Not a banner week for you, bits.

YIKES.

First, just so you know, “Welcome to TMI land! I’m Molly, and I’ll be your tour guide today.”

This is one of those weeks where I feel like singing “I Enjoy Being a Girl” highly sarcastically at the top of my lungs. The joys of ladybits, ya’ll.

Sunday I realized that, goody, I had a yeast infection*. Off to Walgreens, Monistat purchased, used, things cleared up quickly.

Monday, my old friend the cyst returned. I have a sebaceous cyst right on my underwear line in my inner right thigh. I’ve had it for close to a decade now. It’s been drained twice and entirely surgically removed once, but there’s basically no way to totally get rid of them. So now, it’s back, directly under the scar where it was removed about 5 years ago.

And it came back with a vengeance, infected and pissed off. Soon I was limping about the house wearing only a long tshirt, moaning. Brad kept telling me to go to the doctor, but I kept explaining that I’d had it forever, it would go away eventually, etc. Finally, after two days of moist heat did nothing and I was running a low fever and getting chills, I saw the doctor**.

He told me that if I wanted the cyst removed again, it would have to be done under general anesthesia due to its size (it was over an inch long at that point, and very angry looking). He gave me an Augmentin prescription and told me to take sitz baths, as hot as I could stand, until it drained and the infection left.

Got home, took Augmentin. Oh hey, remember what happens when you take antibiotics and you just had a yeast infection?

Yes. Lovely, that. Got some Diflucan, feeling better.

So now I’m still lounging about the house in long tshirts, taking unbearably hot baths, and large while pills. Still can’t bear to wear underwear, which is great because — remember how I had a 22 day cycle last month? Today is cycle day 23. Yayyyy. So much to look forward to.

———-

*This is only my second yeast infection ever. First was last spring when I decided to try out the NuvaRing (hahaha, birth control, ahhhhh). The stupid thing just would not sit right — it’s the same problem I’ve had with Instead Cups and the Moon Cup — which is too bad, because I know many people who love all three of those things. It may have to do with my tilted uterus, but then 1 in 4 women have a tilted uterus and surely they don’t have this problem. Maybe I’m just, to quote Julia’s troll, a “super special snowflake.”

**Let me tell you how OLD this dude was. Super old. As in plaid-bowtie-and-suspenders-with-tweed-jacket old. As in I-was-spelling-his-name-for-the-pharmacist-and-the-woman-in-line-behind-me-at-the-pharmacy-told-me-that-he-had-DELIVERED-HER old. OLD.

I don’t think we’re in Wisconsin anymore.

Moving to Louisiana has been surprising in many ways – the obsession with crawfish, the flowers that bloom all year long, the changing of every word that ends with an “oh” sound so that it ends with “eaux” (for example, the rally cry for LSU is “Geaux Tigers!”). However, one of the strangest, most foreign things from upper-Midwest life that I could imagine was the phenomenon of the Southern Prison Rodeo.

We’d heard about the Angola Prison Rodeo since we had moved to Baton Rouge in August. In fact, we had tried to go in October and then realized that they were on Sundays, not Saturdays. We were glad we had driven out to Angola State Prison despite the date mix-up – the prison has its own Museum, which was fascinating.

The Louisiana State Penitentiary, known as Angola (and also referred to as “The Farm”) is a truly fascinating place. It’s one of the largest prisons in the country, and is called Angola for the plantation which once stood on the land. The prison sits on 18,000 acres of beautiful farmland, bordered on three sides by the Mississippi. Crops and livestock are raised by inmates on the rolling hills.

I make it sound idyllic, but it was a place that once ran rampant with abuse.  In the early years of the 20th century, guards were fired and replaced by inmate trustees to save money.  Conditions were so appalling that in 1952 31 inmates sliced their Achilles’ tendons in protest. It wasn’t until the 1970s that the prison was fully reformed.

This tragic history has inspired some fantastic art. Stephen King’s The Green Mile was based on life on death row in Angola in the 1930s. Numerous blues songs immortalize the prison. The films JFK, Dead Man Walking, and Monster’s Ball were all partially filmed at Angola. In fact, the prison uniform that Heath Ledger wore in the latter film is on display at the prison’s museum.  Those uniforms are the same ones that we saw when we returned to the prison on Sunday.

