Friday, December 29, 2006

Oh No...They're On To Me!

First things first...I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday, I've missed you! I hope everyone got to spend some quality time with the people who are important to you. Laughter, love and a little indulgence are always great ways to make the most of time off.

Anyways, I wasn't planning on posting til the New Year as I wanted to start fresh and maybe with a less sarcastic and more positive attitude - it turns out that positive may be a possibility, less sarcasm is simply not feasible. In general I have a fairly sarcastic attitude, I think it's part of my "charm" (he, he), and thus 2007 will be dripping with my ridiculous, yet hopefully entertaining, attitude.

Case in point: I started back to work half days this week - I'm not actually supposed to work for at least another week and a half but I'm feeling guilty not working, so here I sit, kind of working, kind of blogging, and trying not to fall over. Lots of fun.

Anyhoo, yesterday morning there was a sign up in the lobby of our building from one of the other offices. It was a sort of warning/we're on to you/you better stop it, kind of message. Every morning there is a newspaper addressed to this particular office sitting in the lobby. In good faith, most people just leave it there because it isn't theirs, and when that office opens in the morning someone that works there grabs the paper on the way in.

Apparently someone has been stealing this newspaper recently. I've never witnessed it myself, but it seems to have been going on for some time now, thus the message on the wall. (Click on the pic to enlarge the text and read the message.)

Assuming that you have now read the message - I can ask if you have been struck with the same thoughts as me. First of all "To Whomever" and "know who you are". Does this strike anyone else as questionable? Why would you even post this "to whomever"? If you know who it is then why don't you just confront them? It's not like this is a huge office building; it's only four floors and you know who almost everyone is. And if you're too chicken shit to actually ask someone face to face to quit stealing your newspaper - then why don't you write a few key points about that person?

For example: To the lady in the red coat that comes in every morning at 8:04 and drives the black Chry.sler Se.bring and works on the 2nd floor and keeps stealing our paper.

I guarantee that she won't be stealing your paper anymore, she'll be so embarassed because most everyone will realize who she is that she won't even look at your paper in the morning.

Second of all, as if you have a camera system in the lobby. For one thing, I know that is crap. For another, wow - it's super that you have one tiny office downstairs but somehow that constitutes you having an entire surveillance system of the main lobby. And lastly, it is so obvious from your lame message that you really have no idea who is stealing your paper that it's hard to take you seriously.

Leave your paper where it is, hide around the corner, and when someone grabs it on the way through in the morning, jump out and yell "A-ha" in a really wild shrieky voice - I know I wouldn't be stealing a paper if some lunatic jumped out and yelled at me every morning.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Have Yourself a Merry Little...Whatever You Celebrate!

Words cannot express the love and affection that I’ve come to have for each and every one of my comrades in Blogland this past year.

No matter if I was posting about the colour of my linoleum, my crazy neighbours or my life’s most recent tragic events – there were always comments coming in, letting me know that I was not alone and making me laugh when I was being ridiculous. I can only hope that I’ve been there for all of you in the way that you’ve been there for me.

I wish all of you unending joy and happiness for 2007 and take pleasure in the fact that I know you will be there through whatever else life may throw my way. I can feel it in my Gemini bones…2007 is going to be a magical year, for you and for me.

Be happy and healthy and hug your loved ones tight this holiday - I’ll see you in the new year!

Love you all, Ali

Thursday, December 21, 2006

All The Gory Details

*Warning: Post below is long, grimy, detailed, shocking, sickening and not too full of the Christmas spirit. I have decided to allow a few days of feeling sorry for myself and being pissed off at the world until I can surround myself with friends and family who can help me lessen the pain of this whole experience.

Okay…I’m sure you all remember my ectopic pregnancy of just last month. Since the day I spent in the ER getting the injections that were to “get rid of” that pregnancy I have been going for weekly vampire sessions to determine that the drugs were doing what they were supposed to and that my hcg (pregnancy hormone levels) were going down as they were supposed to. Each week following those visits I get a phone call from my specialist’s office telling me that my numbers are going down nicely and that there is no need to come in for an appointment – just go for blood work the next week to ensure that all is still well.

