Please,please share. If you can't donate, then maybe by sharing this will reach someone who is able. Most importantly, maybe her story will inspire more women to get themselves checked out. Maybe it will inspire other to live with more kindness, compassion, understanding and empathy. The world needs more light, and we have lost a flame. May her spark, find and ignite the light in others.

sharegofundme.com/sheris-battle-with-ovarian-cancer

The Best Cover Letter Ever Written

Wow, it's been a long time since I have written in this blog. I have got some serious weeding to do! In my absence a lot has happened. I was promoted a couple times, got married to longtime boyfriend "The Viking" and a year later, unceremoniously quit my job of 8 years. What I was not prepared for at all was exactly how much the job market has changed, how much the rules for looking for a job have changed, how much my age actually does impact the types of job I am seriously considered for and how I am treated throughout the process. But..more on that later.

After weeks of hitting the pavement, job searching via the inter-webs, going through interview after interview, I decided to take a break form the grind and have a little fun with it. So, after a day full of reading rejection letters and tweaking my resume, I drafted this fantastic cover letter for my dream job which I feel truly exemplifies what a shining example of adulting in the new millennia looks like.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   20/6/2017

Hola Bitchachos,

Thank you for your consideration of me as candidate for employment within your fine establishment.  I would like to take this opportunity to further outline my qualifications and highlight some areas that I feel will strongly support your organizational goals.

Skills:

I am fluent in Typo-nese, English, Russian, Swedish, Klingon, Profanity and Drunk-text

I am able to type “Star Wars” entirely with my left hand

I will let you talk about yourself, pets and grandkids all day long

Endless knowledge of Star Wars, Firefly, Star Trek, MST3K, D&D, WoW, GOT,  Felicia Day and Unicorns

My training as raid leader has led to the unnatural skill of being able to take super -fast bathroom breaks

Master of the Vulcan Neck Pinch

I am winner of such prestigious awards as: 

v  The 1989 Payless Drug Store Easter Colouring Contest

v  1992 VanDeWarker Family Farting Contest

v  2015 Keeper of the Flame Award (picture of me kissing the award available upon request)

Rest assured that should you choose me to for this position you can expect : Boundless energy, glitter in my keyboard, glitter in your keyboard, random stray cat hairs (I don’t own any indoor cat’s I just attract the hairs), disco tourettes,  Nathan Fillion Trivia, plethora of unicorn figurines,  a super friendly smile that’s not in any way creepy or unsettling, Warren Zevon trivia, high fives,  a ridiculously fast coffee retriever, a tiny desktop succulent farm, Mustache Mondays and finally, sinister jazz hands.

Thank you for taking the time to review my application. I look forward to hearing from you soon!

'IwlIj jachjaj

Ozmarelda Körvinöas Chamberlain

Mother of Unicorns, Rider of Dragons

How does a Viking Propose?

Like This...

Fake Nerds

I thank my mother for at least half of my nerdiness. She would get so geekcited when Monty Python, Star Trek, Star Wars, X files, Aliens, The V,  Battle Star Galactica, STNG or Alien Nation would come on...it was infectious. I have carried that childlike excitement with me my whole life. I love most things Science Fiction.

Except the Matrix.
 . 

I love stuff. I have a plethora of interests. It just so happens that people who love the same stuff that I do identify with themselves as nerds or geeks. Does this make me a nerd? If they don't like all the same stuff I do, does that make them a fake nerd? If I don't have every fucky syllable of the first 50 years of Doctor Who memorized does this make me a fake nerd?

No.

ghobe' (Klingon for No. Pronounced ghhhhobeh)

For those who like to call others "fake nerds" because they don't speak enough Klingon or know what the fuck a parsec is or is not, I say "FUCK YOU". Yes, take that in. Absorb those fucks. All of them. You don't have the right to call anyone a "fake nerd". You love what you love, you don't need the whole fucking Star Trek box set and yippee doo the fucking dah glass collection from McDonalds to be a "nerd". Keep your judgments to yourself.

Now, roll for the intestinal fortitude to stand out in the crowd, love what you love with no fucks to give and Pray to Corellon that George R.R. Martin is not your GM.

 

This Blog Has No Direction

Agreed. This blog is terrible.  I think if I was not working full time and taking care of a large household that I would have more time to focus on the things I want to write about. I am always coming up with ideas for stories to blog about- like the time my dad cut his finger off, or my brother tried to cut the cleats off of his shoes, or the time my car caught on fire- or even my fantastic trips to renascence fairs.

These days I have been stuck in a terrible depression and I can't seem to shake it. I know a lot of it has to do with the fertility medications I am on. Normally I love to write when I am feeling down, but this down is different. It's malevolent and sinister; robbing me of all the things that used to make me feel happy.  My life depresses me, my infertility depresses me, my job depresses me, being a mother depresses me, being a friend depresses me. There's just too much sad.

I don't want to make anyone sad. I just want my sad to stop. I hate feeling helpless more than anything. I hate feeling like I am not being heard or taken seriously.  I need to get this sad under control and start living again. I just don't know where to start. I mean really, who wants to sit around all day wishing they just didn't exist anymore?

I think I am going to finally give this blog some direction. I have decided that I am going to blog about being totally and ridiculously honest about life.  If I do something stupid- I am going to blog about it and share my thought processes no matter how horrible, selfish, stupid or insecure I may seem. I will write like an adult trying to make sense out of things.

I am going to write about my childhood and all the funny, stupid, crazy things that happens when you live in a large, poor,  dysfunctional family, but through the eyes of a child.