We went Sunday to see the Angola Prison Rodeo in person. The rodeo has been running annually since 1972, and the inmates constructed a new 7,500 seat stadium specifically for the rodeo in 2000. In addition to rodeo events, there are some carnival rides, lots of food (jambalaya, shrimp on a stick, pig cracklins [the rest of America calls them pork rinds], chili cheese fries, etc.), and a wide variety of inmate-made “hobbycrafts.” The inmates display and sell just about everything – landscape paintings, children’s shoes made of candy bar wrappers, roses intricately carved from wood, plaques featuring lacquered pictures of celebrities taken from magazines, and sturdy, beautifully-made rocking chairs.

It shocks many of my friends that live outside the South when I tell them that the prisoners themselves are the ones competing in the rodeo: the inmates, in their semi-comical black and white striped shirts, ride the bucking bulls, wrestle the steers, and gallop their horses around the arena holding the various flags that have historically flown over Louisiana. One of the most nail-biting events to watch is called “Convict Poker” – four inmates are seated in plastic chairs around a card table. The gate is opened, and a snorting, bucking bull enters the stadium. The four inmates are to remain still and seated while rodeo workers incite the bull to charge – and charge he does! By the end of the event, three of the chairs and the table were completely destroyed. The last inmate left sitting in his seat is the winner. In another event, a bull is released into the area with about 25 inmates. Each inmate is vying to remove the poker chip that has been taped between the bull’s horns. That lucky man (yes, all of the prisoners participating in the rodeo were men) wins $600.

I’ve always been kind of iffy about rodeos – the whole animal exploitation thing, and fear that the animals would be hurt. But despite a good deal of slippery mud, no animals were injured on Sunday. A few of the inmates were definitely hurt – when you mess with the bull, you get the horns – and one even left in an ambulance.

The two best parts of the rodeo were definitely the monkeys riding dogs, and leaving with a bottle of this:

Things that could be worse

1. Nutria rats. I know that those of you who didn’t immediately pop on to Google and look them up are imagining a hideous beast, like those found in the subways of New York, only larger more fearsome due to the warmth and dampness of the Louisiana bayous. I assure you, they aren’t as fearsome as you imagine. In fact, these only-slightly-insane people have a nutria as a pet. They look like miniature beavers with rat tails. The fact that they are an invasive imported rodent that are doing their part to help in the destruction of the already-disappearing Louisiana wetlands are the only thing that makes them scary. Oh, and those teeth.

2. TTC 2.0, I guess. Though I really hoped that I would never see a 9-day luteal phase again. You know, I hoped that 2 more years on the pill might provide some normalization. So much for that hope. Who wouldn’t want to get their period every three fucking weeks? Well, we all know what this means: wine. Tonight. Please.

You guys deserve it, damnit.

Here it is: the big, luscious, linger-on-your-tongue and stick-to-your-hips post you’ve been waiting for. I’ve put it off long enough.

Hi, how is everyone? The last time I posted anything of substance about my life was back in September, when I had gotten married, moved to Louisiana, and weathered a hurricane within the space of a few weeks. It has since been, umm, 7 months.

Being married to Brad fits as easily my favorite pair of flip flops. There’s a huge feeling of, “Oh, so this is how it’s supposed to be.” Knowing that I can plan our future without a moment of doubt — without always keeping an escape plan in mind (that used to involve meeting Clive Owen and moving to Bali) — is so comforting. I finally can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I adore my husband. It’s a fantastic feeling.

I also truly love living in Louisiana. Moving from Wisconsin to Louisiana was culture shock, and I’m still getting used to calling them crawfish instead of crayfish and pronouncing it praw-leen instead of pray-leen and seeing nutria rats swimming in the local lakes. But the weather alone is reason enough to love this place. It is currently 75 degrees out and breezy without a cloud in the sky. I planted my vegetables and herbs last month and my tomatoes and peppers started blooming last week. We had one day of snow in December, which caused everyone in the state to promptly freak out, cancel every public service, and go build snowmen. If it hits 50 degrees, people pull out their wool coats. It’s a foreign place, but having enjoyed one winter of it makes it harder for me to imagine ever battling a Midwestern winter again.

In February I once again became a gainfully permanently employed citizen of the United States. I’d been doing long-term temp work at a local medical company, which was financially helpful but not intensely satisfying, when the perfect job popped up exactly where I wanted to work. I’m now back in a library where I belong, making sure the public information published by our government can be accessed by its citizens. It’s a good job with good pay and good benefits, and I’m a happy girl.

Way back in . . . um . . . 2004 (OMG!) I started this blog due the remarkable stories of the infertile blogging community. Well world, I’m back. I’m here, I’m demonstrably infertile, and we are back in the conception business. Today is cycle 2, CD 14, 1 DPO. Remember all of those ridiculous acronyms?