This past Saturday afternoon I’m on the phone with a friend when I begin to get cramping in my lower abdomen. It’s pretty painful but after about 15 minutes it goes away. I brush it off as something that I’ve eaten that my silly body is not agreeing with. A few hours later I’m making dinner and wham! All of a sudden I get hit by another wave of cramps – only this time it’s worse – within ten minutes I’m swearing and crying. The husband calls and says he is just leaving work – says I sound funny. I tell him I am in some pain and just want him to come home.

Twenty minutes later he comes in to find me panting on the couch, supper is turned off and I’m moaning and trying to stop crying. He immediately goes into nurse mode and says he’s taking me to the hospital. My specialist has always advised me to call his office and speak to the doctor on call before going to the hospital should anything like this happen.

I call the office and am hooked up with the paging service, they tell me the doctor should get back to me shortly. He calls me about 6 minutes later and I tell him I am in severe pain and it’s all in my left lower abdomen, where the ectopic was, and I’m scared, should I be going to the ER? He asks if I have any Tylenol with codeine in the house, says take 2 and to call him back if I really feel that I need to. In short, he makes me feel like a real hypochondriac for calling him at all.

The husband gives me a couple T3’s and after another 45 minutes of rolling around on the bed and a lot of tears, the pain subsides and I fall into a fitful sleep.

Sunday morning I wake up, my abdomen is sore but I don’t feel too bad and manage to do some stuff around the house and go out to the drug store and pick up some Tylenol 1’s in case I have more pain today. While I’m out walking around my stomach begins to hurt more but I chalk it up to the fact that I was in so much pain the night before that this is just the aftermath. I get a few more cramps throughout the day but am fine until later that night.

The husband goes to bed at around 10 pm that night. At 11:30 I am yelling at him from the living room couch to come help me. He comes out to find me writhing in pain on the couch, and I ask him to warm up the hot water bottle so that I can put it on my abdomen. I pop two Tylenol 1’s and lay there. At this point I can’t walk. After 45 minutes I drag myself off the couch and half crawl into the bedroom. I figure I’ll feel better after lying in my own bed. At 2 am I wake hubby up again – telling him that I can’t take it anymore – I’m having trouble breathing and the pain is not going away. He is up in two seconds, pulling on clothes and telling me he’s taking me to the ER. I struggle into some clothes, stagger part way down the hall, dive into the bathroom and puke. Ten minutes later we’re pulling into the ER parking lot.

We walk in, the nurse talks to us, I explain what’s been going on with the whole ectopic thing and she says to sit down until someone calls us. We sit down for 10 minutes, I tell Chris to grab me a garbage can because I’m going to puke. He does and I do. After I’ve been wretching for 3 minutes the nurse comes over and tells me I can’t puke in the garbage because those pails are meant for other things and she takes it away from me! She’s lucky I had stopped for a moment or otherwise I would have puked on her.

They put me into a room where I have to explain again why I’m there, then tell me that they’ll have an IV hooked up shortly with pain medication and Gravol to stop the nausea. Whatever, I’m just moaning and trying not to pass out at this point. The first nurse pokes me 3 times trying to put an IV in, tells me she’ll be right back because she can’t do it. One hour later I poke my head out of the room and she’s standing there at the desk. I say “Is someone coming in here? I can’t take this anymore.” She tells me that whoops, someone was supposed to be coming but they got sidetracked. But not to worry, the doctor is seeing me next.

I turn around and sit on the edge of the bed, start to heave and the doctor walks in. I will not go into the details of this doctor - I will only say that if I would have been in my right mind I would have ripped him to shreds. Not only did he give me a lecture on coming to this ER (which is two minutes from my house) instead of going to the one downtown because they have a gynecologist on call all night, but he also made me tell him again why I was there. He didn’t stop questioning me while I puked in my hair, while I puked on my gown and when I ran past him into the bathroom. He stared at me in total disgust and finally said “Ew, let’s see if I can get someone to help you.” Then he walked out while I was standing there wiping tears from my eyes and trying to stop puking.