Yes the blog will feel bipolar at times, switching from humorous stories to more real topics like how fucking hard it is to stay away form soy and carbs!

Stay with me folks. I'
m sure there will be a gem in here somewhere.

I'm not gay, but there are days I feel like a unicorn and there are days I feel like this unicorn.

Imaginary Children

When I first started this blog, I had intended to tell colorful stories of my childhood and maybe enlighten a few about dyscalculia. Over the course of a couple years it has evolved into something a little more. When I write about infertility, it's usually through my tears and as I sit here now- my eyes are thick with salt water.

I spend a lot of time imagining what our child would be like. I imagine a tall girl- with her fathers wavy blonde hair and my blue eyes. I imagine all the things I was going to teach her like pottery and archery, baking and makeup. She's had a hundred names in eight years. I imagine a son with a freckled nose and an oversized wristwatch riding a bike with his dad. I imagine teaching him to be a good man. A simple man.

Each year that passes by yeild not children, but another dozen failed pregnancy tests. I grow more distant from the things I once loved and feel myself surrendering to a deep and lingering sadness that I can not shake. I wear masks every day to work but I am afraid people are beginning to notice there's not much life happening behind these eyes.

I feel myself pushing my Viking away in anger and sadness. I am angry that he loves me. I am angry that he loves me AND I can't give him what he wants; what he deserves. I break my body, force chemicals into it, sleep upside down, eat strange herbs, suffer horrible pain and sickness. I must endure debilitating anxiety attacks brought on by the hormones. I am subjected to humiliation each time I see a new doctor. And I do all of this because I love this man so much and want to give him a child.

It does not matter to me if he tells me we don't need to have a child. I know in my heart he wants one and I will be the reason he doesn't have an heir to his throne.  I can not live with that.

I never have felt permanent in this relationship. It  has always felt as though this relationship was hinged on whether or not I produced a baby. After so many years of failure the guilt, anger and complete and utter sorrow has broken me inside. I feel like the shell of a person, just animated skin  and bones masquerading around as a happy person.

I am slipping.

This causes me to stay away from people. I don't go to see his family even though they are right next door. Why? Guilt. I am a fraud. I am holding their son back from having a child. I am robbing them of having a grandchild. I see it when they look at me.

I lash out at the Viking- wishing he'd just end us. I imagine him finding someone who can and will give him a child. I imagine being both happy for him and terribly terribly sad.

I imagine running away to another state, Vanishing. Never looking back so I don't have to hurt.

There is no winning here. I lose no matter what. It's a terrible place to be.

People in my life do not understand what I am going through and I can not explain in anyway that help anyone feel what I am feeling. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Infertility truly is a lonely place.

My Viking is away for ten whole days and we are finishing up our last round of fertility treatments. I'm out in the woods all alone and hoping the hormones don't attract Bigfoot. To see how I would fair I took this handy quiz.


http://theoatmeal.com/quiz/bigfoot_love

The Day My Dad Lost His Finger

As I have mentioned before, I am the oldest of seven, mostly feral children, all about a year and a half apart. I am 12 years older than my youngest sibling which pretty much made me the boss by default. With a family that big, there were bound to be injuries.We fought.... a lot. Everyday our yard looked like a scene from Brave Heart. I had practically become a combat medic by age 11.  Besides our constant battling, at least two of my siblings were terribly clumsy and one sibling in particular had the worst case of ADHD in medical history. Imagine a clumsy Flash Gordan, that would be my oldest sister.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles + Koolaid+ 2 boys= roundhouse kick to the nose^blood

Treefort + 5 roudy siblings and 2 neighbor boys + lack of parental supervision= broken arm.

 Fighting sisters= smashed fingers in the door.

7 kids+Koolaid and PB&J sandwhiches= mini armageddon at the Korvinos house.

 I now understand why my mother was such a Nazi about keeping stuff out of the house that had sugar in it. We were where the wild things were.
 

There was so much blood being spilled at my house, that I have become a blood spatter expert.
Blood smear on the wall- Oh that means Jaime and Jeremy were watching the Ninja Turtles again. (Thanks to my brothers, we couldn't watch "Karate Kid", or the Turtles because they suddenly became karate masters of the dojo)

When one of my siblings got injured, my Mom had one of two emotions and you never knew which one you were going to get. She'd laugh at you so you didn't cry, get up and walk it off OR she'd get angry-scared and fly into super- panic ER Doctor mode. When she was frenzied Dr. Mom, she would instantly appear with a first aid kit and you'd spend the next 45 minutes in a  cloud of  profanity, antiseptic and bandages. You may have only had an infected flea bite on your shoulder, but my Mom's fussing coupled with her epic bandages were so intense you couldn't move your toes when she was done with you. There were a lot of times when injuries were laughed at to toughen us up. Like the time I got a splinter in my butt from the sea saw at school and my Mom  tried to get it out in front of the Avon lady laughing the whole time.


"Pfft...you don't need to go to the doctor, it's only a flesh wound. Stop bleeding on my carpet"

I'm so tough now.

We didn't always like to call Mom for help. We only called Dr. Mom when  we couldn't stop the bleeding with copious amounts of toilet paper and electrical tape. Gnerally we knew what to do when there was blood. See above chart. But when our parents got hurt....that was just weird and terrifying. There was nothing we could do.

When I was growing up, my parents fought a lot.  They fought about money, inlaws, outlaws, kids, housing on a daily basis. They always managed to make up, at least until they didn't.