Here goes . . .

Almost famous. Almost.

Yesterday I realized that I hadn’t blogged — hell, hadn’t even visited my blog — in far too long.

Yeah.

Maybe I should blog more often.

I know I’ve blogged about this once before, but I can’t find the post way back yonder. The sheer oddity of it has led me to blog about it once more.

Of course I am a happily married woman now, but once upon a time I was an eager young lass who enjoyed the company of various men. And strangely, many of them have, since dating me, become at least semi-famous. I take total responsibility for that. Also, more than half have since come out (or at least SHOULD HAVE come out), but I take no responsibility for that. I mean, every girl plays Barbra Streisand for their boyfriends, right?

The first of the famous was my first high school boyfriend. Good kid. Incredibly effin’ tiny — I remember at the time he was 5′6″ and weighed 115 lbs. He had a big tin of that protein powder he would make smoothies from every day. After high school, he ended up reviving the title role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch in regional theater, and soon after had a small guest starring role in Prison Break (after a few episodes, he was knifed in the shower). Then he went very crispy Christian and left acting to do some kind of religious films or something. Married, and straight, I guess.

Second was my second high school boyfriend. He was so very young (a freshman when I was a junior) and so very talented. Since graduating, he has performed with many regional theater companies, is a frequent performer at the Ordway in Minneapolis (that means something to you Twin Citizens), and has been in at least one commercial. Yeah, he was adorable. Gay as a maypole.

The third was a college boyfriend. I found out from Facebook that after graduation he was one of the six finalists on a network television singing talent reality show. It’s weird seeing your ex on network TV. I’m not going to go any further in describing him because I have it from the other horse’s mouth that the poor fellow is a can’t-quite-get-out-of-the-closet homosexual (thanks to the vagaries of religion in his life — yeah, I dated lots of Christians back in the day) and I don’t really want to internet-out the poor lamb.

The most famous person I know, however, is Rich Sommer from Mad Men. Never dated him, but went to college and sang in choir with him. When he guest starred on The Office, I pretty much freaked out. I remember writing on his Facebook wall that if he tried to steal Pam from Jim, I would never speak to him again.

And I met all of these people in Minnesota. Home to the stars.

I know this post isn’t exactly an update, but hell — I’ve gotta start again somewhere.

Do you know anyone famous?

See you on Twitter!

Molly is live-Twittering the Oscars tonight! Check me out: http://twitter.com/piquantmolly

I’m doing a meme. Because.

Saw this over at Punch Drunk:

Go to your sixth picture folder

Select the sixth picture

Tell the story behind the picture

———-

I went to my sixth picture folder, but it only had two pictures in it. So I’m doing a few random sixth pictures from my other folders. Because I like breakin’ the rules.

———-

1. Picture 6 from folder 7:

I know. Gross. This was the nasty old carpet in my room in the house we rented last year in Madison. Luckily, it was replaced before we moved in, but not before my bed, dresser, and chest sat in the living room and hallway for a week.

2. Picture 6 from folder 8:

Two of the adorable nieces I inherited when I married Brad. In this picture Maddie’s gorgeous ringlets are nearly obscuring darling Caroline from view.

3. Picture 6 from folder 11

Spending some time up at PiquantMolly’s family’s cabin. That’s my roommate Allison on the left, and my dad behind me. Sans makeup, plus the natural waves.

Fun! Anyone else want to do this?

Molly’s Favorite Things – Part 3

More wonderful things that I want to tell the world about!

I still love my former favorite things — here (the second part is on my old pwp blog that is now expired), but these are recent world-rockers.

-L’Oreal Vive Pro Hydra Gloss Shampoo for Very Dry/Damaged Hair – For some reason, my hair gets dry dry dry and shampoo really makes all the difference. This stuff is goooood. Thick, lather-y, and moisturizing. And smells kind of coconut-y and delicious.

-Tide and Downy Simple Pleasures – Vanilla and Lavender Scent – LOVE this stuff. This scent has become so closely associated with me that I once washed some socks that a friend left at my place, and when I gave them back to her she said, “Mmmm! Smells like Molly!” It’s a bit pricey, but a bottle lasts a long time and a box of dryer sheets lasts even longer.

-Antiques Roadshow -My long-time favorite show. Everything about it makes me smile, even the semi-creepy ambiguously gay Keno twins.