Twenty minutes later another nurse came in and got an IV started on the third try. Within half an hour I was passed out from all the fluid, Gravol and Morphine being pumped into my body. I vaguely remember Chris coming in and me telling him to go home because they were keeping me until sometime the next morning.

At some point Monday morning a nurse came in and told me that I was going for an ultrasound at 12:15. I was so sore, yet so high, that I just told her whatever, that sounded good to me. When Chris came back to the hospital I told him what was going on and he decided to wait with me until they came to take me for the ultrasound.

When they wheeled me in for the ultrasound I was kind of sitting up on the stretcher. Of course I had to lay down for the exam so the tech fixed the stretcher so I could lay back. As soon as I laid back I got a case of cramps so bad that I couldn’t breathe. She helped me sit up and it took 10 minutes for me to stop gasping for breath. From the second I had walked in the hospital I hadn’t been breathing properly – it ended up taking over an hour to finish the ultrasound - then, as per usual, I was told that I would have to make an appointment with my specialist after I was discharged to get the results.

About half an hour after I get wheeled back into my room a nurse comes in and tells me that I will be able to go home soon and I say I’m not leaving without pain killers. She says that’s fine and I lay there with Chris waiting for them to come in with my discharge papers.

Twenty minutes go by and we hear a lot of mentioning of my doctor’s name in the hallway. All of a sudden another doctor comes in and says it turns out that we’re not going to be able to avoid the surgery, the tube has ruptured.

Um, pardon? What tube? What surgery? A nurse just told me that she was sending me home with pain killers 20 minutes ago. Suddenly that same nurse is back in the room telling me that they’re moving me to a quieter room and that my surgery will be in an hour. Looking back at that now, I was in a total daze from all the drugs and I just remember saying to Chris “Can you go call my mom and tell her what’s going on?” She was in the city with her brother shopping and I knew she would want to know. Chris said okay, and that he was calling his mom and dad too.

All of a sudden my mom was there, and Chris’s sister and her boyfriend were there and my mom was tearing up and telling me good luck and Chris was crying and telling me that he wished he could switch places with me and I was telling him he was silly and that everything would be okay. I was so messed up that I didn’t even have time to get scared.

Then they wheeled me away to the pre-op room and Chris and my mom were there with me. My surgeon is a colleague of my specialist and he walks over to the bed and says “your tube has ruptured, the baby is still growing, I don’t know if we can save the tube.” And then I started to cry and I couldn’t even look at my mom or Chris. I signed the paperwork and they wheeled me away. I vaguely remember talking to the anesthetist and all of a sudden I was waking up in a hospital room and my mom and Chris and my in-laws were there. I vaguely remember one of them telling me that the doctors had to remove my fallopian tube before I passed out.

I found out Tuesday that the baby has been growing in my tube all this time. My hcg numbers have been going down, but nowhere near as quickly as they should have. Everything I have read says that within the first week if the numbers aren’t going down properly I should have another shot of the medication. So I had a 10.5 week old baby growing in my fallopian tube and no one told me. It turns out that when I had the surgery there was close to 2 litres of blood in my abdomen. If I would have waited until Monday I would be dead. The shitty part is that I found this out from my mom and Chris, who heard it from my surgeon after my surgery – not even from my own doctor.

So now I’m at home popping countless pills to get me through the day, my stomach looks like I have been beaten, I have to take a nap after being awake for 2 hours because of how much blood I lost and now I have an even lesser chance of having a baby.

Never in my life have I felt so little faith, especially in the medical profession. I am sick both mentally and physically at the fact that I slipped through the cracks and had it not been for Chris and I finally deciding that something was not right – I may not be alive right now. There are so many questions swirling around in my mind, ones that I'm hoping my doctor is thinking of some damn good answers to while he is away on holidays.

* Whew, how was that for depressing? I’m sure that by next week I will be feeling better and have a much better outlook on this whole situation. Thanks to each and every one of you for all your kind thoughts and prayers again. Your love and support mean so much to Chris and I.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

It Just Never Ends...

