I have R.I.I.P.S.: Repetitive idiotic ignoring the pain syndrome

Want to learn from my stupidity? When your middle finger starts hurting so bad that you can't move it then quit typing and get to a doctor. Why? If you don't it will get worse---much worse. Two months ago it was just occasional blasts of pain in my middle finger and kept worsening until the last week I look liked I was flipping off everyone all the time and now it seems the pain is flipping me off. Now the only finger that I can move without big pain is my pinkie finger and I am finding its mobility to be not very helpful. It is going all the way up my arm and into my shoulder. No eating, driving, writing, or typing with both hands. I have to do everything with my non-dominant hand. I usually type 60 w.p.m. Now I am lucky to get twenty words a minute. I thought it was carpal tunnel syndrome but according to the Carpal Tunnel Syndrome Screening Quiz it doesn't seem that I do. I have no numbness, tingling, itching, burning or other nerve based symptoms. I just have pain. I wasn't going to go to the hand specialist for another few weeks but now that it hurts so bad I am going to urgent care.

Today I had intended to announce a special series I am going to have throughout the month of August but that post is not done and tonight(Thursday) we are going shopping for an ergonomic mouse and a brace for my hand. I will have the post ready by Monday and will tell you all about the special series then, even if that means Lily (don't laugh, she is always trying to type on my laptop), He-weasel and K.T. have to help me type it( yes, K.T. I took you seriously), so please be sure to stop back on Monday.

I am hoping that with the brace, the new mouse, ice and Advil I will be back up to full typing speed by Monday. If you don't see me on your blog in the comment section for the next few days you will know why. I will of course still be reading your blog and your comments. I don't need my hand to read, I am clever like that.

Have a great weekend. And, if you notice your self doing something repetitively painful and idiotic, please learn from my mistake and stop it. Also, it is probably not a good idea to be typing six to eight hours a day.

Belette turns green on the streets of Valencia

I wish I could blame it on PMS, alas I cannot. I had a bit of a fierce temper tantrum on Friday night. It started when I decided to finally bite the bullet and see if our insurance covered IVF with oocyte donors. It turns out our insurance covers nothing. That means that we cannot try again.

I am as shocked as anyone that I was really considering entering the office of a Reproductive Endocrinologist again let alone start with shots, ultrasounds, and the whole roller coaster of IVF and yet seeing that the doctor last week opened the door that I was sure was permanently shut. It turns out the door wasn't. If our insurance had covered it I would have tried again. Instead of writing this post I would be making doctors appointments, buying prenatal vitamins and researching the success rate of IVF after 40 with egg donors. As our insurance will not cover it and we don't have an extra 35 thousand dollars lying around, I am here complaining about it.

As soon as I learned that our insurance covers nothing I found myself hating He-weasel's company for being so stingy with their medical coverage. If they had been willing to be just a little more generous with benefits we might have a child. Because they chose to save money there is no chance that we will. It was then that I started entering tantrum territory. "I hate them, I hate them. I hate them." Poor He-weasel tried to comfort me and then he made the minor mistake of defending his company and saying how lucky he was to have his job in the economy. True enough but not well timed.

He-weasel and I went for a walk with Lily. It started off well and I seemed to be walking off my anger at He-weasel's company. We walked a half a block and then the tantrum began. I started thinking of a friend of mine who has everything I ever wanted. I did a compare and contrast of our lives and how everything has worked out so well for her and she got everything she has ever wanted and that nothing about her life would ever inspire a therapist to say "Oh my gosh, how did you survive all that?" Not only did she have two beautiful children but she has never suffered a trauma. That is when the "it's not fair" started to echo in my head building like a storm.

The melt down was not terribly dramatic. Here is how it went: The "it's not fair" began with something I said internally and then it started to sneak its way out my mouth. I said it over and over and then the sobbing and then I couldn't walk. I stood still as if the pain of it paralyzed me. It made the pain of the ovarian cyst seem like a slight ache. I did an inventory in my mind of every unfair thing that ever happened which only exacerbated the pain.

I am old enough and, ahem, wise enough to know that life isn't fair. Friday night I didn't care, actually I don't care now. I want life to be fair. Or, if it is going to be unfair I would like it to be extra kind to me as it has in my friend's case.

I have a new list of unfairness that I am moaning over: If I hadn't the ovarian cysts rupturing I wouldn't have had gone to the doctor. If I didn't go to the doctor I wouldn't have had the idea of egg donor or embryo donor suggested. If I didn't have the suggestion I wouldn't have reopened the door to maybe-baby. If that hadn't happened I wouldn't have had enough hope to check out our benefits package and find out that there is no way we can try again. If I hadn't come to that conclusion again I wouldn't have had the wound reopened and there would have been no melt down on the streets of Valencia.

I am going to a hand surgeon next week. I am a bit terrified what that visit may lead to. As I am in Eeyore mode I feel pretty sure he is going to tell me I need to quit typing, writing and using it to blow dry my hair and apply makeup. If I disappear all of a sudden you will know that my fear was justified.

Here is another post I wrote on the subject: The Amazing Green Hulk of Residual Estrogen and Envy.
Here is a wonderful web site that lists companies which may offer infertility benefits.
Here is a list of the Top 50 Fertility and Adoption Friendly Companies.

Please remember to enter The Skincare Secrets Contest. The contest ends and winner will be announced on August 10.

Skincare secrets contest

You may remember a few weeks ago that I won Dr. Perricone's Advanced Face Firming Activator at Fashion Herald's gorgeous blog. Well, when I was in Sephora last weekend I told the sales assistant that I had won Dr. Perricone's Advanced Face Firming Activator and I asked her what she thought of the stuff. The S.A. told me she LOVES the Advanced Firming Face Activator (even though she knew I wasn't going to be buying it from her) and that her Aunt, who is very hippy-dippy and who even sprouts her own wheat to make her own hippy bread, loves Dr. Perricone's Advance Firming Activator and wouldn't be without it. That is a resounding recommendation to me. I didn't think hippy-dippy-sprouting-bread-making Aunts would use any cream that didn't involve goats milk that came from Tibetan goats that did hours of meditation and eating lotus blossoms. I left Sephora feeling more firmly enlightened about Perricone and thrilled to learn that Aunty credits her gorgeous skin to Perricone and not yak cheese. I would do a lot to have great skin but eating yak cheese is not one of them.

I am so happy to know that I can have my baguette( no spelt bread for me) and a firm face too, thanks to Dr. Perricone. And, thanks to the lovely people at Cosmeceuticals you may be a firm face winner too. They have kindly offered to let me a host a giveaway of the same product.

Details of the contest:

• To enter please leave a comment sharing a skincare secret. It doesn't matter if your secret came from your own Aunt Hippy-Dippy or the pages of Allure.
  
• You must be a U.S. Resident to win ( Sorry:-( ). But that doesn't mean you can't tell your secret anyways.
  
• Winner will be picked randomly.
  
• Winner will be announced August 15, 2009.

Good luck!

