Note: If you don’t want to read about my lady problems I advise that you click here to skip the next paragraph.
I’ve had my period most of this week. It started Sunday afternoon, appropriately enough during an afternoon matinee of Valentine’s Day. Is that karma? No, it’s prometrium, a drug I take which makes me menstruate. I can’t menstruate without assistance in part because I have PCOS. I’ll wait while you read the entry for the condition on Wikipedia.
My gyno prescribed it back in December. I only have to do it every other month. The thing I will say about prometrium is that it means business. Seriously, I had so much blood loss Monday and Tuesday that I thought I was going to pass out. I would come home from work, eat something, and then fight to stay awake. This is my explanation for not blogging much this week. I swear that it felt like all the blood that was supposed to be circulating through my arms and hands and fingers was instead leaving my body instead.
When I expressed this sentiment to Cynthia the other evening, on our way out of the office after a long day, she sympathized and then started laughing when I said rather daffily “All I want on that first heavy day is a steak and a nap.”
I love our brief chats, usually held on the bus that chugs across the Loop. Apparently our happy chatter was disturbing a lady sitting nearby, reading a book. I didn’t notice her (I try not to focus on haters) but Cynthia mentioned it to me and I was all “Sorry, lady, I didn’t mean to ruin your literacy!” because I’m so clever.
I spent Tuesday night at the tech rehearsal for the “academic exercise disguised as a show” that has previously been referred to as “my recital” or “That 60’s Show”. I bought some low-sugar Gatorade and a pack of gum before heading over to Davenport’s. Davenport’s is a piano bar in Wicker Park, around the corner from the Beachwood, aka “the bar I spent most of my early to late twenties in”. I thought about stopping in for a beer after rehearsal but after two hours of sitting in a dark room listening to everybody sing (and everybody sounds great) and then four harrowing minutes of me and my partner singing, I wanted to go home and rock back and forth in bed and pray that I get blessed with the voice of Aretha Franklin or at least her little cousin before Sunday’s performance. Kinda like that bit in Beautiful Thing where Leah thinks getting hit over the head will change her voice into something beautiful. “I wanted it to change!”
We practiced setting up the mic stand properly, holding it in the right place, how and where to stand on stage. Ladies were reminded to wear makeup for the video. When Linda and I got up on stage, we could see nothing but dark in front of us. People sitting at the tables right at the edge of the stage, and not much else. Gwen played piano behind us but besides her it wasn’t much else but the two of us, two microphones, and an Oriental carpet on the floor. Something about singing to the dark was very comforting. No people idly checking their cell phones or yawning to distract or frighten me. It’s the bit I liked best about acting in plays in middle school and high school, something I gave up along with singing when I went off to college. I’m not sure why I stopped doing those things, but I like the idea that I’m getting back into doing all this stuff just because it pleases me. A ham cannot change its spots.
There isn’t much to tell about Wednesday except Cynthia and I had lunch with Jacalyn and Jessica, who we haven’t seen in ages. The sisters looked gorgeous, as always. We talked mainly about mutual friends and former co-workers, as always. Oh, and that evening I discovered the powerful and adorable time-suck that is Sushi Cat (thanks, Waxy.org, for posting this to your links section and therefore ruining my life). Also, I watched another episode of “The Inbetweeners”. Are you watching this yet? You need to be. Check it:
Cynthia and I spent Thursday lunch break shopping for boots for her. We found nothing because spring is almost here and who wants to look at winter boots now? Um, anybody in Chicago, where spring doesn’t properly arrive until, like, May? Anyway, we slunk out of Nordstrom, where we encountered the Kodak “Meet The Oscars” exhibit.
There was a dais set up, with a podium. And on that podium is a real life Oscar. You stride up, hit your best pose, and a lovely young man takes your picture with the statuette. You get a copy right then and there, and 24 hours later you can get free digital downloads or prints from this web site. Of course, Cynthia’s shot looked adorable — head thrown back in delight, roaring with laughter as she revels in the honor. Sadly, the only bit of the Oscar in her picture is the bottom of the round base. Naturally, I went in a different direction, pretending to sob hysterically and thanking Jesus for blessing me with so much talent. The staff loved it. The guy who actually took the picture totally yelled “Diva!” while I channeled Tammy Faye Bakker-Messner (RIP) and cried like a bitch baby.