Hi Everyone,
This is just quick to say I won't be posting for awhile - if I feel up to it I might try on Friday.
Ended up in the ER at 2:30 Monday morning - turns out the drugs didn't work and the baby was still growing. It ruptured my tube and I had to have surgery. So now there is only one tube - things are kind of rough around here. I'll give you all the gory details later.
Love you all, take care.


Sunday, December 17, 2006

Curls, Curls, Everywhere

My hair straightener bit the dust a couple days ago.
Now I am stuck with my thick dark hair in huge curls.
Not a terrible thing, but definitely not my favourite look.
The husband likes the curls.
I am not such a big fan.
Once in a while is cute, everyday is not.
Oh please, someone tell my mom to buy me a new straightener for Christmas.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Why Is the World In Such a Hurry?

This is about a block from where I work in downtown Winnipeg. I took this picture because I liked the colour of the sky and I wanted to get some of the Christmas lights in.
This is what I got.
I do like this picture - but it just illustrates the point that we are all in too much of a hurry - these people were probably rushing through a red light knowing Winnipeg drivers.
I myself am guilty of being in a desperate hurry much of the time. No one drives fast enough, no one returns email fast enough, at a restaurant I have to wait too long for my food, that old lady crossing the street is too slow; the list goes on and on.
Every once in a while my mom will say to me "Alison, you need to slow down, you're going to make yourself sick." And it's funny, she's usually right. She always seems to say that just when I'm on the verge of getting sick and I'm tired of running all over the place like a crazy person.

Is there really a point to getting mad because I have to wait for the guy ahead of me to go in and pay for his gas before I can get mine?
Why do I get irritated at a restaurant because my food isn't out 10 minutes after I order it? Usually if we're in a restaurant we're there with friends anyways - so why not just enjoy the extra moments to socialize with them before we're filling our faces?

They play a commercial on the radio here to promote "Safe Streets." The idea is to get people to realize that speeding down residential streets to get somewhere faster is dangerous and pointless. They even give statistics, for instance did you know that during a 20 minute drive you will only save 2 minutes by driving residential streets at 80 kilometers per hour? And that's if you blow all the stop signs.
When I heard that radio campaign it really made me think. How many times have I cut down side streets to "save time" and driven much faster than I should have, just to arrive a minute or two early? Too many to count.

My life has really been a whirlwind lately, and with Christmas coming up and everything going on at work I haven't really taken the time to process everything. As a result there are some little simple pleasures in my life that I have been pushing aside. Calling friends, going for coffee late at night with the husband just to hang out with each other and chat, and basically just taking the time to enjoy my life.

I think I'm going to go call my mom and dad, then I'm going to take a bubble bath and do some reading. I can't remember the last time I did any of those things.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Why Do You Do What You Do?

I have been thinking lately about why I'm in the professional field that I am.