Sorry

I saw Igor yesterday. I sat down on his psychoanalytic sofa filled with certainty that I would not get an apology. I was so sure of it that I didn't even ask for one. Instead I said, "I have been thinking a lot about why I want an apology from you for hurting me."
Igor answered, "The why you need it doesn't matter. What matters is that I hurt you and I would never want to hurt you. I am sorry that I did."
The apology was sincere, heartfelt and completely unexpected.
That was it. In the first five minutes I got what I thought I was not going to get. He apologized and I went into shock. It may seem like a normal, natural and reasonable thing to happen---but for me it is not.

I saw a Jungian analyst for nearly a decade and during my treatment with him he referred me to a M.D. who was highly sexually inappropriate with me. When I told my longtime analyst he chose to treat the situation like a dream and not deal with the reality of it. I was, as you can imagine, upset. I wanted my analyst to take the situation seriously and at the very least apologize to me for referring me to someone who broke ethical boundaries. I never received an apology and when I pushed for one he made it seem as if there was something pathological in my needing an apology and that it was more clinically valuable to view the experience as a fantasy. It was not.

That lack of taking my reality seriously was a reenactment of many situations with my parents. When I was about 13 years old my my father had a golfing buddy who used to call the house when he knew my parents would be away. This man knew of the trauma that occurred when I was 10 and he would use this knowledge to his advantage. He told me if I hung up or told my parents that he would kill me and then he would say the most awful and vile things that a thirteen year old should never hear.

After several phone calls I got the courage to hang up on him and tell my parents what their "friend" had said. My parents reaction? "You must have misunderstood him." Their friend used words that I had never heard before. He used words that if I Googled them I would get the most disgusting and horrifying pornographic results. He told me things he wanted me to do to him and things that he wanted to do to me. His words and message were unmistakable. My parents maintained that I was mistaken.

The phone calls stopped soon after I told my parents about them and soon after that the man moved to a far away area code. Over the years, every now and then his name would come up and I would say only one thing in response to the news that he got a new job or a new house or that his daughter was getting married or that he had a stroke, "I hate this man".

Twenty years later this man died. My father was already dead. Upon hearing from my mother that my father's friend had died I said the same thing I always said, "I hate that man." My mother said to me, " I am sorry." She however refused to say what she was sorry for. It was as close as she ever came to an admission that she knew this man was a bad man and that what I said was true and that I misunderstood nothing. It was as close as I got to validation. And, in response to her near apology I felt nothing. Nothing at all.

In the film "Love Story", Alli MacGraw's character, Jennifer, said one of the most self-destructive lines in film history, "Love means never having to say you're sorry." To that I say bullshit; and, no, I am not sorry for cursing. I like John Lennon's version better, "Love means having to say you're sorry every fifteen minutes." My father never said the words "I am sorry" to me. Actually, I don't imagine he ever said them to anyone. My mother has on occasion reluctantly apologized. For her sorry is always followed by "you are so sensitive" or "are you happy now?". She is right, I am sensitive and no, I am never happy when I get one of my mother's half-assed apologies. Very often when He-weasel apologizes to me for something I will say "Sorry isn't enough. Sorry doesn't always fix things." I can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes and more than a little stubborn---and for that I am sincerely sorry.

All that said, Igor's apology was enough. It was more than enough. It not only fixed things between us and clarified for me that I am staying in therapy with him but it also destroyed my long held belief that I don't get apologies from powerful authority figures and that there is something wrong with me for needing an apology. I said I was hurt and that I wanted an apology and I got one. I know it sounds simple but to me it is extraordinary. The bear hug said a lot; the apology said more.

Confrontation with Igor: A bad hair cut, new shoes and a loss of power

Before I get to the confrontation I thought I would do a quick review of the events that lead up to it:

• July 9th I got mad at how Igor interpreted the Dave Eggers dream. I was sure he was saying that he thought I should give up writing.

• Two weeks ago I got mad at him for bringing up his sister who hated L.A. and moved to France and her adopted baby and talking about He-weasel's job instead of me.

• Last Thursday I saw him and brought in the bulldozer dream and he didn't seem to get it. And, as I felt weak, hurt and pretty fragmented I did not confront him or tell me how I really felt---and told him I was going to go on an extended vacation.

• Friday night I dreamt that I went to my old hairdresser that ruined my hair and who had a bit of a crush on me. The old hairdresser wasn't happy to see me which seemed odd to me. He cut my hair. He cut it so short that it was above my ears. I was furious. I told him I was not leaving until he fixed it. I told him he had to put on extensions and make it right.

The bulldozer dream seemed to say that what was productive had become destructive and that anger was the best course of action. I got angry. I wrote about my anger here and I went and told him about it( flipping him off, so to speak). The last dream with the haircut gone wrong once I saw the damage I refused to leave. Each dream has a different course of action in regards to Igor.

The haircut dream and your comments made me feel that I needed to not just cut off from Igor. Rather, because of the bad cut I needed to extend it and have things made right and not just flip him off and walk away. As many of you kindly counseled, it is important to let him know how I feel. Freida Bee, MD said...Ok, Belette. I do not know whether you should break up with Igor or not, but I do do do think you should tell him how you are feeling in an attempt to resolve this before you break up. It may be the most valuable part of your therapy.

By Saturday morning I knew I had to see him again. I had to tell him how exactly I felt and how he had been pissing me off. As Linda said, "In the end, you need to talk to him, before you tell him to fuck off...in my opinion, it would be good to tell him every single thing you can remember he said, and how it made you feel and find out specifically what the meaning is behind some of the strangeness." "Go back and explain how he made you feel - noting that these feelings, generated by his stories, are not what your expectations are."

I have seen Igor for nine months and feel like we have done a lot of good work and it just seemed wrong to leave without telling him what I was feeling. K-line said, "I do think Igor has participated with you in some fantastic self-development. Occasionally, I have been blown away by his insights.....Is it also possible that he was just having a really off day and wasn't using his best professional demeanour? (to put it mildly)."
As Seraphine said, "relationships should be easy at least 90% of the time." By that measure Igor and I have a great relationship.

Imogen really hit the point home when she said: "I'm glad you didn't break up with He-Weasel first disagreement you had (I'm assuming you've had a disagreement or two)". Oooh, yeah, that really got to me. Imogen is right. This is the first disagreement I have had with Igor. And doesn't every relationship have a disagreement or two---even my relationship with He-weasel has had a few.

I called Igor first thing Monday morning to schedule an appointment with him for 4:15 that day. Between the time I called him and saw him I read and reread all of your comments and I was enormously comforted by them. I read them aloud to He-weasel and he said, "I wouldn't want to be in Igor's shoes right now. There's nothing more protective or fierce than Belette blog readers." He-weasel was deeply touched by the generous outpouring of support I received from all of you.

