Backing Up and Looking Again

So, we know that in general, we tend to slow down and look at fender-benders on the freeway. Rubbernecking, right? Looking to see what kind of cars, how badly they were damaged, any jaws of life at work. But, we never make a u-turn and look again. Once is enough. But I did. At my reunion, anyhow. Went to the casual night on Friday - it was insane how nervous I was. But much to my relief, I was not the person who gained the most weight, nor the person who had lost the most hair, nor the person who aged the least gracefully. Many gals were trying their darndest not to be tagged with one of those titles. Lots of tight jeans, low tops, and freshly highlighted coifs. The guys were almost undecipherable. Without name tags, I would have been lost. Someone would say "hi" and I'd have to squint at their chest and try to summon any recollection of them from 20 years ago and transfer it to the person in front of me. In many cases, this was tough to do.

I apparently did not get my fill, because I did the u-turn and went back for the second night, too. This time with Big B at my side for moral support. I needed to see more. There was one guy in particular that I had to see. I'd had a massive crush on him for all three years of high school. He was so mean - laughed in my face when I asked him to Tolo. I'll admit there was some satisfaction in seeing his paunch around the middle and his hairline receding to nowhere.

There was also a sense of peace in all of it. 20 years is the great equalizer. We see that everyone has a life, had dreams that failed, medals that have tarnished, grey hairs that have monopolized, and waistlines that have thickened. None of us are the same as we were, or what we might have imagined we would be, and that creates a bond that goes beyond "best dressed" or "most likely to succeed."

I had my last ultrasound this morning. I have around seven follicles that look like they're ready for retrieval on Wednesday. Not as many as I had hoped for, but I know it's "quality over quantity" and that "it only takes one." I'm trying to keep my hopes up (but not too up) and psych myself up for the weeks ahead. My belly may have a nice band of purple bruises all over it, but I have a feeling that the hardest part is yet to come.

Sales 101

Yesterday I took a long lunch and tried to find something to wear to this stuuuupid reunion. I ended up at this little boutique within walking distance of my office. I was wearing sweet running shoes with my capris and suit top thing. I was lookin' GOOD (but it was a glorious day and I am not one to be subject to the confines of fashion). The saleslady was a piece of work. She kept running up to me with all these hideous outfits, "this is cute!" "what about this?" "I love this one." I said to her, "have you even looked at my body shape? How in the world is this sleeveless rayon number going to look good?" She actually responded by saying that the dress would hit my first "roll" and then kind of spill off of it, hiding the rest. Huh? And she wants me to buy something from her? This is a sales pitch?

So...had my Day5 workup this morning. They only found 5 follicles measuring at least 10 whatever units (mms?). Is that bad? I asked the tech and she replied in a semi-automatic way ..."Every woman is different! There's no magic number!" Grrrr. Why can't they just tell me? There's like 10 or 12 additional ones that are smaller. She said she hoped that they caught up with the rest of them. There's hope, right?After all, I was a late bloomer and look at me now!

I got my hair done last night...thought everyone at the clinic would notice. But they didn't. I wonder if I got a Brazilian if they'd notice. Probably not. Everyone at my office loved the new "do," though. It's very sleek. And sassy. And color-ific.

Perms & Pegged Jeans

If either of those items struck a chord deep within you, then you probably were in high school/jr high in the late 80s. Those were the glory years: my thick, slightly wavy hair took to perms like a bee to honey (I could make those bangs STAND!), and my flat butt and undefined waistline were camouflaged under a big baggy sweatshirt or sweater - leaving only my chicken legs exposed in stirrup pants, or jeans that were pegged so tight that they had to be left open at the ankles to get your foot through . Ahhh. Those were the days. It's like fashion had been styled just for me. Nice high-waisted jeans, not the low-riders nowadays that are constantly falling off my "hips" and always creating the dreaded muffin-top. Oh, and the big hair that required cheap suave mousse and aqua net, not fifty bottles of different products and a $100 iron to get the waves out. The rain/mist in Seattle only made my hair curlier! Now it foils every perfect blow-out leaving my ends either flipped-up in Gidget fashion, or under, like the old Dorothy Hammel do's from third grade.

And why do I reminisce? Because my twenty-year reunion is this weekend. Whaaaa? It is truly hard to believe. I've been out of school longer than I was in it. I wasn't going to go. There's too much going on. There's too many shots to be had and moods to be dealt with. But the curiosity of it all is killing me! Old classmates are coming out of the woodwork on f.acebook. And I can't help but look. Like the toddler who's having a total melt-down in the cereal aisle at the market - you just gotta look at him, prostrate, writhing, around, beet-red, while his poor mother tries to decide whether she's going to wait it out, or throw him over her shoulder and haul his sorry-ass to the car.

But what to wear! What to wear! I'm HUGE! Well...huger than high school. I'm bloated! From the year+ of fertility meds, of course (not the lack of exercise at all). If I could just wear some leggings and a big sweatshirt, I'd be fine. But no, I need to look hot, and classy, and young (all at the same time) and find article of clothings that pawn off my thai-food-pizza-m&ms regime for tri-weekly sessions of pilates. This means a mad dash to N.ordstrom where I will attempt to find a salesperson who isn't twenty years old and who won't laugh at every outfit I try on. On a T.arget budget of course. Ideas anyone?