I can only remember 3 careers that I had in mind while I was growing up. When I was really little I wanted to be a bus driver. Then when I hit about twelve I decided that I wanted to be a marine biologist. That lasted for quite a while, but then when I was in about grade eleven all of my friends started talking about what they were going to do with their lives and what college or university they wanted to attend. One day I decided that it only made sense that I go to school for journalism.
I had always been word obsessed, I loved competing in spelling bees, I excelled in English and loved to read and write. It was funny that when the idea of being a journalist popped into my mind, it was like my thoughts became crystal clear and I thought "of course I should be a writer - there's nothing else I even want to do."
My mom nearly had a heart attack when I told her that I had decided to be a journalist. She kept telling me that they didn't make any money and that I was so smart, why didn't I go into something in the sciences or medical field? Try explaining to someone from an entire family of pharmacists, nurses, ultrasound techs and all things brainy and medical that you want to do something artsy. No one could grasp why I would want to do this to myself.
Thank god for my dad who finally decided that if I could deal with the fact that I would make crappy money, then I may as well do something I would be happy with. My dad had married into this medical family as an engineer for CN Railway so he knew what kind of reactions I was getting.
The summer I turned 18 I packed up my stuff and moved 18 hours away to a little city where I didn't know anyone and started going to college. I think that those few years were some of the best in my life and I learned a lot by being so far from home - good thing I'm not shy!
When I graduated I moved about 30 hours in the opposite direction to do my co-op placement as a reporter for a small weekly newspaper. It was awesome! I was terrified and excited the whole first month - but it was a fabulous job.
Eventually I lost my job there because they had some sort of rule about hiring people from out of province when there are people that have been born and raised there that need a job - that sucked.
Over the next 3 years I worked crappy retail jobs while trying to get another job in journalism. *Just a tip for anyone thinking of getting into the field...unless you have an "in" with someone or you have a horseshoe up your ass - you are not getting a job in this field. It is all about who you know, not what you know. And the writers stick around until they die at 87 years old and haven't wrote anything fresh or interesting since they were 50.*
Anyways, we moved to Manitoba in late 2001 and I got a job as a proofreader at a major auto magazine. I was also working 40 hours a week as a nanny for a family in the city to make ends meet. My hours at the auto magazine place ranged from 17 - 20 hours a week, and together with the nannying, sometimes my combined hours were 60 each week.
I worked like that for 3 years until I was so burnt out that I was starting to hate my life and my jobs. Oh yeah, and I was doing freelance writing for anyone that would give me a chance at the time.
Then one day about 7.5 months ago I saw this ad in the paper for an "editorial coordinator." I wasn't going to apply because I figured I wouldn't get it, but finally decided that I had nothing to lose but the 80 extra hours of work I was doing each month. So apply I did, and I was called for an interview the next week. Two hours after my interview they called to offer me the job, and two weeks later I started my current job.
I was an editorial coordinator for about 3 minutes before I was given the editor title. I was the junior editor for 3 months and then the senior editor quit and Ta Da! Ali was suddenly the only editor in sight. So far it has all been one huge blur, and I'm learning as I go, but I am far from being as good as I hope to be one day.

James was asking what magazine I work for - the truth is that I work for a publishing company, and we publish association magazines for people all over Canada and the U.S. I believe there are about 40 separate associations that we publish for. Some have 1 magazine a year, some 2, some 4, and some 12.
I am the editor for about 30 of those magazines - basically I am permanently busy.
But I love, love, love my job - the designers I work with are incredible, my boss is hilarious and it's a great place to work.

So now I'm curious, what do you all do? I know Reggie has something to do with investing, and Zig is a designer (he's one of the "incredible" ones at my work), Alyssa is a high school teacher (you are so brave to do that, I would be too chicken to hang out with high school kids), Logziella is a stay-at-home mom (which one day I hope to be) and I'm not sure about everyone else.

So what do you do and why do you do it? I would love to know more about all of you since I just bored you to tears with a 10 minute explanation of my career choice.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

What's New Pussycat?

Whew, I'm out of breath! Pant, wheeze...I was just sitting here getting more and more ticked at blogger for not letting me on for the past hour or so and decided to crank some tunes while I waited. I've been shaking my ass to a combo of Aretha Franklin, Bay City Rollers and The Bangles for the past 45 minutes or so. As a result I am in a fabulous mood. There's just something about dancing with nobody watching that is so liberating. Although sometimes I dance like there is no one watching, when in fact, I'm in a crowd of people at a wedding reception or something. Ahem, I've never been what you would call the "shy" type.

So this morning I was late for work (surprise, surprise), at lunch I went for a vampire visit, then as soon I was done work I dragged my butt to Wal-mart to have my passport picture retaken. The husband took our paperwork in yesterday and they rejected my picture because I had a glare on my forehead. In my new picture I look like a deranged serial killer that just got loose from the asylum, but I guess that's much better than a 2 millimeter white spot on my forehead.

Anyhoo, it's been beautiful here the past 3 or 4 days and I'm loving the warm weather. The only crappy part is that the bottom of all my jeans get caked in dirty slush about 2 seconds after I leave the house.

Ooooh, yay! Eddie Rabbit - I love a Rainy Night just came on, I love this song. This night just keeps getting better and better.