I got to Igor's office an hour early. It was far too hot to sit outside at a cafe and write in my journal. His waiting room was also not an option as it is not air conditioned and I can tell you that it is not a gross hyperbole to compare it to a Native American sweat lodge. I didn't have the spiritual strength to endure the sweat lodge so I walked over to David's Shoes and tried on several pair of sandals as a means of time killing. First I tried a pair of Donald Pliner mules that I liked but weren't very practical or comfortable. Next I tried a pair of Michael Kors high heeled thongs that I really liked and finally a pair of Amalfi black patent sandals with a two tone heel. The Amalfi sandals won out as they were 50% off, cute and very comfortable. That took all of 15 minutes and I was back to the sweat lodge with new shoes in hand.

I couldn't take the heat so I stood in the doorway waiting for 4:10 to arrive. When 4:10 did come I went into his office and he immediately came out to greet me. He looked especially chipper and happy to see me, which only made me feel worse. I was nervous, in fact I was so nervous about confronting him that I had to take something for anxiety just to get myself to do it. Once I began to speak I did a whole lot of disclaiming, "I am not an angry person. I hate doing this. I don't blame you. I am sorry. I want you to know that just because I am angry it doesn't mean I don't like you." I went on and on with disclaimer after disclaimer. At one point I went as far as asking him if he wanted me to leave. He asked me, before I began reading the charges against him, where I had learned that if you are angry at someone they will hate you or reify you and not see you as a whole object but will instead forever hold it against you. I really didn't have an answer for him.

After I cycled through my disclaimers another time I timidly read the charges against him that I had documented in my diary.
"#1) Your interpretation of the Dave Eggers dream followed by you asking me about going back to work seems to indicate that you think I should give up writing."
As soon as I said it out loud it sounded ridiculous and in that moment I knew it wasn't true.
I moved onto the second charge.

"#2) As soon as you heard about New Jersey and that we might be moving there it was as if you abandoned me and no longer cared about me or took our work seriously. It was as if I was no longer your patient and so you spent the session talking about He-weasel's job and then when I told you the baguette dream you told me about your sister in France who adopted a baby. That seemed sadistic. It seemed as if you were trying to depress me."

"I would have to be a mean shit to do something like that? Wouldn't I?" Igor asked.
I thought of what PenNolan said: "I doubt he's self-absorbed and mean." PenNolan is right.
He's not. I know he cares about me. I don't believe for a second that he intentionally tried to hurt me. I really don't.

I explained that I felt as if he hadn't taken the Whole Foods/baguette dream seriously. His interpretation was all about him. I felt that he missed something fundamental about me and that the dream was saying that too. As Chittychat said, "The feelings a dream evokes are meant to be a really important part of the meaning of that dream. As the baguette dream left you feeling upset and misunderstood, it would seem that Igor probably is currently failing to understand your surface (or maybe top) issues and resources (a guess as to what the whole foods really are) let alone address your deeper resources. His rudeness in disclosing his sister's personal situation and then ignoring your obvious anguish, is shameful. "

Or as Linda said: "Perhaps he thinks your dream meant you don't think you are getting your money's worth, so are bringing something of MORE( the groceries) worth in terms of real cash, and so he is taking a weird tangent OR he was really thrown by it all, your frankness and the sexual undertones too, and just didn't know what to do for the session...I don't get the self-disclosure at all..."

I wish I had been as articulate as Chittycat or Linda had been. I was much less so. I said simply, "It really hurt and felt cruel that you would bring up your sister. And, I just don't feel like you are getting something basic about me. The Whole Foods dream said as much. I understand that there are times when self disclosure is clinically important but in this case it just felt cruel and inappropriate."

He said something in response to my charge but it was not the kind of apology I had hoped for----in fact it was not an apology at all. He said stuff about him bumbling through the session and how his unconscious had been in the room and something about there being two Belettes. One Belette is strong, funny, and loves spontaneity. The other Belette is very vulnerable. Igor said, "I forgot for a moment about the second Belette."

I knew what he was saying but what I wanted him to say that he did not is "I am sorry." I waited through the session as we talked about my hurt, pain, the loss and the grief I felt because I felt I could no longer trust him or work with him.

"I feel like I am going backwards" I explained, "the last two weeks I have felt like I am back where I was before we started working together. I didn't realize until you failed me how much hope you carry for me. You carry the hope that I can get over my baby grief; hope that I can find a home; hope that I will finish my book; hope that I can heal the sensitivity that prevents me from sending my work out. I feel like I lost all of that hope last Thursday."

"No wonder it feels so frightening and dangerous---and that you are so anxious. You were cut off from the little hope you had."

Tears came against my will.

Half way through the session the power went out in Igor's building. No A/C , fan or lights. We sat in darkness and heat and attempted to find a connection that had been cut off.

Igor talked about a lot of things in response to my charges and I could tell that he was able to take my anger and still continue to care about me. I could feel that. But, I did finding myself wanting more. I wanted him to apologize.

When my 5o minutes were up Igor asked me, "Will you be back on Thursday?"
"I don't know."
"That's okay. There is time between now and Thursday. But I hope that you do."
Igor got up from his chair when I stood to leave and he hugged me. He hugged me not like a man, or a friend, a father or even as a therapist. He hugged me like a bear. There was a strength to his hug that said things that he didn't say in the session but that were transmitted through the fierceness of his embrace and the quiet instructions he whispered in my ear, "take care of yourself." I tried to nod in affirmation but I was paralyzed by the intensity of his grip.

I struggled between my feelings of anger, disappointment with his lack of a direct apology and the certainty that he cares and that he has helped me a lot and that I trust him and I can feel the fierceness of concern in the residue of the embrace. I felt conflicted and unsure whether I would be returning and whether this would be the last time I ever saw him.

I scanned the room trying to take in every book, every tchotchke, and detail that I had never taken the time to consider. It seemed important to memorize the heights of the stacks, the weaves of the carpet and the ephemera of his outer life: keys and sunglasses that sit on his desk. I stared at his face as he spoke to me hoping that if I focused hard enough I could remember what he looks like, when I leave.

I left Igor's office and walked out into the dark hallway. I made a sound to indicate my surprise by the darkness. I noticed in me a wish that Igor would have come to my rescue, that he would have anticipated the darkness and walked me to the stairwell to make sure I was alright. He didn't. I found my way out on my own.

Things I am sure of after seeing him:

a) He is not cruel or sadistic.
b) He doesn't think I should quit writing.
c) He did not make up an imaginary sister.
d) He did not say the things about his sister to intentionally hurt me or provoke me.
e) He can take my anger and that is important. As, Where to from here? shared,
"From my own experience in therapy being angry with the therapist is a vital part of the process. In my last bout of therapy with a male therapist - I felt I'd made an enormous break through as he was the only one (of four over the years) that I could actually express my anger to. Igor is bound to get things wrong - he's human and a man too."

f) It was good for me to confront him.
g) I don't want to work with someone else. Finding a good therapist is harder than the needle in a haystack or a non-acting waiter in L.A.
h) All of my upsets with Igor have brought some very important issues to the fore. As the ever wise Wendy B said "It seems like all of this is bringing up key issues. Is that part of the treatment or just unnecessary annoyance? Could you make progress from this? All progress is painful (that's why I try to avoid progressing). If he really is pushing you forward, does it matter if you like the way he's doing it? Would you dislike the way anyone was pushing you forward because you don't want to confront those things? Again, I don't know....since I am not there and not you. He could just be an asshole. But I wonder because you have seemed to have a lot of success with him and I didn't get the impression he was an asshole before."

i) He gives great hugs.
j) He is not an asshole.
k) I would miss him if I quit.