One day in particular my Mom and Dad got into a big fight and my Mom loaded us all up and we went to the mall. To this day, I do not know what their fight was about, or why we went to the mall when we had literally no money to spend and I do not think I want to know. When we came home my Dad was ghost white and had his hand wrapped in a t-shirt. It didn't take a psychic to figure out something bad had happened. My Mom flew out of the car- I don't even think it was in park yet, and ran over to him.

"What's wrong! What happened?" My Mom demanded.

"Nothing- just get me to the hospital." Said my Dad wrapping the shirt around his hand even tighter- as if he was trying to protect it from her prying fingers.

"What did you do?! What happened?" My Mom pleaded.

"Nothing, just get me to the hospital."  My Dad had gone from white to green and his eyes were sad when he looked down at his tightly wrapped hand.

Here's where frenzied ER Doctor Mom came out.

"Goddamn it! I want to know what happened and I want to know right the fuck now." She pried his hand away from his chest where he'd been clutching it.

I realized all of us kids were standing around him...watching silently; some of us crying. I was angry and scared and I didn't know why. The last time I saw my Dad act this way, his best friend had died in a terrible accident.

"You don't want to see Diana." He said softly, but my Mom wasn't having it.

"Jesus Christ!" My mother exclaimed when she finally got the shirt unraveled and saw the damage. Without missing a beat, she loaded my Dad and 5 of my sibling into the car, leaving my brother Jeremy and I alone to look for his finger.

It wasn't until my Mom said, "Find your Dad's finger," that I realized what had happened. I felt so horrible for him, imagining what I would feel like if I had cut off my finger.

It turned out that my Dad, having felt bad about their fight, decided to make my Mom some flower boxes. (Totally something my viking would do). He slipped somehow while using the table saw, cut the tip of his pinky finger off and sent it flying across the garage and now my brother and I were tasked with locating it.

I left my brother in the garage to follow the blood trail and I ran into the house and called the hospital like my Mom told me to do. I can only imagine what the hospital staff member who answered the phone was thinking.

"Hello, Korvinos Family Hospital. Which child is this?"

I had no sooner hung up the phone when my brother came in from the garage.

"I found the finger."

"Good, go get it." I said getting a glass full of ice.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"Do it anyway. It's your Dad's finger!" He looked pale and scared. 

"Fine you big baby." I said and stomped out to the garage. It wasn't that he was a baby- he just had more empathy than I did at that age. I think it must have physically hurt him to look at his Dad's separated finger.

"It's there." said my brother Jeremy, pointing between two boxes on the floor of the garage.

 I picked up the finger and looked at it for a brief moment, even giving it a little squeeze to show my brother I wasn't scared at all. I tried to keep my composure, even pretending that holding the finger was somehow cool, but I was horrified inside. It looked just like my Dad's finger, only not attatched to his hand anymore.  The finger just ended ubruptly and when I looked at the part where the knuckle would be, I could only see the exposed red, spongy flesh; no bones or blood at all. It was suprisingly clean.

By my brothers reaction, I expected the finger to be mangled...maybe even inching across the garage floor in search of it's missing hand. I thought to myself, "This actually is kind of cool. This is my Dad's finger."

Then the mini combat medic in me came out. I rushed to the kitchen and I dropped my Dad's finger into that cup full of ice. All of the things I had ever read in books or seen in movies about what to do when someones cuts something off of their body began flooding my mind. I began to second guess myself. "Wait...wasn't that supposed to be ice water?" Consequently, I filled the cup with ice water and then my brother and I went running across the street to our old neighbors house with the finger floating in a cup.

Me to the neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, "Our Dad cut his finger off and we need a  ride to the hospital so they can sew it back on." I held the cup up high so old Mr. Johnson could see it. I don't think he heard me the first time because he said,  "By god, is that a finger in ice water?"

Mr. and Mrs. Johnson only had room for one kid, so I sent my brother with the finger to the hospital and I stayed home and cleaned, full of nervous energy. I waited for hours for my Dad to get home. I was so sure he'd be so proud of me for picking up his finger and being smart enough to put it in ice water, but when he came home, he was still a pinky finger short.

My Dad says that the bone was cut too jaggedly for them to sew it back on, but I heard that because the finger was stuck in ice water- that the tissue bloated and blood vessels shrank making it too hard to reattach it. I guess I'll never know the truth.

My Dad never acted like losing his finger was a big deal. He never blamed me for putting it in ice water either. In fact, he has always made a joke out of it whenever people asked about it. His favorite trick is to put the stub up to his nostril so it looks like his entire finger is up inside his nose.

Four things my Dad told people about his missing finger.

 Now that I am a Mom, I still use toilet paper and electrical tape for injuries. My childhood prepared me for life as the mother of vikings, though I won't let them anywhere near a table saw. As for my brother, he now works with blood for a living as a kick ass tattoo artist. See below :)

https://www.facebook.com/jeremy.elledge.7

Oh and in case your wondering- when a finger is severed off- you do not put it in ice. Instead you clean it, wrap it in gauz, place it in a plastic bag and THEN place it in ice water. See Below:

What to do if you cut something off!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow the Hobbits Look Funny

 Disappointment...

Like many fans of LOTR, I couldn't wait for the Hobbit to come out in theatres. I counted the days until it's release and marked the week it was released by reading the book and watching the old cartoon version. Then the day finally came! We arrived early out our favorite theatre and loaded up on an obscene amount of popcorn and a vat of soda, we scurried up the isle where we managed to get really good seats.

Right off, when they started singing (which is in the book), I noticed something about the film...it had a different feel to it than LOTR. I told myself this was because it was, after all, a different story. But it kept nagging me. Scenes seemed overly drug out and pointless. I felt distracted- like the magician Peter Jackson was diverting out attention lamely so we wouldn't notice the lack of content.