There has been a lot of new things going on at my work lately. People quitting, new hires, changing offices, re-arranging offices - that sort of thing.
As a result of all these changes, the woman I used to share my office with has now moved to another office, leaving me to do what I please with mine. In a few months there is supposed to be another editor starting who will be in once a week, and I do still have to share my office with her...but as far as I'm concerned I can still do what I want with the office since she'll barely be there.
So yesterday I moved a bunch of stuff around, totally changing the layout of the office. Zig helped me decide where to put everything and moved all the stuff I couldn't budge and as a result it looks awesome! I still have to do a little tidying and bring in some pictures and stuff - but what a change! With the way things are set up now I actually feel like an editor (or an adult at least).
The designers kept popping in today and telling me that it seemed like I was a guidance counsellor or something. I do kind of come off as that wacky teacher that wants to relate to the kids and make them feel at home. I've been forcing everyone to cut out snowflakes for all the windows in my office and I have some garland up, and there are 2 life size skeletons on the wall from halloween that I can't bear to take down.
I'm going to take pictures tomorrow to give you a better idea of what I'm talking about.

Have a wonderful evening all you fabulous people!

P.S. Wow, I just re-read this post - I'm all over the place! Sorry about that.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Oh Christmas Tree

Well we finally got to go home this past weekend. I'm not sure if I mentioned it last week, but we didn't actually get to Ontario last weekend because my doctor was worried about me being so far away from a major hospital.
Because of that we were both giddy to travel home this weekend, and I kicked my feet like an excited five year old the whole three hour drive.
We had tons of stuff to do, people to visit, surprise parties to attend, family functions, decorations to put up - we were running around like mad the whole time we were there. It was great though because with so much going on we were able to take our minds off the past month's events.
Yesterday afternoon the husband and I went and cut down our Christmas tree. We picked a little 5 footer since we had to bring it back in the trunk of our car - plus, since we travel part way home through Minnesota, they have all kinds of crazy restrictions on what they'll let cross through the state.
The husband was very excited to cut the tree, as you can see. Oh, and we named the tree Roland.
Now the decorations are all on and I can start to put away all the empty bins that have been littering my living room floor for several weeks now.
I still have at least half my shopping to do, but at least I know everything I need to buy and will be able to go out a couple evenings and get everything else I need.

Before you know it Christmas will be over and will be on to the grind of January. But one highlight is our trip in February! The husband had today off and went and got our passports renewed - Mexico is only a couple months away now and the line-ups at the passport office are a couple hours deep at any given time now. Whoo, it's coming up quick!

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Poor Husband

The husband had a terrible day. Crappy day, cranky boss, car wouldn't start, had to be towed, just got home at 10:15 tonight.
That's the jist of it anyways. He's cold and tired and so am I, so when he gets out of the shower I'm gonna have one and then we're going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long and probably expensive day.

You know, as a woman, sometimes it's nice to feel like the hero, instead of it always being the man.


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Is Anyone Still Awake Out There?

It's eleven p.m.
I am so freaking tired that words cannot express how badly I want to crawl into my big, warm bed and crash - but for you, my 4 (or so) loyal readers, I will prop my eyes open and attempt some form of blogesque writing.
As I mentioned yesterday, I had quite the mountain of work waiting on my desk when I got into the office. I brought some home last night and worked just over 2 hours.
Today I worked like a mad woman and got a bunch more stuff done. Then one of my co-workers, who shall remain nameless...cough, hack, wheeze, Zig, sniffle, pant, cough...drops another magazine on my desk. Since I just finished the one he gave me yesterday (after 45 minutes in the office and 3 hours at home), I will do what I can to finish the newest delivery tomorrow, but I am refusing to bring home any work tomorrow night.
I am in desperate need of a day of catching up in the office. I have about 16 To-Do lists scattered across my desk, 3 piles of "must take care of this ASAP" stuff, 20 emails that I was supposed to find answers for but haven't had time to, and a months worth of timesheets that were due last week. I am hoping to take tomorrow afternoon to catch up on all that junk.