Even though I know all that, I also know I want the apology. I will ask for it on Thursday and see what happens. Even if I don't get the kind of apology I want I wonder if there is a way I can continue to work with him. Wendy asked me, "What if he will never take as much responsibility as you would like him to? Will that actually help you with learning to cope with the situations over which you have no control, and is the fact that his behavior won't change a moot point? Or is it abusive? I really have no idea at all. I guess "go with your gut" is the best plan."

My gut is of two minds and until my gut has made up its mind I don't have to make a decision. There is no hurry. I am in the dark for now and I will find my way out of it.

Things you may or may not want to know about Igor, eggs, Lily, and etc.

1. I saw Igor on Thursday and told him my latest dream about the bulldozer to see if he understood the subtext of the dream and that I was angry at him. He didn't get it. In the session I felt nervous and mad and a bit kerfuggled that he didn't seem to now what was really going on. I then, being that I was in an immature snit fit, told him I was going on vacation and that I didn't know when I was coming back. It was a rough session and I didn't have the emotional strength to confront him.

2. I had another ruptured ovarian cyst on Thursday and then resulting pain and anger that I should suffer any pain in the lady parts region after the hell of numerous IVF treatments and my barren state. Not fair.

3. Numbers one and two triggered a crying jag and comfort eating in the form of a carton of Ben and Jerry's "Half-Baked" ice cream. I felt a real sadness that it might be the end of my work with Igor. Not only is he my therapist but he was the co-star of my memoir and he gave me a reason to leave the house on Thursdays. Even though we had a few bad sessions over all he has been great and I care about him and I know he cares about me. The pain of #2 makes me especially weepy.

4. In anticipation of my appointment on Friday with my Ob/Gyn I was filled with dread, anxiety and terror. I was sure the waiting room with be filled with radiant looking pregnant women who looked ridiculously happy and IVF patients looking bloated, hopeful and hormonal.

5. As I had forgotten the name of my Gynecologist I asked a friend who I though might remember it. She thought she did. My friend was wrong. Once I got there I realized that this was not the Ob/Gyn I used to see when I lived in L.A. before, but instead a well known infertility M.D. I had seen once for a consult before I chose the more famous Dr. Mumbles to be my infertility doctor. For the purpose of this post I will call the doctor, I saw on Friday, Dr. Curt, as she had a curt, harsh and completely unlikable manner.

6. Dr. Curt's suggestion for dealing with my ovarian cyst situation is that I should go on birth control pills. This was like suggesting going on depressant pills for someone with intractable depression. While clinically this may be a good idea, it is a horrible idea psychologically and I can tell you that I will continue to endure the rupturing ovarian cysts instead of taking birth control pills. For those of you who have never dealt with infertility my refusal to take the pill may sound silly and slightly masochistic and for those of you who have will understand my reluctance.

7. Dr. Curt did a quick review of our infertility history and the many drugs and treatments we underwent to get pregnant only to not become so. She casually asked if we had ever considered egg donor or embryo donor. Truth is we hadn't, not until she mentioned it. The cost of egg donor IVF is part of why we never considered it. Our insurance doesn't cover it and we have gone through our savings trying to have a baby with our own eggs and it would be approximately $35,000 for one round with donor costs and medications.

8. After my appointment. with Dr. Curt I needed booze and a lot of it. He-weasel and I went to the Kings Head Tavern in Santa Monica and I drank a cocktail down like it was soda pop. We slurped down cocktails and what-ifed ourselves into all sorts of scenarios. One cocktail was enough to wash away the grief that we do not have the resources to jump into the egg donor pool or a sister on standby who could donate an egg for us so we would have to go through an egg donor agency( $5000 for the agency fee and another $6000 for the eggs). Two cocktails were enough to get us to consider that maybe there was away. Three was enough to make us wonder who is the patron saint of "I need $35K"?

Thanks to Dr. Curt we are seriously thinking about egg donors and embryo donors. As, I have no idea how we are going to manage to pony up the necessary cash to pursue this I thought I might put out a tips jar on the margin of my blog. Who knows, maybe Johnny Depp will come by and leave my seven $4000 tips and then our IVF and egg donor are in the bag. Hey, it could happen.

Just last week I would sworn up and down that I was done and that the door to motherhood was shut and sealed and that there were bricks and mortar behind my sealed door as well as barbed wire and explosives and other radioactive deterrents. One bad session with Igor and one appointment with Dr. Curt and I am dreaming of progesterone shots and early morning ultra sounds---and of a baby.

9. I decided instead of sticking to my "I am going on vacation" story with Igor that I am going to call him and tell him exactly what pissed me off as many of you suggested. I am curious about how he will respond. Should he chose to deflect and not take responsibility for his screw up I am pretty sure my vacation will extend into a more permanent vacation.

10. We walked over to the Santa Monica Sephora and it seemed a perfect time to cash in my Christmas gift card from Santa. I got a nice little haul and I still have 72 cents left to use on my card should the mood strike me to do more shopping. My alcohol, post-Igor and post-Dr. Curt haul included:
Ojon Hair Restorative Treatment, Ren Rose Synergy 012 Restoring Facial Serum, Ren Hydra-Calm Global Protection Day Cream, Jonathan Hydrating shampoo and Rene Furterer Complexe 5. Why all the hair stuff? I am a head case. Ha-ha! No, it is the water here in Valencia and my two weeks of Dove Shampoo and Garnier Fructise that turned my scalp into a dry mess. I think the Dove and Garnier are fine products it is just that I have a very sensitive scalp and my scalp hated these products even as my hair enjoyed them.

11. Too emotionally drained for real food, He-weasel took me to Anisette Brasserie in Santa Monica and we split profiteroles and both had a glass of pink champagne. We drank to the moment as to drink to anything more than that would have led to tears.

12. We came home and walked Lily. Lily ran into one of her suitors Lokey. Lily loves Lokey. Lokey loves Lily. Ain't puppy love grand?

13. Figured out who the Ob/Gyn I saw before was. Made a note to call her on Monday. This doctor is nice and friendly and her entire aura doesn't ooze with " I am better than you."

14. I made a list of things that I am going to tell Igor I am angry about. I wish I could just send him your wonderful, supportive, smart and strong comments from Thursday's post and let him do a guest post in which he responds to all of you. I am calling him this morning and hoping to see him this afternoon. I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck.

I want to break up with Igor: Yeast and irritation are rising

It started with a dream. I dreamt that I had brought a huge grocery cart full of groceries from Whole Foods with me to therapy. The contents of the cart had to be worth over $1000. At the top of the cart were three baguettes. When, in the dream, Igor saw the baguettes he said, "Why did you get those? They will make you eat fast." Him saying that kind of bugged me and I wanted to explain to him that I eat slow but I knew he was taking info from a past session and so there was no point in trying to explain it to him. But, I was upset that he was misreading something fundamental about my temperament.