Half way through the movie the nagging movie snob in my brain had drug me down to her level and I began to pick apart every scene. Where did this white orc come from? Good god- the CGI....make it stop. The sets really started to look like...well...sets. the magic disappeared before my eyes and I could see the humbug behind the curtain. 

I drew this a couple years ago when  I first heard they were thinking of doing a new Oz movie. Oz Art by OzK.

The lighting was weird, especially towards the end when they were fighting the white orc and his band of baddies. The orange glow meant to be from the fires was all wrong, the plastic tree was all wrong...Thoren's nose was all wrong.  I told myself it was because it was meant to be watched in 3D but because I can't see movies in 3D we don't waste our money going to them.

So, we bought the movie. I just knew it would look better on our TV than it did in theatres, but I was wrong. The movie, while beautiful and bright in some areas, seemed cheep and Wal-Martish in others. Unfortunately, I had the same feeling about Disney's Oz movie. I had waited for that movie for more than half my life only to be horribly and utterly disappointed. I highly doubt that I will follow the franchise if one is drummed up. I will follow the Hobbit however, but I sincerely hope the next is done with a better eye.  

 I recently found out  that The Hobbit was shot with a different frame rate than other movies....fucking put it back. And how about some non fucking CGI special effects. Stop being lazy. Jim  Hensen created entire universes out of felt and wire that made you believe you could go there if you just knew the right words. It's time to bring back the magic and good story telling Hollywood.

Spinning Straw Into Gold

 ***This blog is not a guide to fertility nor is it meant to be uplifting. It is the ramblings of a half mad woman who has been fighting infertility for 10 years.***

So, as mentioned before in a few blogs, my Viking and I struggle with infertility. Actually, I struggle with infertility,  he endures. See, it is my problem.

I am 35 now. I was 25 when I learned there was an issue with my fertility. It seems I do not make enough progesterone, which besides annovulation  (That lack of ovulation) and lack of a menstrual cycle, progesterone deficiency causes a slew of other health problems.

We have used up all of our savings on procedures and treatments, spent all of our hope, depleted my self esteem, and barrowed much from my sanity seemingly without the ability to pay it back.

My Viking seems unfazed. I, on the other hand, feel like crap. I feel like it would be easier for him to ask me to draw water from an empty well, catch a rainbow or spin straw into gold. 

Recently we have tried another round of Clomid before going to see a fertility clinic in Portland. We started with 50mg of Clomid which must be taken at veryspecific times during your cycle.  This can be tough for someone who has PCOS and Estrogen Dominance  because your cycle is not regular at all and you can ovulate late. None the less, I read everything I could get my hands on about charting and timing sex and Basal Temperatures. I had charts and graphs everywhere. I looked like I was studying global warming. 

The first round really felt like it worked.  I felt the pinch of ovulation in my ovary, had sore boobs and my nipples felt like they were sunburned. The ovulation predictor even said that I had an LH surge which is the hormone that tells your ovaries to release an egg. 

For two weeks I was sick, nauseous, bloated and had a heavy feeling in my uterus. I was soooo sure we were pregnant, we started picking out names:

Malcolm if its a boy after Malcolm Reynolds, a character from the show FireFly.

Amber if it's a girl because everyone is naming their baby Sophia, which is what I always wanted to name my daughter. The Viking doesn't like the other names I picked out such as Aurora, Athena or Anastasia. I wanted her name to have a warm glow to it.

The body can be as cruel as the gods. I waited to test until two days past my expected menstrual cycle, but the test came back negative.  I tested again, straining my eyes for the faintest sign of a double line with no success. I bought a digital test and then debated the true meaning of the word "NOT."

The second month I didn't need progesterone. My period started on it's own after picking up Metformin again which is pretty normal.  I took another 50mg of Clomid on the 5th day of my cycle everyday for 5 days just like instructed. This time I felt nothing. No sore boobs, no sickness- I felt nothing but a deep lingering depression.  Depression is nothing new to me, especially when dealing with infertility, but ending my life? That's not me at all. I looooooove life. I am happy...what was happening to me? This depression made friends with anxiety which clung to me like sweat and was as suffocating as smoke.

Thoughts of ending my life would hit me unexpectedly and as I increased the Clomid dose from 50mg to 100mg the feelings became so intense I was afraid to be left alone. I would sometimes crawl into my Vikings lap shaking with fear. I wish that was an exaggeration, but it's not. I was afraid that I might be over taken by these feelings and really do harm to myself.

My Dr. ordered a HYSTEROSALPINGOGRAM  to make sure there was no blockage etc. which went well and I was told this could increase my chances of getting pregnant for three months just by having the procedure done. I was mid cycle when the procedure was actually done. Since the hospital demanded cash upfront- it took the last of the money I had saved.

After the report said that all systems were clear, My doctor then upped my dose of Clomid to 100mg. Things were really busy for me at work, but I managed to take a little time off on the days my epic charting said that I should. My boobs hurt, my back hurt, I was sick with vomiting and diarrhea  and then there was the pain. My right ovary, which had never hurt before, suddenly made itself known. I couldn't sit, squat, stoop, bend or lay on my right side at all. I knew this had to be a good sign as it was far too early for it to be an entopic pregnancy. I saw my doctor on day 21 so I could have the progesterone withdrawal test to see if I had ovulated and explained to her I was in a ton of pain. She of course had to poke my tender spots and decided I needed an ultrasound. The ultrasound confirmed that I was indeed telling the truth, that ovary was as big as an egg McMuffin and had 13 black holes where it looked like eggs may have ruptured from.

