Crap. The fine, fine ladies over at Reproducing Genius nominated me for an award (They like me! They think I’m funny! I’d have a beer with them, too!) and I am just now getting it together to follow up with my own.
But see my award?
So god damn late, as per usual. Welcome to Starrhill, where there is no time. Maybe crap was the wrong way to start this post….
Anyway. I’ve now waited so long to do this, many of the people I love have been nominated already. Crap. (Good lord, I said it again. What’s with the potty mouth these days?)
Let’s do my local girls first, ‘kay?
- cho-girl, natch, although she hasn’t posted all summer long. Ahem.
- Elsie, of Dianthus, because she can get more done in the pre-noon hours than anyone else in the whole world.
- the Crazytown kids, because honestly I don’t think anyone loves Virginia as much as LB and I.
- Wistar, who is a) funny and b) a famous blogger. Yes, I know her and yes, you can touch me.
And some internet folks:
- Bri at Unwellness, because she was my blog cherry and because every time she comments here I get all squeal-y, like a kid in a candy shop. Plus, fucking cute kid.
- the injector, who is honestly one of my heroes. Honestly. Be radical and kind like she is and we’ll all be winners. Do it. (And she has sunglasses just like me! We are twins!)
- Qweird Utah. Funny as shit. And she knows Chicory IRL, so I want to touch her. Not inappropriately. I swear!
Oneofhismoms was right, this is totally a meme and I’ve fucked it up by nominating folks who are amazingly unlikely to nominate anyone else (which is what they are supposed to do). But hey, I love them anyway. And you will, too. I swear.
I’ve been blogging for a year as of yesterday. Wow.
Honest, y’all, things would not be so good as they are if not for you.
I know I owe the rest of the travel jounals – and they’re coming, they are – but how about an infertility rant while we wait? It’s been a while.
I got proded on the playground again about having a baby. Yes, by that same parent as last time – who I’ve never told about ttc and never would, so who knows what grapevine she got her info from. The intent was good, I’m sure. She wanted to know if I knew about ferning saliva and felt pressed to give me her version, which was vague to the point of inacuacy. I smiled and said, “hmm,” thinking, Lady, I am so far beyond worrying when my estrogen levels rise. I could track that shit in my sleep.
(watch out, there’s references to baby dust on the ferning link – ick)
Travel Jounal, Day One
Train on time. Woo. Ran into nice boy from the theater, sat with him on train. Train arrived Union Station prior to ETA. Who says Amtrak doesn’t run on time?
Walked from CU metro stop to hosts’ house. Lovely green space to right between neighborhood and metro tracks – good job with the green space, city of DC – gold star for you.
Coffee and lunch and gossip with host the first. Host the second away for work in Richmond – plans to arrive this evening.
Delightful metro trip (red line) 3 stops up from CU. Met also delightful internet people. Did not get kidnapped by them (hosts were worried). Damn. Wanted to eat the baby. Her cheeks looked delicious. Restrained myself, as these delightful internet people might think I am crazy.
Additional metro trip back to Brookland. Stroll home. Chat with host the first, who is working. Read 2 pages of trashy Naiad book from the 80’s. Nap on couch. Make plans with alternate DC friends, aka non-hosts.
Walk dog with host the first.
Trip to the grocery store and the liquor store. Home for drinks and potato chips. Plans for pizza are afoot. Non-hosts will arrive at some point.
Bless me, y’all. It has been many days since my last post.
- for well over a year now, I have been putting my trash out on the curb to be picked up. Without a trash sticker.
- CLAW was great last night. Which was in itself great, because I’d been dreading it since last month was such a nightmare. But really, it was great.
- I was so unprepared for tonight’s parent meeting and, without qualm, let S run the whole damn show.
- I do not believe that school is starting. In my deepest heart, I do not believe it. So deep is this disbelief, I am going out of town, so as to further hide my head in the sand
- the cat drama here is fierce
- as are the fleas
- I have bought bakery bread 3 times now this summer. My vow to make my own bread has run and hidden it’s head in shame. It was too hot to turn the oven on. And the bakery is so close and their bread is so good.