Then in the dream Igor and I were sitting on an ottoman. I grabbed the back of his hair because I wanted to feel how thick his hair was. I wanted to feel his substance. I was afraid he would interpret this action as erotic and it wasn't.

So, I tell Igor the dream last Thursday. He asks for my interpretations. I tell him that I think it means I am bringing something valuable, nutritive and wholesome with me to therapy. This is a lot of groceries and they are really expensive. I think it means I bring a lot of good things with me to therapy. "It's not like I bring a big trailer load of dirt or trash. I am bringing fancy groceries."

"And, what about the baguettes? What kind are they?"Igor asked greedily.

"The French kind. You know the long and thin ones. The kind you can only get in France. " This image seemed loaded with symbolic potential. Igor was blinded by the bread and ignored what they might mean to me.

"Well, I wouldn't be telling you not to buy those or warn you not to eat them quickly. I love those. I would eat those fast. French bread is the best and with jamon.....mmmmm. I love the jamon." He said it with far away eyes. His face indicating that he was no longer with my dream but dreaming of far away French bread.

I found myself thinking, 'where the hell is he going with this?'

"Did I tell you that I have a sister who lives in France?" Igor asked.

"Uh, no." Again I wondered what the clinical value of this information was.

"Yeah, she lived in L.A. and didn't like it. She hated L.A. and she moved to Paris and got married and she adopted a child and she is very happy. She loves Paris and would never come back to L.A."

"Nice." I said. But in truth it felt anything but nice. He knows how I am hurting about baby and living in L.A. He know how much I love Paris. It felt sadistic. I shut down and didn't want to talk about the dream anymore or even Paris. I felt as if he was trying to make me depressed. If he has been paying attention to my body language or my affect he would have seen how the story of his sister affected me. He didn't.

He spent the rest of the session asking questions about what He-weasel does for a living and then he wanted me to explain the difference between north and south New Jersey. I answered his questions and was simultaneously pissed that I was paying $200 to talk about He-weasel's job.

Almost immediately upon hearing that we might have been moving to NJ, which sadly we aren't, Igor asked me what would happen to us( meaning me and Igor). That was his first reaction. Let me tell you that there were MANY clinical issues to explore when the possibility of us moving away from L.A. arose but he wasn't interested in any of them. He wanted to know if he was still going to get his $800 for me. I left the session feeling hurt, angry and pissed( and then I went to see Away We Go).

Since the session I have had several dreams in which I feel that I am being attacked by something from the outside( attacking masculines) who don't get me and who misunderstand me and don't listen to what I am saying. In one dream I was in a high rise building and I heard a lot of outside noise and I went out on the patio and I saw a bulldozer that was supposed to be picking up debris and instead I knew it was going to destroy me. I flipped it the bird and went inside. Hmmmm.....I wonder what that could be about.

I really want to break up with Igor.

Why it seems that yesterday there was a conspiracy of kindness and goodness and things that made me glad

1. All of the incredible comments I got on my last blog post . I am so very grateful for all of your kindness, support and encouragement. If you knew how much good you did for me you might ask me to pay you instead of Igor. Thank you is just not big enough.

2. It was the 18th anniversary of when He-weasel proposed to me. I am so glad I said yes. He is the best thing that ever happened to me.


3. I am a winner! I never win. But, I did. It seems my luck has changed. Soon I will have fantastically young and gorgeous skin. Thank you, Fashion Herald! Thank you, Dr. Perricone and Sephora! I thank you and my skin thanks you.



4. I had coffee and pastries at Porto's Bakery in Glendale. Just Cuban pastries would have been enough to lift my spirits---but I got to share them with Tara of Doll Cannot Fly. When Tara and I meet we enter a time warp in which we make six hours seem like two. We cannot explain how we manage to shrink time so please direct your physics questions about time and space to another blog. And, no, it was not the guava and cheese pastry that makes time disappear even though we did make the tropical treat disappear with relative ease.

5. A certain gorgeous blogger wrote me a small email that had a big impact. I can't tell you what she said but suffice it to say that an email with just fourteen words can mean so much. I will treasure it like a piece of her 14K jewelry.

6. I got a letter in the mail from a dear friend that I miss very much.

7. Another postal surprise was the early arrival of a book I have been waiting for "The Shortest Distance Between You and a Published Book" by Susan Page. Now I have something I can't wait to read. I LOVE that feeling.

8. Lily, my dog-ughter, has become a master at puppy pirouettes(video of performances to follow very soon). I am so very proud. How did I turn my puppy into a prima ballerina? Well, she will do almost anything for turkey or aged Gouda cheese. Note to burglars: She will not let you in and show you my jewelry for any amount of Gouda cheese( aged or otherwise).

9. I didn't have nightmares last night. It was the first night in a week that I haven't had one. For some bazaar reason heat makes me have nightmares. To prevent nightmares we are now sleeping with the air conditioner set to a chilly 69 degrees. Brrrrrr!!!

10. I told He-weasel I was looking for the new and Town and Country magazine because Jenna Lyons, the creative director of J Crew, is featured in it. I was unable to find a copy. It seems that there isn't a big call for Town and Country out here in Valencia. Unbeknownst to me my darling He-weasel went to three stores to find a copy for me. My heroic He-weasel's hunt was a success.

Dave Eggers kidnapped me

According to the noted Swiss psychologist, C.G. Jung, said, dreams are real, as real as real life. If that is true it means it really happened. Dave Eggers really did kidnap me. Only, I won't be pressing charges and their was no ransom demands. I wish I had more to tell you about the dream. The dream was very light on content. It was pretty much a voice over that said, "Dave Eggers kidnapped you."I woke up feeling simultaneously excited and a little concerned.

I told Igor and shockingly he didn't know who Dave Eggers is.
"Are you kidding me?" I was dumbfounded that he didn't know one of the greatest writers of my generation.
"No", Igor weakly defended.
"Dave Eggers is one of my favorite writers and he wrote AHBWOSG. You have read it, haven't you?"
"No," Igor said with no tone of embarrassment.
I felt a strong impulse to after the session to go and buy him the book that is the Gen X equivalent to "The Catcher in the Rye" and ask him what the hell he is reading anyways. I planned to buy him the book and bring it in next week until I realized it would become a huge transference issue that we would have to talk about forever. "Why do you want me to read it? How did your parents not know what you valued? Would you feel more loved if I read this book?" Blah-blah-blah-blah.... I decided it wasn't worth it to endure that line of questioning. Why can't a gift just be a gift and not a loaded symbolic gesture?

"Tell me more about Eggers". Igor asked.
"He is a brilliant writer from Lake Forest." I then shared all that we have in common. I also shared a new bit of synchronicity, "Dave is also a Pisces and our birthdays are just two days apart." I said as a way proving unequivocally how much alike we are.
"Hmmmm..... So do you like him? Igor asked.
He said it in a way that was so loaded that it couldn't drive because it might get a D.U.I.
"No, it isn't him. I don't like him. I have no interest in him. It is his writing that I like. And, I like that we have so much in common. But, him as a person...I am not as interested. I guess that because of all that we have in common that maybe it gives me hope that I will write my own "Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius".

