Old School

I was watching a special on MTV at some point this past week entitled True Life: I'm a High School Senior. It tracked the journey of several kids from two different schools through much of their final year of high school.
It was painful to watch.
You know how sometimes you hear that old theme song from your high school prom or look at some locked-in-time photographs of younger days and every memory of time and place tumbles down upon you and swallows your self-esteem whole?
Okay, maybe you don't.
But I do.
Watching the program made me nauseous. There are feelings that one learns to compartmentalize over time. Traumas, sights, sounds, loves. The mind pushes them to a little room, because though these feelings have built your personality, they shouldn't necessarily ever see the light of day again. But when something triggers the latch on the door to that little room, all of the memories and feelings spill onto the floor like sand. You can't pick them up and put them away fast enough.
As the more astute members of the audience may have gathered, I had a somewhat awkward high school experience. I was neither popular nor unpopular. Neither known or unknown. Not happy or sad. I was just so ordinary. And I knew it. Feeling ordinary is harder to accept than anything else. It has a certain hopelessness to it.
Why did everything seem like it was absolutely important then? Very nearly the day after I graduated, I came to the realization that none of it mattered. I became the person that I knew I could be. Much more outgoing. Happier. Extraordinary.
But then I see these kids going through the whirlwind. Caught up in it. The monumental, seemingly life-altering twist of fate that tears at you and make you wonder if the world is always going to be so unfair. I want to shake them and tell them that none of it matters!
But I guess it does matter. I guess we need that little room in our minds. I guess we need to pass through there to get here.

For the Love of Juno

Since I can hear my friend Emily practically begging me to write about the Oscars, here goes:

Oh, Ellen.

I know, I know. You love the converse. You're a smart kind and a bit of a tomboy. I like you. I saw Juno. You seem smart. I think you're adorable. If I lived next door to you, we'd be hanging out, shooting the stuff all the time. And if that were the case, today I would shuffle over some time after noon with McDonald's French Fries (for the hangover) and the papers, and we'd eat six or seven bags of chips and then I'd say, "Ellen, WTF?" And you'd roll your eyes, and then I'd say, "Why didn't you ask me?" and you'd say, "because you would have told me not to wear it." And I'd say, "And?" And you would say, "and you would have been right."

Painful Reality

The youngest singers on American Idol this week were born in 1991-1992. They were tasked with singing tunes from the 60s, which would be the same as someone my age singing songs from the 40s.
And on a similar note, I haven't been able to get out of my head that Marty McFly went back in time to the 50s, which was 30 years before the 80s. And it's almost been 30 years since the 80s, so the 80s are to kids today what the 50s are to me.
Just in case you didn't have anything that depressed the crap out of you today.

Shout Out

Wouldn't you like to have Nurse Amber give you a sponge bath?

-

My Brother's girlfriend, Amber passed the RN boards yesterday! We are so proud of her and all she has accomplished so far in life.

Mothman Prophecy

Last night I had a dream that a moth got stuck in my throat. In the dream, I gagged and choked and hacked. The moth came out in a gooey glob. So here are my questions:
If I was hacking like a madwoman in my sleep, was I gagging in real life too?
Does this dream mean I'm uptight?
Why is the cat all wet?