- I have an air conditioner – let the eco police come for me; I’ll go willingly.
Oh my Readers, I am heartily sorry. And I detest all of my sins. I do. Because I fear the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all, because the offend Thee, my Readers. I firmly resolve to confess, do penance and amend my life. I do. Send in the hairshirts.
You’ll remember my love/hate relationship with cars. I really intend to not drive much at all in the summer, but this summer has somehow been all about Teh Time In Teh Car. Bah. So now that summer is almost over (insert weeping and gnashing of teeth), I got it together to coordinate picking up Sophie from her camp bus with getting all 3 of us back downtown for dinner at the diner. Traffic this summer has been from hell, but it all looks different from the bus.
A photo essay of my small auxiliary red head’s first local bus ride, plus bonus shot from the diner.
You’ll note there are no mf captions because wordpress hates me.
Y’all have been dying to know the answer to the million dollar question, haven’t you? I know you have. You can act all nonchalant and like you’re too cool for school, but I *know* you. You want to know everything.
So, yes. I’ve switched donors. Again. Because local is better – for sperm and for food and for businesses. Because the right folks asked the right questions at the right time. Because creating family happens through biology and through love (and some needle-less syringes in my case).
How about a re-cap, for those of you who haven’t read and memorized my archives. Which you should definitely do – there’ll be a quiz tomorrow. Oh, let’s do it as a list! Yay! Lists!
- frozen donor #35 – nice guy, I’m sure, but damn he was expensive and had to come via fed-ex, who I hate
- fab French gay boy – local (yay!) and generally accommodating, but wigged out about me or my family hitting him up for money. Yes, clearly, he doesn’t know my family He read one too many stories about the donor sperm case in PA (which has sense been over turned) and ran for the hills.
- so good as to be unbeatable by a stick donors – amazingly dear friends who stepped up to the plate and offered genetic material. Sadly far away. I was loathe to give up the idea of making them part of my extendo-fam, but fed-ex – have I told you how I hate them?
- new and improved local guy – local. Therefore great. Also, according to excellent sources stunningly good looking and possessed of a high IQ (this is donor gold, y’all). We might also note his fashion sense, general charm and sense of humor. And his excellent spouse, which makes him 500% the perfect donor.
And, no I am not telling you who he is. So there. Heh.
Alternate Title: What Happens When You Forget To Take Pictures As You Cook And Let Someone Else Hold the Camera.
The temporary ex-pats in Edinburgh called for a food post. Poor dears, they must be hungry.
Last Saturday at the market, I found my self suddenly flush with cash. Woo! I ran into The Employer of The Month, aka the Kingpin, and she handed me a wad o’ cash. There went my market budgeting technique. Usually, I leave when I run out of money. So there I was with said wad o’ cash – what to do? I bought meat. Skirt steak to be exact, from Wolf Creek, with the intention of doing…ah… something with it. Mainly, I was just excited to have a tidy little roll of steak to carry home.
So there was that, as a start. And then there was a girl who needed to come over and have dinner. And there were tomatillos and onions and cilantro and chilis for salsa, which my small auxiliary red head helped to make, but didn’t eat (“too spicy!”). And there was my grandma’s Spanish Rice and sliced cucumbers and goat’s cheese from the goat cheese man. There was a giant mango for dessert that was so ripe it dripped all over my lap when I cut it up outside. Not local, but shipped direct from a real person – unknown to me, but still! A real person. It was fucking good, that mango
But I forgot to take pictures until I was done with all but the steak, so I handed off the camera while I finished up. Caption suggestions welcome, of course. Now stop making fun of how short I am. I am sure you’ve got cabinets you can’t reach at your house, too.
The steak was marinated in lime, chili pieces, cumin, salt and oil.
Local chips! So good. Green beans and salsa aren’t worth mentioning because the green beans were old and tough.
And some Jehovah’s Witnesses just stopped by. Looks like we’re in for a long weekend, kids.