Igor did the Igor posture. Eyes shut and his hands stroking his brows as if they contained some magical insight powder that was released only upon repeated contact. If he was a cartoon there would have been steam coming out of his head so as to indicate how hard his brain was working.
"This hope that you will be like Dave Eggers, it impinges you. It takes you and you are not free. It grabs a hold of you and then you can't move."

His interpretation was not at all what I had been hoping for. As soon as he came up with that it I felt a depression coming on as undeniable as hiccups and it got worse when he immediately changed the subject and asked if I was still planning on going back to work in the fall.
I read his subject change to mean that I should quit writing and focus on my work. I was too upset by my reading to ask if that is what he was really saying.

A week later I went to see the film, Away We Go , written by Dave Eggers. I didn't know much about the movie before I went. I had read a few bad reviews that didn't talk a lot about the story but instead were baffled that Sam Mendes could make such a movie. I saw the movie and to be honest with you I have no idea if it was a good movie or a bad movie. I just don't know. It is not for me to assess it as a creative work but rather to share with you how it affected me.

What I know is that it was not a movie I should have seen alone and without an Ativan in my purse. It is a movie about a happy young couple with child who are trying to find a home for their soon to be baby. Perfect movie for me, huh?And, I went to see it in a pretty vulnerable state. For the last week I have had two cases of ruptured ovarian cysts and I can tell you they hurt like a mother. Any *female* issue always brings up my unresolved issues about our intractable childlessness.

"Away We Go" is a sort of "On the Road" on hormones, a light hearted Kerouac for those shopping for cradles. The happy couple travel the country and try to find home in Tuscon, Arizona; Madison, Wisconsin; Montreal; and Miami, Florida. It was when they got to Montreal and met up with college friends who had just gone through their fifth miscarriage that I went into a hormonal/PTSD/and mild histerical outburst. I sat alone in the Westwood Pavilion director's lounge theater and sobbed until I shook. The 50-something man in the seat in front of me did his best to ignore the crazy lady behind him. By the time they were in Florida and lying on a trampoline and making vows of what kind of parents they would be that I thought I might need an ambulance to get out of there as I thought my heart was going to break and if it did I was sure I wouldn't be able to walk to my car with a broken heart. Heart and feet must be connected somehow.

Spoiler alert: In the movie the couple finds a perfect home for their soon to arrive baby and it is in watching that scene that I realized I may never find home---as home for me has always included a baby. When I had that realization is when my heart did break( it turns out you can walk with a broken heart, good to know). I sat alone in the theater after everyone left and I sat there and cried and grieved something I have grieved before. I said the mantra that goes with this grief, "it's not fair." When the usher came in to clean out the empty theater I took a quick look at myself in my compact and saw that I resembled a swollen raccoon and that dark glasses were in order. I walked out of the theater and to the car in darkness, feeling everyone could tell I had been crying and that I was an unfertile and bitter woman and if there was a god he must hate me and I must have done awful things to be denied this basic biological function that my body was designed for.

For 48 hours last week we thought He-weasel might be transferred to North New Jersey. I had made connections with Realtors and friends from NJ to seek their advice. Thanks to Realtor.com I had already found a 100 year old house in Bernardsville that I really liked and could imagine us living in. I started to imagine the kind of life we would live there. But, at the end of "Away We Go", when I saw the happy couple in their happy ending, I realized that we would likely be the only couple in Bernardsville without kids. People move to places like Bernardsville and Lake Bluff because they have kids---and we don't.

Friday night I found out the job in New Jersey had been filled and so we would not be moving anyways. I was sad, sure. But, I wasn't as sad as I would have been if I hadn't seen "Away We Go". Dave Eggers movie had kidnapped my hope that I will ever find a home. I hope he sends a ransom note soon. I'd settle for an offer to publish a piece in McSweeney's.

Mi nombre no es Roofy

I have happy/sad/happy/sad news. Roofy, nay, Pepe, is back with his family. His family went to the pound yesterday and saw the picture of Roofy. They called my mother in law and wisely my mother in law grilled the people who claimed to be his family. She asked if he was fixed or not and for any distinguishing markings. She asked for his name and then went and called him by the name they call him, Pepe. Roofy came running. It seemed that they were indeed his family and that his name really was Pepe.

An hour later the family came and claimed their pooch. My mother in law gave them orders to get micro-chipped and fixed. They promised to do both. Then they took Roofy away.

I am of course happy for the five year old boy who had been grieving the loss of Pepe for days. That said, I am so sad for Lily, my mother in law and me. My M.I.L fell hard for Roofy, as one would do with such an adorable dog. I know she misses him. When we go back to visit my in laws,Lily, He-weasel and I will miss him too. I miss him already.

Bye, Roofy. Adios, Pepe.

Picture of Roofy(Pepe)Lily, and my hand was taken at my in-laws house by my F.I.L.

Today's post is only for the Lily lovers

Monday we go back to regular scheduled non-doggy posting( I have posted three dog posts in the last week---that is a whole lot of doggy). I assure you that I will go back to regular programming next week with more "Thursday's with Igor", Things that don't suck about L.A., Writing in Valencia and some news on the house front.
But, today I am feeling a little bit crap and so I am taking the day off. Lily is filling in for me. She, unlike her mother, does not enjoy writing and so she instead is posting some of her favorite pictures of herself for your viewing pleasure.

She also wanted me to tell you that Roofy is still at the in-laws. No one has called about him. We are still crossing paws that the in-laws will keep Roofy. They have bought Roofy a bed, a collar, a leash and toys. This bodes well for the Roofster.

Lily hopes you all have a lovely weekend filled with treats, scratches behind the ear, belly rubs and long walks.





Lily enjoying a bagel













Lily watching "Bolt"
















Lily at the beach

#6-10 of 365 things that don't suck about L.A.

6. The Smoke House
I met a friend for lunch last week at this historic Burbank eatery. The Smoke House opened up in 1946, which is ancient according to L.A. standards. It is right across the street from the Warner Brothers Studio and blocks away from the Universal Studios lot. This place is the definition of old school. Really and truly I felt like I was in Madmen when I walked in. I expected Don Draper, Roger Sterling and Pete Campbell to walk in and order martinis and bloody rare steaks.


We sat in a vinyl red boot, a booth that big butts of fame have likely warmed. I bet Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Errol Flynn, Judy Garland, and Katherine Hepburn have at one time or another sat where I was sitting. The service was so good that made us wonder if the waiter thought we were celebrities. A photo girl came to our table and took our photo; I was for that moment imagining what it must be like to be Miley Cyrus. It was a nice change from restaurants where waitresses tell you their names and call groups of two or more, "guys".