Could it be that I had 13 tiny Vikings making their way to the promised land?

No. None of them implanted and furthermore....the Progesterone test said I had not ovulated at all.

So the next step is 150mg of Clomid and I am scared. Everyday I ask myself when will it be ok to stop? When can I just be happy with the life I have without a baby? I mean I want this, but it is my Viking who wants an heir to his kingdom.  I have always felt like if I can't produce an heir I'll suffer the fate of Ann Boleyn. Not that my Viking is a wife killing tyrant or anything, but he could cast me away. It's a silly thought, but it's how I feel. Like I am just a temporary cast member unless the audience decides they like me and the writers re-write history, Ann has a son and gets to keep her head.  I bet she felt like she was trying to spin straw into gold as well. I bet she sometimes felt that the gods were cruel.

So today I start another 7 days of progesterone to jump start my cycle, which happens nearly right away upon stopping the progesterone, followed by 5 days of 150mg of Clomid. I am scared. Not just that it wont work, but what the next 30 days are going to be like on my psyche. It has taken a great amount of effort these past few months to appear calm and serene outside of the house, as though my waters were as smooth as glass, but only yesterday the glass cracked and a flood of emotion poured out while sitting at my desk. I nearly drowned in it.

I just want to be done with all of this. It's all so embarrassing. All things private are brought to light. Sex doesn't feel like sex anymore. It's lost the magic. Babies make me sad, it's too hard to pray, I am driving my loved ones crazy.

UPDATE*** Day 3 of progesterone and I suffered a blinding migraine for half of the day. I have also gained 11 pounds since last month. :( My cycle should start this Friday 5/3/13 which means that I'll start the 150mg of Clomid on the 8th.  If you're reading this, wish me luck. Send me some baby dust. If you're going through the same thing...hang in there.

The Battle Hymn of the Infertile.

  Warning! This blog can't be read without this song "Safe and Sound," by Electric President running in the background.

                                            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnUdlFdTWcA

I would consider myself a reasonably strong person.  With the exception of my bosses, boss there is not much out there that intimidates me, makes me cry or breaks me down. I take a lot of pride in being strong, resourceful and able to handle tremendous amounts of stress that would cripple most. I'm battle hardened but not weary. 

Except, that's not entirely true. That's what I tell myself every day. Everyday-when I go to work and lead my team of amazing battle ponies. It is what I say to myself everyday when I lead my household of reluctant feral Man-children towards the road to something that resembles civility. I am a warrior in high heels. A woman. Fearless- Unstoppable- Unbreakable- I am a survivor of a multitude of devastating huricanes and tsunamis that have crashed upon the sandy shores of my being...exposing the rocks...leaving me somewhat jagged, but better for it. Sturdy. Predictable. Honest. Immovable in the face of a storm.

I am in control over every part of my life.

Except one. This one tiny thing. The smallest, easiest thing in the world literally brings me to my knees...  Like a butterfly crushing a diamond into sand.

So small it is measured on a microscopic level; the egg meeting the foreign invader and creating a life almost like magic. Except I am...

Broken.

Hopeless.

The ability to conceive and bare children, is something I do not posses. The very physical thing that sets women apart from men, the thing so many women take for granted, the one thing that is so easy that even a monkey can do it- is the one thing I simply can not do and I am mad as fucking hell about it.

Over the years I have had wide range of emotions; unexpected emotional side effects if you will. Fear, Anger, Depression, Anxiety... the constant feeling of failure and defeat weighing me down like I am carrying wet stones in my pockets. All feelings I never expected to experience over something so small. So small, yet so incredibly large.  A monster I can not slay. I want to take the stones from my pocket and hurl them at this...this monster...this thing... like David slew Goliath, but it's too big, a Leviathan, and I feel so very small in it's face.

I have been to doctors and doctors of doctors. I have been on a cocktail of pills that could almost count as a meal. An edible rainbow in the palm of my hand that promised a bouncing bundle of pure fucking joy at the end.

I have become the queen of the pregnancy test; forming very strict rituals about when and how I take the test. How much urine to collect, how much water to drink before I test, what type of test to take. I strain my eyes looking for that second line, holding the test up to the bathroom light and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger so the plastic test window could catch the light at just the right angle.  That stupid, glorious faded pink line. The line- the one that has the ability to change my life by simply making itself visible. Never shows itself. And I, female warrior extraordinaire of the new millennium, leave the bathroom crushed.

Like sand.

I just want the water to carry me out to sea. Suck me under - take me out with the tide.

I have been pregnant in the past and have had miscarriages. The pain that comes with the loss of an unborn child can not be measured or compared to anything else. It is unique. It is not the same pain a mother feels after losing her child from a long illness or to a war or in a car accident. Each of those carry their own unique pain and set of emotions that simply can not be described or compared to one another. But it is a pain none the less. A deep personal pain that you can not share with anyone else.  The pain I felt, the sadness was so deep that it did indeed carry me out to sea and washed me away with the tide. I lost myself. I stopped going to work. Gained weight, stopped doing anything that I had previously enjoyed like singing karaoke and art. Soon, going out into public became very difficult. Just seeing a baby sent me into waves of guilt and sorrow.  I would burst into tears or begin shaking. I must have looked insane. I was afraid of myself. I couldn't trust myself to not lose it in fornt of people. I let myself down. I let everyone around me down.

