Ever have one of those days where everything smells like tartar sauce?

It was an .. interesting weekend. I had a good dose of alone time, sprinkled with various Gang configurations (not to be confused with the good old fashioned gang bang). Group dynamics are an interesting creature, at any rate. There were times, both good and odd.

At the moment, I’m working hard to ensure this week is going to be less bad than the potential it has to be. While that is possibly the most convoluted sentence I’ve ever written, the fact remains the same: this week could be a horrible one.

To start with, it’s supposed to rain. The weather has been spectacular for the last few weeks, and I’ll be sorry to see it go – especially since gray days will make me all sad and junk, whereas it’s difficult to be gloomy when it’s so damn pretty outside.

This Thursday will be the 3rd anniversary of my dad’s death. That day always sucks for me, but this year I was so busy that the date slipped my mind and I scheduled myself for a very early web conference for which I must arrange attendance and food. I suppose this is just another example of life going on, but trying to keep a bunch of sleepy yet rowdy techs in line when I am deep in sad will be difficult.

Adding to the difficulty: Ed is leaving on Friday to drive to Edmonton for a friend’s wedding. He’ll be gone until Monday. Not a big deal really, except Sunday is our anniversary and he won’t be home for it. I have selfishly been having a little pity party over this, which isn’t fair at all – not only will Ed get a chance to see one of his oldest friends get married, he’ll get to hang out with all his old buddies from Ago. Also, I encouraged him to go. I think he’d really regret skipping the wedding. He likes road trips, and Edmonton, and his old friends. He has the time off – it was previously booked for our anniversary – so he should totally go. And he is. But I get to feel a little sad about it, okay?

Besides, now he has an excellent excuse to buy me fabulous presents.

So, yeah. Rain, deathiversary, missed anniversary, early morning web conference that has the potential to be staggeringly dull, no car. It could be a bad week, if I let it – which I won’t.

Web headline: A new look at the Babar controversy! There’s a Babar controversy? He’s an elephant who wears green suits and sometimes a crown. What, did someone draw him passed out in a pile of hookers and blow? Don’t you people have better things to worry about?

Coming soon: a terrible, terrible update.

On Wednesday morning, I will be signing a 5-year contract extension with Team No Babies by way of a Mirena IUD. I did a lot of thinking and while I really want to Fight the System on the “never say never” policy, I just want something in place already. Also, we’re running out of condoms. I don’t want to spend the next year or so in ovarian limbo as I try to find a doctor who will tie my tubes and then wait some more for the surgery – I want to have freaky no-baby-making sex NOW, and being able to bathe my eggs in random sperm with no fetal repercussions is a priority.

I’m ready for this. I’m mentally prepared for the discomfort, thanks to the repeated sharing of IUD horror stories by people who suck at quelling fears. Ed is coming to the appointment with me then taking me home – the doctor suggested I take the day off, because it’s gonna hurt – and tomorrow evening I will stockpile the bedroom with everything I might need during my convalescence such as reading material, DS games, computing devices, kittens, and Diet Coke. It will be fine. *I* will be fine.

I think.

Yesterday, I picked up my Mirena prescription. I discovered there are two things nobody bothers to tell you if you choose this method of birth control:

• It’s EXPENSIVE. Price was never discussed, which is good because it might have made me change my mind. The device cost $396.28! Holy shit! Okay, yes – when you price out 5 years of birth control at approximately $35 a month (60x$35=$2100), it’s a bargain. I’m lucky enough to have benefits that cover 90% of the cost, meaning I only paid $39.63, but man. That shocked me a little. And only a little, because I was too busy being shocked over:
• The size of the friggin’ box.

I’ve never actually seen an IUD up close and in person, but logic tells me it’s probably pretty small because it’s meant to fit in your uterus, which is not enormous usually. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock and awe I felt when the pharmacist handed me the box: it measures 16”x4”x1”. It is big.

How big?

Here are some images to help you determine just how shockingly large this box is:

Mirena vs Domo-kun

Mirena vs my new boots

Mirena vs Macbook

Mirena vs a half full bottle of Limoncello

Mirena vs Sasha

WHAT THE HELL!

WHY IS THAT BOX SO BIG??!

I wasn’t scared until I saw that box, and now I am terrified.

I like my men like I like my burritos, but never have I ever requested a 16″ burrito.

I think I’m going to have to do some stretching.

AHH!

Hey everyone, do you remember that particular Simpsons
episode where Homer’s mom, long since missing, returns to
ye old Springfield to reunite with the family via secret message?

Everyone I know is kind of ambivalent about that episode, but
do take into account that it has Glenn Close in it. Glenn Close!
I love her. She is not going to be ignored, Dan!

Anyway. I’ve been thinking about that episode a lot lately,
mostly because I am kind of hungry. Oversized novelty food
gets second billing, and I could really, really go for an
enormous taco or even a pizza the size of a football field.
To be honest, I don’t really care what kind of giant food is presented
to me; I would eat almost anything. Like cereal. We have free milk;
I think I’ll have myself a giant bowl of Special K. Nothing says
“nutritious” like freeze-dried strawberries!

Granted, the health benefits of the cereal is somewhat
altered when you eat 7 bowls of it in one serving.

Kimli is hungry. What else can I say?

I wonder if this is going to work.

Today I will spend my morning putting stickers on shelves.
Though sneaky methods, the Lab found out about my secret,
exciting past as an Inventory Control person, and they are placing
new duties on my plate. Do not want. Zzz.

Things I do not do:

• Drink
• Swear
• Rat my hair
• Get ill from one cigarette
• Appreciate your filthy paws on my silky drawers (would you pull that crap with Annette?)
• Apologize when I’m not wrong
• Realize how lucky I was for making it 7+ years without a family member discovering my blog

It’s not like I routinely say nasty things about my family (or really, anyone who isn’t a neighbor) or share shocking secrets (real ones, not things that *I* think are shocking) or anything, but I was always very secure in my comfortable bubble of NO CONSEQUENCES – it didn’t really matter what I wrote or when, because there would be NO CONSEQUENCES to anything I said. I didn’t spend my time writing terrible things, but still – if I wanted to complain about my job or wax poetic about my vagina or talk of illicit but non-discrete drug use or say how stabby Ed was making me, I could and it wouldn’t matter.

Until now.

Thanks to Facebook and the increasing prevalence of the internet, I have officially been outed to Ed’s family. After my initial freak out (and believe it, it was an epic freak out of monumental proportions), I am okay. My first thought was to go back and censor 7 years of posts, but that would a) be completely against everything I stand for, b) take a really, really, really long time, c) make me feel horrible inside, d) be completely pointless. I’ve never censored myself (much to Ed’s dismay, I’m sure) – why start now? I haven’t *done* anything! So, no censoring. I am still All Out There. I am Highly Inappropriate at All Times, and not someone you’d want at a classy dinner party. Also, hi mom!

So, how about that local sports team?