It was a busy weekend around these parts, ham-packed with activity.

On Friday night, we wandered down Robson street:

the top of the ice rink at Robson Square

OH GOD WHY

I got a haircut:

this isn't where i got my hair cut, but it's a cool sign

Went to the One of a Kind Show with Miranda, where I bought the MOST AWESOME BAG EVER:

this lamp was not one of a kind; there were several and they should have given me one

Birthday hanging out at Darren’s, a beer at the Black Frog, then a late night dinner at Wild Rice before our Groupons expired completed our Saturday. On Sunday, I woke up with a terrible pseudo-hangover that could only be cured by breakfast at Deacon’s Corner. Afterward, we attempted to BLOW CHRIS’S MIND:

chris has olympic fever

getting cozy with the locals

caught the sunset on the way down Cypress Mountain

i live here!

After impressing Chris with our ability to drive north for 10 minutes and be in the mountains, we showed off by driving south another ten minutes to be at the beach:

sunset at ambleside park

pier pressure (get it)

A jerk chicken salad for dinner, hockey on the TV and cats all over the place wrapped up our excellent Sunday – Optimus Prime approves:

transform and be awesome

I have never been so happy to fail a test in my life:

best. fail. ever.

It’s not that I honestly thought I was pregnant – but when you try to decipher symptoms online and every single thing you read suggests you’re probably full of baby .. well, sometimes my imagination gets ahead of my uterus and I find myself peeing on technology to ease my mind. Incidentally, pregnancy tests are expensive as hell. No wonder being knocked up comes as a surprise to so many people.

Truth be told, I kind of wanted the test to be positive – but you should know me well enough by now to know that it’s not because I wanted babies but for two very different reasons: a) it would have been a hilarious update full of shock and b) it would explain away the extremely worrisome symptoms I am trying to find an answer for. If it turned out that I was in fact pregnant, I could easily waltz into a doctor’s office and say “hi, please deal with this” and it would be done. Since I’m not, though, I need to find a way to get someone to see me and explain what the fuck is happening in my regions.

Um, skip this part if you’re squeamish, but otherwise here is a list of the unhappy things going on in my lady gardens:

• Non-stop cramps that get exponentially worse at night
• Blood where there ought not be blood; in formations not normally found in nature
• Sore boobs
• Strange things – possibly ghosts – when I pee

I spent a goodly amount of time online trying to narrow the symptoms down to something I could put a name to, but 80% of the results said I was pregnant (and the other 20% said I was a dog with a UTI). I was worried enough to go out and buy a pregnancy test, but that clearly isn’t the problem – so I’m back at square one, and it sucks.

Truth be told, I’m kind of scared my body is trying to tell me something is seriously wrong – endometrial cancer came up in the search results more than once. I’m almost ready to lie to a doctor to say I’m trying to conceive, just so I can get checked out. At the very least, I’ll probably hit up a walk-in clinic later this week and hope for a referral. Maybe my WSD just needs a tune up. Maybe this is a two month stomach ache. Maybe it’s absolutely nothing at all.

.. but maybe it’s not.