So it was just me. Just me the lioness.  Until then, I had never met an enemy I couldn't conquer. Never faced a battle I couldn't win. Never met an obstacle I couldn't overcome. And now I was facing the biggest monster in my life totally alone. I had lost my roar. Lot my ores...lost my mind.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome right?

Only I couldn't.

I was so alone. This was something I could not make the Viking understand.
Or his Parents...
Or mine....
or anyone. I was completly alone. Just me and my failure.


                                                        And a silent watching God.

I wanted so badly to have a baby. To nurse near to my heart. Small dimpled fingers reaching for my face with bright, twinkling, powder blue eyes;  milk bubbling from the corner of a small smile.

After a while the sadness turned into extreme anger. Still hopeless, at least in the baby end of the spectrum. The hard part of me, the gladiator threw out a life line and towed me to the shore. I went back to work. I soldiered on. Forgot about babies as much as I could.

Until today. I had been putting off my yearly doctors visits because it seemed that the act of going there was like visiting enemy territory and giving away my position. Every doctors visit brought more pain, more realization that this one thing was always going to kick my ass. Like superman visiting a Kyrptonite rock museum. So I just didn't go. It's been 5 years.

I sat on the torture table with my baby powdered feet resting on the stirrups, paper gown doing a
shit-tasic job of covering all my assets, my butt literally trying to eat the paper sheets they put down for whatever reason. I remember thinking that I know women who should just resort to buying paper sheets and then the doctor came in while I was giggling like mad to myself.

I was nervous.
Scared.
I already had tears in my eyes and she hadn't even said hi yet.

I was an emotional time bomb ready to explode. I tried to hold it all in, but the water was too strong. the floodgates ruptured from the weight of the rolling tide and I was terrified that I'd drown in it all. It had been so long since I told myself I would not feel this pain. That I would not go back to the doctor. I had been holding this in for so, so long.

She just hugged me.
She hugged me like she knew everything I was going to say but didn't. Something I simply hadn't allowed anyone else to hear or see for fear I'd lose myself again to that dark, dark water.

She hugged me and then she gave me something I had lost when I floated out to sea. Long lost and forgotten.

HOPE.

Throughout the course of our visit she slowly and steadily built a lighthouse on my rocky beach. A guiding light. A beacon. A piercing light so that when I get pulled back out to sea from time to time I can find my way back. And I will...find my way back.

Yes there will be more pills. But she had an energy about the way she spoke, as of she knew that this current course of action was a sure win. She gave me renewed hope and handed me my prescriptions- like a nautical chart and a treasure map-

So here I am again. Captain of my own ship. 

I can not let the Leviathan drag me under; sink my battleship.

The Ever Elusive L.

This is a dramatic reenactment of an actual conversation between a bawz and their subordinate. The Bawz had been trying desparetly to get the subs picture for PR, but it seemed getting a shot of bigfoot was easier.

Bawz: I tried to find you on facebook but couldn't find you. Anyway- we need a picture for our PR team.

Sub: Me? I'm on facebook...hmm can it be any picture?

Bawz: You must be clothed- you are on facebook? You are in super stea;th mode then.

Bawz: Much like that L was in stealth mode just then.

Bawz: It was like Hi fucker you can't see me. I'm the Rambo of the alphabet. I can be silent- I can be invisible....Take the word colonel for example. See me in there? Yes you do, but I have the super fucking ability to make you pronounce me as an R beotch. What now?

Sub: what?

Bawz: See how I can blend in? Like here >>> L7<<< POW! Bet you thought I was a square just then. I'm shaking things up.

Bawz: Here I am again...stea;thy like in...... LlAMA.<<<<POW! What am I? Am I an "L" or an "I" or HOLY SHIT.... I can even be a #1. omg. I can be anywhere!

Bawz:  IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII <<<Was that an "L" or an underscore? You will never know. You will never know where I might be hiding next or what form I can take.

Sub: That was totally random and....probably the stupidest thing I have ever read.

Bawz: Excellent- now about that picture? You gonna send it in or?

Sub: it's in your in-box now.

Bawz: Great because my next step was to sta;k you and take a picture of you pooping.

My Fucking Thor Pez Dispenser

"if you don't stop fucking taking pictures of me I will break Thors little Pez head right the fuck off."

The Emotional Vampire

Emotional Vampires are a real threat people. They can't be taken out with silver bullets, wooden stakes through the heart or by direct sunlight. Don't worry about eating garlic either as the only way to stave off an Emotional Vampire is to pretend you are a bean bag when they come into the room. If you don't breathe, they can't see you. Every family has an Emotional Vampire and they can be found virtually anywhere. Though they do not glitter in the sunlight, you can spot them by the needy looks on their faces and the tiny glass jar of souls they carry with them.

This is the story of a friend of mine who I will name Oz who was nearly killed to death by an Emotional Vampire. Since I can not re-enact these dramatic scenes for you by interpretive dance, I have asked Hobo Harry to draw some pictures for you. Warning: What you are about to read is horrifying...

Oz took on the position as "The Boss" at a magnetic shower curtain plant after her predecessors sudden dissappearance.

It soon became obvious some of her team-members required a little more attention than most.

She met those needs with a smile on a daily basis, even offering Needy special side projects and frequent coaching.

Needy could be impatient and demanding, still Oz was willing to adress Needy's concerns and continued giving her some extra special attention even...

though she was quite busy with her role as "The Boss."

She always made time......

Always....though the constant demands had begun to wear her down.

No place was sacred.

Yup...Oz was still trying to go the extra mile for Needy...though she grew cold form the constant blood loss and could no longer feel her legs.

So cold....so.....dark.