At the table behind us where a bunch of old school Hollywood types guzzling martinis like Gatorade and slurping down oysters as if they had after lunch plans to meet their mistresses. I overheard one of the old school men ask the waiter for oyster crackers. Something about the oyster cracker request cracked me up. And, then there was a 60-something guy at a table across from us who ordered a steak sandwich and a scotch who gave me the eye.

We didn't have the Smoke House's famous Garlic cheese bread as I was there with a vegan friend who had a plate of steamed vegetables. FYI: This is not a place for vegans. As I am not a vegan I had the steak, blue cheese and arugula salad. If I had been there with my He-weasel I would have ordered the cheese bread and a martini or two. My salad was good, not great but good. But, quite frankly, I think that the ambiance makes up for any of the food's mediocrity.

I read that is a favorite place of George Clooney. And, I can so see him here. Sadly, I did not see him when I was there. But, I will be back and hopefully then I will see George and if not the cheese bread will make the trip worthwhile.

For visitors to L.A. let me tell you that if you want to see celebrities I would come to the Smoke House for lunch or dinner and skip the Hard Rock Cafe. Celebrities do not ever go to the Hard Rock Cafe.

7. Cheap nail salons
I am not sure why but I do think Southern California is the nail salon capitol of the world and because of that you can get a mani and pedi for $30. In any five block radius in L.A. I bet you would find at least six nail salons. In Chicago I paid $50 for a pedicure alone and it was not like the pedicure was so much better than the one in L.A., actually there were no fancy spa chairs in Chicago. It is true that I never use the massage chair because to me it feels like being hit by a sack of lemons, but I could use it if I wanted to.

Living in L.A. for so long has made me permanently cheap about manis and pedis. Every time I went for a mani/pedi in Chicago I griped internally that I had to tip almost as much as I had to pay for a manicure in L.A. I never took into consideration that housing was cheaper or that because my feet were in boots seven months out of the year I needed less frequent pedicures so amortized the Chicago pedicure was cheaper. No, my mind doesn't work like that and I am bad at math.

I go to Nina. I like Nina because I can 80% of the time understand her English and she is funny and is really fast. What I don't like about her is hearing how much she is making in real estate and in the stock market. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy Nina is doing so well. I only wish I was doing as well as my nail gal. Maybe I could get her to give some tips. Get it? Tips! Mwah-ha-ha!!!

8. Incredible orange skied sunsets that can only exist in places with lots of smog













9. L.A. International Airport
While my two favorite airports in the world are O'Hare in Chicago and Charles de Gaulle in Paris, for location alone. I do like LA airport, especially the departure level, as it reminds me that I can get out of here. I am not stuck. This is not the Hotel California. And, I do sort of like the 60's space age architecture that is the landmark Encounters Theme Restaurant. The interior is very Austin Power's meets the Jetsons.


10. L.A. area public bathrooms almost always have toilet seat protectors
I do usually squat but there are times when a gal wants to sit. In L.A. I can, if I chose, cover the public toilet seat with five seat covers. In Chicago I never-ever-ever saw a seat cover. I am not sure if it is illegal there or what. But, in Chicago squatting is the only option.

Photo of LA sunset comes from here.
Photo of LAX Encounters Theme restaurant comes from here.

The dog ate my blog post

Well, not literally. What happened is yesterday He-weasel and I went to visit his family and when we got there we saw that a tiny-dog( I think a Fox terrier mix weighing all of eight pounds) was on top of the tea house they are building on their property. The poor dog was stuck up on the roof and scared. We have no idea how he got there. It was our guess that he had run away last night in response to the fireworks.

We tried to tempt the dog off the roof with Cheetos and water ( there was a ramp from the top of the roof to the ground) but he wouldn't come. Finally He-weasel climbed up and rescued him. I can tell you that I fell even more in love with him as I saw him rescuing the scared puppy. The dog fell in love with He-weasel too, demonstrated by the many puppy dog kisses of appreciation given to He-weasel for his act of kindness, much to Lily's initial horror. Moments later Lily and the Fox terrier were playing like old friends. I have never seen Lily have so much fun--- not even when playing with her favorite toy, Mr. Bear. The whole time we were there Lily was playing with her new friend. No time was wasted on sitting, napping or standing still.

It seemed well groomed and well cared for, save that the dog had no tag and no collar. As he was found on the roof I started calling the dog Roofy and the name caught on. I also came up with a joke I am very proud of, when Roofy pees you can say that the roofy is leaking. Yes, I had a few cocktails when I came up with this joke and I assure you it was funnier at the time.

Instead of writing the blog post I intended for today I spent yesterday trying to find Roofy's home. We took photos of Roofy and took them to the pound so in case his owners are trying to find him they would know where he was. We did not leave him at the pound as we feared that they might put him down before his owners got there. We also took him in to see if he had been micro chipped and sadly he had not. Why do people not do this? It is so cheap. I think I paid $45 for it and it is a great comfort to know that if Lily was in the same situation that she could have quickly been reunited with us. We also walked my in-laws neighborhood asking if anyone recognized Roofy. No one did.

Roofy is now with my in laws and he is ridiculously happy. He is a very friendly, loving and affectionate dog. When we left him he was curled up in my mother-in-laws arms like a baby. So cute!! When we got Lily home from her day with Roofy she passed out with fatigue. Never have I seen her happier or more tired. I learned one thing today, Lily needs a doggy brother. It would be so wrong for her to be an only child.

Today my in-laws are calling no kill shelters and putting up pictures of Roofy in their neighborhood. I, of course, hope that Roofy is reunited with his family. However, I have heard that many people are dumping dogs off in my in laws' neighborhood as they can no longer afford their pets and if that is the case I am hoping with all my heart that my in laws fall more in love with Roofy than they already are. I am very hopeful as my mother in law was already calling Roofy her son and saying that would make him Lily's uncle. I am pretty sure Roofy is sleeping with them tonight. Who cannot fall in love with a dog who has slept in their bed? Nah, I think Lily may have an Uncle. Now I can't wait until the day we can find Lily a brother.

Note about the picture of Roofy: After this picture was taken we found a rope that was lighter and more appropriate to use as a makeshift leash. He looks so sad in that picture but I assure you he had as wonderful a day as you can have when separated from your people.

Lily goes red, white and blue

Fooled you! No, that is not Lily. I would never do that to her. It is, however, a West Highland White Terrier showing her true red, white and blue colours. Poor dog! I so hope that is not permanent hair colour.

Have a happy Fourth of July if you are in the U.S. If you aren't, have a happy fourth of July too.

400 blogs

No, that is not a typo, I did not mean to write about François Truffaut's famous New Wave French film. Rather, this is my 400th blog post. I can't believe I have managed it and yet there is another part of me that feels like this should be my 4000th post. I feel like I have been blogging for years and that is because I have. I started La Belette Rouge in October 2007 and here I am, still blogging, in July 2009.

This piece of internet real estate has been a home to me both when I felt at home and when I have felt homeless. It has been a constant for me in the midst of so much change. Whether I was in Lake Bluff, Austin, or here in Valencia I have had this blog and my adorable, smart, funny, insightful and gorgeous readers who always make me feel at home. I assure you if I didn't feel at home here I wouldn't be blogging in my pajamas.