The Answer

When I used to live and work in Chicago, conversations with friends would invariably drift to the subject of relationships. I was often the only girl member of the group and some times I was the only single person in the room. I'd grown used to the fact that I'm a bit of an anachronism. An anachronism and a sideshow freak. Nobody's still in love anymore. No one says it and means it every time. Nobody gets married and stays married for love. What's the point? It's just too hard. It isn't realistic. I had been burned before. And learned my lesson the hard way.
Then I meet Jason. And my whole world shifted.
I remember a recent phone conversation with my friend Tony. I like Tony; he's smart and clever and honest. He'll listen when you talk and will genuinely consider your point. He takes you in and doesn't make snap judgements. But he'll also come straight to the point.
"So why the hell did you get married, anyway?" he asked cheerfully.
"Whaddaya mean?" I asked, attempting to gain context through the phone.
"I mean..why get married? Why do it? I don't get it," he laughed.
"I guess..I don't.." I began to say.
"Did he make you get married? Like you couldn't resist the ring? Or just wanted a big party? I've really never understood this," he stated.
"No, he didn't make me. You're just mad because nobody will marry you. You have got to let go of the bitterness," I said with an exaggerated inhalation and exhalation.
"No, no, no, it's not about that. Hell, it's not like I even have prospects, let alone wife material. But I really don't get marriage. It all seems pointless and I don't know, fake," he explained.
"I guess I just..." and I stopped.
I don't think anyone had ever asked me before. How many years have I been married? What was the wedding like? Was I nervous? All the standard questions. But never why? How did I not have the answer to this question? I always screw up the easy questions on these tests.
"I guess because it's what you do, ya know? That next step, maybe? Wait...that's not right. That's the easy answer," I stumbled.
"Yeah, I am totally not buying your BS there," he laughed.
"I think because I really wanted to, ya know? I wanted to make him happy and our families happy and..." I tried to find the words.
"That all seems stupid to me," he said plainly.
"What?" I asked, surprised.
"That's really dumb. You got married to make other people happy? That's just so ridiculous. I mean, who cares?" he said.
"Not just to make other people happy. I wanted to get married. I wanted to make that commitment," I tried, certain that the term "commitment" would end the conversation. Yes. Take that.
"You shouldn't need a piece of paper and a minister for that," he countered.
I hate arguing with smart people.
"C'mon, it's more than that, and you know it," I said, getting a little pissed at my inability to answer this most basic question.
"No, I really, really don't know. I have no idea why people get married," he said, holding genuine.
"Maybe it comes down to how we're raised. My parents were married for 20 years and Jason's for over 35 or 36 year now. It's kind of ingrained in me. I want that life. Maybe you just never had that," I said.
"I'd at least buy into that a little more than your other arguments. I still don't understand why people feel the need to get married, though. The chance at failure almost seems to doom you," he stated.
"Yeah, but everyone goes into it with the belief that they're the exception. They're gonna make it." I reasoned.
"Well, that I get. That's true of every realtionship that ever was," he laughed.
"But honestly, Tony, it comes down to the fact that I just really love him. Maybe it's that simple. Maybe that's the answer," I finally said.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe that's enough."
I think about that conversation a lot, mostly because of my completely blindsided inablitity to express an answer. But today, a day no different than any other, save a number on a calender, I think I am ready to share the answer with you.
I got married because it means something to me and it means something to every person who knows us. It's not a piece of paper and a minister. It's a statement. I knew the moment that I met him that I wanted to look into his jewel-clear eyes and see his smile and hear his laugh every day. Every day. For the rest of our lives. The only future that I have, the only future that I want, is forever with him. That's why I am married. And that's why no date on a calender matters, because it's just another day on the road to ever after.
Happy Valentines's Day.

4:33 AM

Jason: Wake up! Honey, wake up!
Me: Ummm...
Jason: I had a really bad dream, you were having sex with a gay man. It's really upset me.
Me: What was I doing? Using the drumstick or what?
Jason: Drumstick? What are you talking about?
Me: Well, how exactly was I having sex with a game hen?

The Nonsense Poem

One dark night while the moon was bright
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other
A deaf policeman hearing the noise
Came to kill those two dead boys
And if you don't believe my story is true
Ask the blind man for he saw it too.

There Are Too Many Jennys Up In Here

To add to my ever-increasing list of ailments (other than feeling generally crappy this week), I think I have a urinary tract infection. Ugh. I was in tears this morning, simply because I'm sick of having something wrong with me all. the. time. I decided I needed immediate attention and called my poor doctor this morning because I was terrified this meant I would have to cancel my follie scan this afternoon. Also, I read online that a urinary tract infection could be a side effect of Femara. The doctor reasured me that we can still do the scan this afternoon and if it turns out to be a problem, they will write me a perscription while I am there. I think she thinks I'm crazy. And, as it turns out, I am. I'm suffering from multiple personality disorder at the moment regarding my upcoming follie scan. Here's what's going on inside my head:
Living-in-the-moment Jenny: I am going to get over this bladder infection idea and do my work just like any other day, and not think about my appointment this afternoon. Because what if it goes badly? I can't hinge my entire day on a doctor's appointment!
Hopeful Jenny: Oh, but won't I feel just fantastic when/if they find out I have one or two siezable follies! And why shouldn't I? I mean, it's not as if Clomid was a complete bust-it just didn't work quite as it should. Femara hasn't made me crazy like the Clomid did; that's got to be a sign, right? And I've heard plenty of stories of PCOS women who tried Clomid and it didn't work, and they tried Femara and got pregnant on their first try! It could happen. It could, it could, it could!
Pessimistic Jenny: Yes, well, I know plenty of other stories of women who didn't get jack-squat from Femara. What makes you think you are going to be one of the lucky ones? You certainly haven't been lucky so far.
Hungry Jenny: I'm hungry.
Scientific Jenny: Well, you know Femara works in a completely different way to increase estrogen than Clomid does, blah, blah, blah. So your reaction to Clomid is completely unrelated to what your reaction will be to Femara. And, you have ovulated before, so you have the capability.
British Jenny: So chin up, old sport! You could be in for a jolly good scan this afternoon!
Pessimistic Jenny: I'm not holding my breath. I've had so many disappointments so far, it's hard to imagine things actually working the way they should. I haven't even "put in my time" yet. We've only been trying for 14 months and most women with PCOS take longer than that.
Hungry Jenny: Is it time for a snack yet?