Then one day Needy found out she had sucked all the blood out of Oz. She simply didn't have another drop left. So she drug Oz's body to the Boss of Bosses and declared that she needed a new Oz as this one wasn't suiting her needs anymore. Needy told Oz's boss that Oz never paid attention to her and was a big meany head. Oz was too tired to fight.

The Boss of Bosses had long ago suspected that Needy was behind the dissappearance of Oz's predessesor, but she had no real proof. There was no way to get rid of the beast and since they could not Sparta kick Needy into a deep dark hole, Oz was moved into the basement with the rats for her own protection. There Oz tried to regain her strength and was given a rum and coke transfusion followed by a Bloody Mary. The Office was unable to kill off the Needy so she continued to devour more souls until she had grown too large to fit into the building anymore.




I joke about Emotional Vampireism but it is a really real thing. Chances are you know at least one. Not sure if the person beating down your office door is a vampire? Here is an excerpt from Judith Orloff MD'S site
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judith-orloff-md/how-to-deal-with-draining_b_807069.html :




Types of Emotional Vampires

1. The Narcissist
Their motto is "Me first." Everything is all about them. They have a grandiose sense of self-importance and entitlement, hog attention and crave admiration. They're dangerous because they lack empathy and have a limited capacity for unconditional love. If you don't do things their way, they become punishing, withholding or cold.
2. The Victim
These vampires grate on you with their "poor-me" attitude. The world is always against them, the reason for their unhappiness. When you offer a solution to their problems they always say, "Yes, but..." You might end up screening your calls or purposely avoid them. 
3. The Controller
These people obsessively try to control you and dictate how you're supposed to be and feel. They have an opinion about everything. They'll control you by invalidating your emotions if they don't fit into their rulebook. 
4. The Constant Talker
These people aren't interested in your feelings. They are only concerned with themselves. You wait for an opening to get a word in edgewise but it never comes.
5. The Drama Queen

These people have a flair for exaggerating small incidents into off-the-chart dramas.  Always late for work or absent.


Know anyone who needs constant attention, admiration and praise, even for the really small stuff? Do they act weird around you if you didn't answer their e-mail right away? If you answered yes to any of these questions then you better practice your bean bag skills or move to Antarctica.  

CareBear Stare

So I was in serious need of a good ol Fashioned CareBear Stare. I look back on my posts over the last year and realize what a selfish, ungrateful total bitch I am.  And if you had asked me if I thought I was a good person, I would have said yes. I wasn't. I'm not. I have a lot of growing and learning to do which is mainly why I created this blog. Well, that and I was delusional and thought maybe people would find my narcissistic ramblings humorous and to a degree they are, but re-reading some of them is painful and not just because of the grammatical errors and terrible puns. Growing hurts. I took some time off from blogging and gaming and have been doing some soul searching. I realized that my posts had been increasingly negative, pitiful, and I had been walking around with this poor me chip on my shoulder for far too long. I have been more negative at home and at work and it took a while for me to find the root of it all.

Me. 

How Warcraft Sucked Me Back In and Wood Working...Will Blizz Make It Happen?

 So, WarCraft sucked me back in after almost 6 months of vacation. It started with an e-mail I thought was a scam. "Come Join us Ozmarelda for a Seven Day Free Trial." The e-mail sat in my inbox for a while. But every time I checked to See what Karate Unicorn was up to, there it was...like a beating heart...pulsing. The Viking got one too that he had been trying to ignore as well. Then one day we buckled. There we were sitting at our desk checking our e-mails when suddenly, we looked at each other, making direct eye contact and somehow knew without saying a word that we needed to activate this seven day trial. It had to be done.

Upon logging in, I was supposed to see that all of my toons still had their clothes on. There they were, staring at me. The 5 sisters who were transferred to Grizzly Hills from Arygos against their will then left alone in the black void  created by the guildageddon inevitably brought on by really bad players, ridiculous changes, a terrible immature and inexperienced server and an overly "nice and accommodating" guild leader. The guild was pretty empty. The few surviving members of our guildageddon shown like green nebulas against the pitch black space when I opened the roster. The guild bank seemed....dusty.

Trade chat was still ridiculous, but most servers have their trolls and retards and trade chat queens and kings who scream for attention like unloved children. I ignored the retardation and looked around at a few things, but still...I found I had no desire to be there. I did miss my friends. I had a lot of friends on many servers, whom Blizzards real-ID allowed me to still talk to so I hit them up to say HI! before I dissappeared again.

Whats this you say? A whole new area has opened up? Dailies? blech.

What? They are cool dailies like the on the Isle of QD?

OOOh new gear?

What? More gold?  

New mounts?

This interested me. I had to see what this new place was all about. Now, if you ahve ever rolled with me for any length oftime you'd know how much I hate dailies. I hate dailies so much that I still have never gotten exalted with the Kaluak or the Oracles, or the Netherwing people, or Ogrilla or anyone on purpose. I hate dailies, especially the Oracles because I had to fly all over the effing place. But, I was going to suck it up and give these new dailies a shot.

The quests start out in Hyjal and for some reason my Hunter who had half of those quests completed had to start from scratch. I assumed maybe the quest lines had changed so I did them again with the viking. To my surprise there was a lot of new stuff going on. I even had to save Thrall and once again he is totally not going to remember me, but that quest line was awesome.  I have a toon crush on Thrall and I don't care if I am alliance. Rippling hard body of green muscles...Expressive sky blue eyes. Looking at him is like looking at the rolling green hills of Ireland against the ..(record scratch)

Moving on...