I have so many times, in these last couple of difficult years, thought about quitting the blog and I did take a long break last summer----but I cannot imagine what my life would be like if I had. So many things would be so different. There'd be no Lily, no book in the works and I wouldn't have made so many wonderful new bloggy friends. I am so glad that I came back and that I made it to my 400th post. I feel sure I will make it to 500. When I think about doing another 400 I am not so sure I have it is me. But, blogging is done one post at a time.

In case you didn't know the traditional gift for the 400th post is to subscribe to the blog of the celebrant, to follow me here (see upper left hand side of my blog)and on Twitter. Consider yourself lucky, I told He-weasel that traditional gift for the 400th blog post are shoes, the 500th post is WendyB jewelry and the 1000th post is a trip to Paris. Please, whatever you do, don't disabuse him of my blogging anniversary gift giving schedule.

Also, I did want to use this post to thank Jennifer at Writing to Survive for making my blog her blog of the month. Please go over and visit her fantastic blog. I am a big fan of her gorgeous writing and I am very proud to receive this honour from her. Really, it is better than shoes.

I thank you all for being here, whether this is your first, fourth, fortieth, or four hundredth post. Your presence here means more to me than I can say, even if I had 4000 words to say it in.

Ten things I was thinking on Tuesday

1. Good news!!
We don't have to sign a lease. We can stay here month to month with no rent increase. Not that I want to stay here, but you know what I mean.

2. Lily needs an agent and/or an attorney
Did anyone realize that Lily is a movie star? Each time a small child sees her they squeal, "Bolt!"

3. I have hair like Maegan's
Thanks to, gorgeous blogger, ....Love Maegan I tried Dove Color Repair Therapy Shampoo and Garnier Fructis Instant Melting Conditioner: Sleek and Shine. I like them as much or more than the Frederik Fekkai Shea butter shampoo and conditioner that I have been using for years and that cost me almost $35 a bottle. The Dove shampoo and the Garnier Fructis conditioner together were under $10. I am saving over $65 and my hair is just as soft and silky. Now, truth be told, my hair is nothing like Maegan's but my products are. Perhaps with consistent use I will turn into a highly glamorous fashion blogger.

4. A heartbreaking kidnapping of staggering dreaminess
I dreamt that Dave Eggers kidnapped me. Any interpretations from any armchair Igors?

5. A memoir a week makes the chances of publishing feel less bleak ( and, no, I am not a poet)
I have decided to read a memoir/book of essays a week. It seems I am spending way too much time on my own story for both good and for bad (what is good for the book can be a little hard on me). I need to read something that gets me out of myself and yet feels as if it is helpful for my own writing.

I recently read a memoir that was not great ( this is not the book I discuss below in #2). I have to tell you that I forgot the sheer joy of reading a memoir that is not funny, smart, inspiring or insightful and that it still got published and lauded with praise by critics---all the while boring me to tears. In fact that the bad memoir is much more motivating than reading a brilliant one. I fear that I am going to read all the good ones first and then finally, when I run out of the good ones, I will eventually find the crap ones. Maybe I should rethink this and do one good memoir to one crap, or perhaps two bad ones to every good one is the most motivating ratio.

On my book stand are books that I am sure all fall into the good category: Unreliable Memoirs by Clive James; The Wishing Year: A house, a man, my soul. by Noelle Oxenhandler; How to be Alone by Jonathan Frazen; The Disappointment Artist by Jonathan Lethem and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max.

6. I read "Who do you think you are?"
I sat on the floor at Barnes and Noble the other night and read the whole thing from cover to cover in two hours."Who do you think you are?" by Alyse Myers is the story of a mother that didn't love her daughter, told by a daughter who didn't love her mother. I had seen Alyse interviewed on "The View" about her book on the Friday before Mothers day and I knew this was a book I had to read.

Alyse's mother was a horror, think "Mommy Dearest" without the wealth, fame or wire hangers. While this is not an easy topic to read about there is something in the way that Alyse tells the story that you don't feel vicariously traumatized as you read it. As great as Augusten Burroughs' "Wolf at the Table" is, and it is, I had a VERY hard time reading it. It was torture to read and yet it was so well written that I couldn't put it down and I am glad I didn't.

Somehow Alyse manages to make the torment of her childhood bearable to read. I know that sounds weird. Let me give you a metaphor to explain, you know how in some movies the way the camera focuses in up close and tight and the music that is used makes it almost unbearable to watch and other films the camera feels far back and the focus fuzzy and there is no high tension violin music to heighten the internal tension. In that metaphor Burroughs' book is film one and Myers' book is film two.

Don't get me wrong, it was shocking to read that she was kicked out of her home at 12 and that she had her long hair cut off as a punishment for cutting off her sister's Barbie doll's hair. I gasped out loud when I learned that her mother has thrown away her journal that her father gave you before he died. I suppose it is the message that her father gave her, that if you write down the bad things then they can't hurt you, that helped both the reader and the writer endure the abuse.

I liked the book for several reasons. I liked the narrator. Something about Alyse's writing made me feel as if I was reading a Judy Blume book only much darker. There was a simplicity of the stories telling that helped me as a writer. I was reminded that a simple story is enough. Don't need to get over complex or clever to have a published book. I also appreciated the honesty of the author. She, upon her mother's death did not go into a rewrite of her mother. She has the courage to say that she didn't like or love her mother and I think there is an enormous taboo that prevents many women from admitting that.

7. Daydreaming is good for me
Mrs. Capp, my 6th grade teacher, was wrong. What I need to do is stop paying attention and get to day dreaming. Take that, Inner-critic! I need to take more baths and work less. If the Wall Street Journal said it then it is true and they did and they source Archimedes (who,by the way, I think, was ripped off. See, Oprah is forever talking about "light bulb moments" or "ah-ha moments" and that is Archimedes' line and she should credit him each time she quotes him or at least invite him to her Favorite Things show). I am assure Archimedes would enjoy some Claus Porto Soaps from Lafco, New York or a Barefoot Dreams Bathrobe for once he got out of the bath and the water was no longer displaced.

Now, would someone now do a study that proves procrastination is good for you?

8. I am in the navy now
I am all of as sudden in love with navy. Where have you been all my life, navy? It seems that navy is black without all the darkness. I am not sure why it took me so long to figure that out but it was an insight worth waiting for. I wore my new navy cardigan with white jeans and my Coach fuchsia flats and I was getting stopped by strangers to tell me how much they like my outfit.

9. I stink good
I love-love-love the Jo Malone Orange Blossom Body Crème. The cream lasts MUCH longer than the perfume( which lasts three seconds). I put the cream on over four hours ago and I can still smell orange blossoms. If I had it to do over again I would have just gotten the cream as it is much less expensive and it actually lasts.

10. I can't curb my enthusiasm for Woody
After I get my hair done today I am going to play hooky and go see Woody Allen's new film "Whatever Works" starring Larry David. This afternoon I will be eating popcorn and drinking diet coke and enjoying the delicious goodness of a movie that makes existential despair funny.