Spineless

I've always been a firm believer that the best time to look for a new job is when you don't need a new job. Though I'm happy with what I'm doing now, I've learned that the only way to move ahead is to look out for yourself. Which may explain why I'm with my sixth company in ten years.
To that end, I get daily updates from monster.com about what else is available in the market. It keeps me up to date on which companies are hiring and, sometimes, the salary range for comparable jobs.
I got a listing today that I thought was interesting:
Field Sales Specialist for Spinal Surgery
How great would it be if this was a door-to-door sales position?
"Excuse me Miss, I hate to bother you, but our warehouse just received an overstock of spines and we're prepared to offer them at below sticker price, including installation."
"I'm listening..."
"Well, ma'am, these are the finest spines on the market. No scoliosis in the lot. These are guaranteed not to rust, rupture, or leak in the first five years or your money back. Our fine surgeons will have you and your family in and out in about an hour. It's very similar to getting new glasses, except for it's excruiating."
"It sounds like a good deal, but I should talk to my husband about it first..."
"Ma'am, I don't mean to be rude, but I have plenty of other people who are interested in these spines. If you don't want them, then I'll just say good day to you and be on my way..."
"No, no! Wait. I'll take four!"
"Excellent!"
See, that's how they getcha. Lousy fast-talkin' spine swindlers.

Super Hot Sunday

We all know Tom Brady is hot. No, it's true. It's kind of unavoidable. But he's not the only quarterback playing in the Super Bowl this weekend--football rules inconveniently dictate that the other team must put one under center as well--and thus it's not fair that Tommy Boy snags all the attention. So, as both a sports fan and voyeur of attractive gentlemen, I turn my attention to Eli Manning vs. Tom Brady to see which one has the edge in all areas. Including where those spandex pants are concerned.
Tabloid Appeal: Tom Brady has been all over the rags this year, thanks to his baby-mama drama with Bridget Moynahan and his ensuing photo-friendly relationship with Gisele. Whereas I only know from Wikipedia that Eli Manning is engaged; "Giants QB Really Digs College Sweetheart" probably won't move any magazines unless he knocks her up with some baby joy. At Tom Brady's house.
Advantage: Tom. Unless you prefer keeping your private life private, but what's the fun there?
Commercial Appeal: Eli is never in an ad without his family, including a recent Oreo ad with his ubiquitous brother, Colts QB Peyton Manning-who, of course, gets the laugh line. On the other hand, Tom has endorsed everything from the Gap to Stetson cologne (shirtless!) and presumably get fierceness tips from his supermodel girlfriend.
Advantage: Tom. Although the Oreo is a fine, fine cookie.
Physical Appeal: Less inately suave, Eli comes off like a guy at a bar who'd attempt a clumsy pick up line, blush furiously, then stare at the floor, which could be endearing. Except, you know, he wouldn't be picking up women at bar, period. Tom, however, is-technically speaking-smoking hot. (Though, according to a poll published in the Boston Globe, of all places, women think Manning will look better on HD) On the field Brady gets an assist from the Pats uniforms, whose shiny football pants in either silver or blue perfectly hug the, shall I say, athletic posterior. The Giants need to ditch their unflattering dishwater-dull gray ones, pronto.
Advantage: Tom, thanks in part to his pants. On many levels, perhaps.
Mental Fortitude: It sucks to be the lesser Manning. But let's not diminish Brady's pain. Tom has bravely endured a battery of fierce compliments, proclaimations annoiting him an all-time great, and vicious accusations that he's peerlessly brilliant and driven. It's so hard.
Advantage: Eli. Heavy expectations all around, but Eli has less to lose and everything to win.
Pedigree: Brady plays like a top draft pick, but in fact, the guy was pick #199 and never locked down a starting job in college. Whereas Eli famously went first overall to San Diego. And then there's his family.
Advantage: Eli. He's not the best-known Manning, but neither is Tom the best-known Brady. That honor goes to Marcia.
Final Verdict: Game and set to Eli; let's see if he can take the match.