Anyway, once I had phased into the new area called Firelands, I was able to see some of the new stuff Blizz had come out with.

Holy shit.

There are fire spiders, and fiery druid lions and  druid bears, OH MY! And, the dailies are not ridiculous. I mean it, I did not sped a ton of time doing them and I didn’t have to run all over the effing place and the rewards you can get for doing them....amazing. (jazz hands)

So we explored the place some more, accidentally got an achievement called "King of Spider Hill" which was fun as hell to do. I must say, everyone needs to get this achieve or at least try.

What's this? ZG and ZA my all time favorite instance next to Kara have been made into 5 man heroics? And even better I can run with my friends on Arygos and Icecrown if they are on my realID? There are new mounts? There's a reward for tanks and healers (sometimes DPS) if they tank randoms so the wait time is less retarded for DPS? No way.

I ran with my old friends form Arygos and some of the friends I had made on the Hills and it was awesome. A perfect balance except for me noobing it up because I couldn't remember rotation or skills. I am still very skiddish to attempt tanking again for a while since I beat my head against the wall so many times in the heroics before. At least on my hunter if the group is terrible I don't feel like I am responsible for it.

The Viking renewed my account. I was still hesitant, but he was not and so I decided I'd give Blizz 30 days to win me back as 7 days was just not enough. Slowly my guild came back to life. One by one guildies who had left after the guildageddon began logging on.  Guild chat was alive again, vent was reactivated....conversations were happening. Some of the players who were shit terrible now out geared me and were schooling me on rotations. This is good I thought.....I,m not holding hands. I like I like!

and then it happened....

I effing tamed Sambas. That bastard cat I had been hunting for forever landed right in front of me in Twilight Highlands and so did the rare cat in Zul Drak, and the bear in Grizzly Hills,  and the spirit cat in Schollazar. Then I discovered Winterspring has new pets and a mount you can get and the daily grind is not too horrible though I probably still won’t do it.

Ok Blizzard, you win for now. You applied pressure on all of my weak points. I give I give! Friends, pets, old raids, mounts, fun achieves, new goodies and gear. Now...if you can update the holiday events and implement wood working as a trade I'll be hooked for good lol.

Speaking of woodworking. I remember a few Blizzcons back woodowrking was once again brought up and the developers said they just couldn't seem to make it viable. My head exploded with ideas instantly.

I posted this on Blizz forum and they deleted it . ;( I prolly’ put it in the wrong place.

This was an idea I had for woodworking...

Materials:

PETRIFIED WOOD- this can be obtained from mining
DRIFTWOOD -this can be obtained from fishing
BALSAWOOD
NJORNWOOD- these can be obtained by herbalist (possibly sparkly spots on trees or something)
etc.

Parts:

PITCH extractors can be made by engineers that allow woodworkers to either extract the pitch from trees or stacks of wood much like how ore is prospected and herbs are milled.
WOODEN NAILS
WHEELS
DOWELS
TONGUE AND GROOVE

How they can benefit other professions;

Miners and blacksmiths or engineers could make Nails,
sandpaper, bolts and rivets.

Leatherworkers could supply leather and belts for various projects

Tailors supply the needed cloth

Enchanters dust and other shiney stuff and so on...

Items to be crafted;

Fishing:

FISHING POLES +200,100,50.

BOBBERS +10 or more

FISHING CHAIR (allows players to sit in a chair a little less cool then the one offered in the TCG game.)

FISHING TACKLE BOX all items related to fishing, chair inc. can be placed in this one magic box to save space!

Mounts:

LEONARDO DaVINCI FLYING MACHINE that's what the game is missing...oh so cool

TROJAN HORSE allows 5 players to ride in this jumbo wooden horse with a cool down ofcourse. there could even be an achievement for it called "Trojan Man"  (don't ban me for that)

BOATS can carry a player a little faster over the water than a mount with water walking

SMALL CAR? powered by mechanical squirrels?

Boxes:

JEWELRY BOX a gem bag of sorts for jewel crafters.

TREASURE CHEST mail or give multiple items to a player in these like gift wrap.

CRATES these are like icey prisms to a jc'er. They can have nails, wood, glue or recipes inside.

Weapons:

CROSSBOWS
STAFFS
WANDS
POLEARMS

WOODEN TRAINING SWORDS these can be BOA items that can increase weapon skill ups on target dummies to a point, can also possibly grant xp. (OLD IDEA)

Toys:

GARDEN GNOMES these spontaneously come to life and kick you and while in statue form can be punted.

TOY TRAIN SET

SMALL WOODEN BOY named Pistachio the small boy orc who’s head randomly gets huge AND kicks the garden gnomes and chases cats.
TOY CARS

BUNNIES, SQUIRRELS AND CATS these have a chance to come to life and permanently stay that way.

TOY BOATS (per son's request)

Jewelry and Extras:

PENDANTS can be added to neck epics to offer small bonuses
TOTEMS
IDOLS

TABLETS these offer a place for all those low level scrolls people pick up. 5 smaller ones can be added by an inscriptionist to this tablet to make one more powerful spell.

Random:

BARRELS OF BREW and PONY KEGS

PICNIC BASKET you can place all your cooking mats and supplies in this to save bag and bank space. takes one slot instead of 50.

CAMPFIRE your so awesome with the wood everyone is cooking and cooking fast.
TENTS because they are cool, could offer small amount of rested xp.

BUNDLES OF WOOD maybe help other to cook faster...was running out of ideas.

And lastly they could provide these mats for other professions:

wooden dowels, cogs, knobs, levers, wheels, buttons, shoehorns, buckles and syrup/glue.