I came across this item in my inbox a few days ago. I hastily deleted it, and shook my head in that slightly-neurotic looking way that suggests one might be muttering to an imaginary friend. I suppose when you post pictures of your bellybutton, you can only expect this sort of response - but that still didn't prepare me.

Hi, Julia.

I came across your site and thought I'd drop a line. I'm sorry to hear about your losses and want to wish you the best.

I'm glad that you're aware of the power of a naked bellybutton on us males! I've always loved seeing a woman's bellybutton. Yours is very cute, by the way -- do you like to have it touched and/or kissed as well as seen? Too bad your hubby doesn't give it the attention it deserves!

I wouldn't worry too much about your scars. I actually find stretch marks and other marks on a woman's belly to be erotic. I guess they just draw further attention to an area I love so much.

Hope this message finds you well!

Cheers,
Belly Freak

Well, Mr. Freak, all I have to say is, "EEEEW!" While I'm glad that you took a momentary pause in your blatant sexual overture to wish me well on my efforts to have a baby, the ensuing creepiness undid all the goodwill imparted in the gesture.

And, by the way, who the hell said anything about stretch marks?!

I repeat: "EEEEWWWW!!"

Perhaps, Belly Freak, you wouldn't mind hanging out with getupgrrl's "Huge Cock" and Bill Miller in the reject department.

Hung on My Mind

Thanks to the Ellen Show (which is my all-time favorite ever morning program) I now have the musical stylings of one William Hung stuck in my mind for the rest of the day. His haunting rendition of of the latin classic "She Bangs" does just that - haunts me.

Ding-Dong, The Witch is Dead! Now, On to Horshack!

That's right, folks! At last we have some resolution. I have no lofty theories or witty observations to impart in this entry - just a huge sigh of relief.

Here's the latest skinny:

After a long and tiresome game of phone tag with my RE's nurse(s) (shocking, I know) I have switched to a new doctor in the same clinic. This one comes highly recommended by two of the "A-List" doctors from the Asherman's Syndrome support group. Already I feel a big, rosy sense of peace settling in.

In order to do this, we've had to adjust schedules. I'll be seeing Horshack in two weeks for my initial consultation and pre-op visit, all rolled into one. Assuming he wants to proceed with surgery (he's seen my HSG films and seems to concur thus far), I'll go in for the hysteroscopy and adhesion repair two days later. This means I won't have to delay the surgery for another full cycle. I will, however, have to take a medication for a week longer to delay any build-up of lining in my uterus.

At this juncture, I feel it necessary to give myself a big pat on the back, and a round of applause to you ladies (oh, and my husband) for giving me the courage to demand what I needed. I was first told by the nurse that the switch was approved, but that I would have to start over from scratch with Horshack, and postpone the surgery for a whole cycle. Did I mention that nurse is a bitch?

I got off the phone, cried. Called my husband, cried. And then called her back. Thank God I spoke with the other, much more reasonable nurse. I demanded that she present our specific situation to Horshack and ask him to make an exception. She did. He did. And now everybody's happy.

The surgery scheduling nurse (I love her, by the way. Turns out she was the receptionist at my old GYN's office when I was a teenager) has already said I have "no worries at all" with Horshack, and that he's a great doctor who'll take good care of me. By the way, I think it's significant that his calendar was much fuller than my old RE's.

Sooo... we can all do a happy dance over the figurative grave of my old RE, and finally begin to plot the demise of my OB who likely missed all this damage in the first place!