Since the husband and I seem to be pretty consistent with being broke, we have reached that time between pay periods where there isn't much to eat - well, not that we want to eat anyways, and where our imaginations just aren't working enough to come up with something creative.
But maybe I should be speaking for myself here...the husband never ceases to amaze me with the um...interesting concoctions he comes up with.
Take tonight for example: I knew I had lots of work to do and I was cold, so I decided to make some cream of chicken soup. Simple, easy, tasty - my idea of a quick supper.

The husband, on the other hand decided to make chili. I realize that chili is not such a weird meal choice. It's more the way he doctors it up that makes me cringe.
First he dumps a can of Stag Chili in a pot, then grabs some frozen meatballs from the freezer and throws them in, then grabs the frozen corn niblets from the freezer and throws a handful in.
The result was the disgusting pot of blech below.
Ewwwww...fake chili mixed with meatballs mixed with niblets, yuck!

I asked him tonight how (and why) he always comes up with these really gross concoctions. His mom is an awesome cook, and she always has meals ready for the family - we rarely have to fend for ourselves at her house.
He said that nothing he ever comes up with tastes bad, it just looks gross. This coming from the man who once ate fried eggs with a cheese slice on top, on top of rye bread, with strawberry jam slathered on top, and I think he may have even dipped the whole thing in ketchup - although he will say that I've made the ketchup part up. I can't believe he doesn't have nightmares from what he eats.

As you may have noticed since I've began posting photos again, I've found my camera!
It was missing for just over a month. You'll never guess where it was.
It my purse...the whole time...and I have carried it around with me...for the entire month...totally unaware that the stupid thing was with me...and I made my parents search their entire house...twice...because I was convinced it was there. Sigh, sometimes the most obvious place is the last one we would look.
In my defense I actually did search my purse, just not in that particular pocket which is located on the back of the purse. I don't use that pocket for anything so I never dreamed it would have slid in there.
There is really no way to explain how this isn't my fault in any way that would be beneficial to me or make me look any less ridiculous - so we'll just leave it that I found my camera, and whaddaya know, it was in the most remarkable place!


Whew, considering how tired I was this sure turned out to be a long (if boring) post. I think I've gotten my second wind...oh, no wait, there it goes - guess I'm off to bed.

Monday, December 04, 2006

I'm Back World!

*Update* I started back at work today (as did the husband) and we are both feeling much better. Obviously we are still sad, but we've decided to try to move on and take comfort in the fact that we had no other choice about what to do, and that we did conceive and are taking that as a sign that we are meant to bring babies into this world. Thank you all again for your beautiful prayers and encouragement. Chris and I appreciate it immensely.

Anyhoo, this is the stack of "critical" work that was waiting for me upon my arrival back at the office today. Three magazines worth of paper, and several minor disasters to take care of.
If you worked in my office you would hear me swear and yell miscellaneous threats on a daily basis - but I really do love my job. Without the drama and deadlines it would be no fun. Really.
Tonight I brought home the thickest folder at the bottom of the stack- it took me 2 hours to get through - but nerdy me enjoyed reading through all the ads and copy, marking down page numbers and making note of any mistakes. Why I enjoy this line of work, I have no idea.

Another thing I enjoy is my name. As you'll see from my shirt above - my name is Alison. About half the people in my life call me Alison, the other half call me Ali. My best friend calls me Al (and is the only person allowed to do that) and my dad calls me babe. Oh, and the husband calls me Shy, baby, Shynin, and whatever other name we are stuck on at the moment.

Yeah, anyways, back to the name.

I really do like my name, in fact, I requested this shirt for a Christmas present about 3 years ago. Many people think I'm a loser for liking this shirt - but I've found that a lot of men enjoy it. I'm thinking it has something to do with the fact that they are kind of "allowed" (in their minds anyways) to look at my chest when I'm wearing it. To all the men out there, I am not dumb, please don't be an ass and pretend that you're reading my shirt when you're actually taking it as an invitation to ogle.
Anyone physically close enough to me to read it already knows my name anyways, so don't pretend that reading it was a big revelation for you.

As you can all see, I'm wasting no time in getting back to my upbeat, if somewhat snarky, self. I've missed being happy and relaxed the past month or so and will do my best to be happy once again.