-Becca Luminous Skin Color Tinted Moisturizer in Porcelain - This is my special indulgence. It’s ridiculously expensive, but it is divine — light, sheer, moisturizing coverage with SPF 20. It was recommended by the makeup artist who gave me a makeover at PREP Cosmetics in Madison (AKA Heaven), and I love it. I forked over the $42, and I’ve been enjoying my skin ever since. And yes, Porcelain is the lightest color it comes in.

-Dr. Bronner’s Liquid Soap – I don’t really understand this soap (how does a whole bunch of different oils plus some citric acid, natural scents, and vitamin E make any lather?), but I love it all the same. The bottle is weird as hell, what with all of the ALL-ONE and ONLY USE TWO COSMETICS DAILY, but it’s great stuff. I use the Almond scent, and it’s amazing. It’s got a zillion uses (shaving, shampooing, doing dishes, washing pets, cleaning fruits and vegetables, brushing your teeth (they recommend peppermint for that)), and it’s organic and natural enough to use in a lake. One small bottle lasts and lasts.

-The Outlander Series by Diana Gabaldon – Here’s the thing. I am a total literature snob. I was an English Lit major in college, I love to read the classics, I eschew anything overpopular or badly-written. Yet, I adore these books. Time-traveling WWII era nurse mysteriously lands in 18th century Scotland and meets strapping 6′4″ red-haired kilt-wearing Scotsman, plus lots of hot sex? YES PLEASE.

-My Niece – She just turned one, and gets cuter every second.

Now! Give me YOURS.

I talk to the TV, but it doesn’t listen to me.*

So yeah, I haven’t posted in, oh, a couple of months. You’d think that my return to blogland would be marked by a long informational post on married life in Baton Rouge, etc., but not so much.

Anyone who has ever watched TV with me knows that I’m a hard-core TV talker. Especially during commercials. I hate commercials so vigorously that I generally have to mute them to keep from flinging the nearest throw pillow at the TV. Since moving to Baton Rouge, I’ve enjoyed the temporary status of unemployed hausfrau exceedingly, especially when it comes to logging TV hours. Lots of true crime (Cold Case Files, Forensic Files, basically anything with a file in it), a million reruns of all of the incarnations of Law and Order, 3:00 time with Dr. Phil (DON’T JUDGE ME**), and the evening favorites of ANTM, The Office, Little Britain USA, and Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! (those last two are great for the bizarre in you). And of course Maury, if only to make Pru jealous.

But whilst watching these hours of TV, I of course am exposed to hundreds of entirely SHIT commercials. There are very few that I find at all amusing, and so many that I hate venomously. I offer today a few of the latter. Unfortunately, embedding is not working right now, so you’ll have to click the links.

1. That Skittles Commercial Where Everything the Poor Bastard Touches Turns to Skittles

(this is the extended version, seldom aired, probably because it’s SO FUCKING DEPRESSING)

I mean, CHRIST. This poor man! And his asshole coworkers think it’s the most amusing thing. I don’t know how the fine people of Mars, Incorporated though this would sell Skittles. Every time I watch it I get enraged at his coworkers and just want to give the poor man a hug. Which, of course, I can’t do or I’d turn into SKITTLES.

2. The “Why Would I Order a Dominos Oven-Baked Sandwich? I Love Sub-Mart!” Dipshit

(ignore the message from the pizza delivery person at the beginning and end)

This commercial airs about 74,926,821,232,906 times a day in my viewing area. So many things about it bother me. First: why in the hell does the sandwich delivery guy knock on the door? Who knocks on the door of a restaurant? Second: the looks on the faces of the sandwich orderers’ coworkers. No one looks like that, come on. Third: you won’t admit you ordered a sandwich from a competitor? Fucking grow a pair. I hope a dog pisses on your sandwich while it’s waiting for you by the side of the building.

3. The Brooke Shields Volkswagen Routan Baby Boom Ads

These really bother me, perhaps only because I know a bit about Brooke Shields’ past. I know that she struggled for years to get and stay pregnant. I know that she suffered severely debilitating postpartum depression. This woman understands the value and the magnitude of pregnancy in a woman’s life, and she made these weird commercials. They’re tacky, and I don’t understand how VW thought they would sell cars.

4. Louisiana Political Ads

Now, all of my life (up until this year) I have lived in states that are usually classified as swing states, but tend to lean Democrat. Now I live in a strongly Republican state, and I watch ads like the one above. The ads assume that everyone in Louisiana is a Republican, has good ol’ Republican values, and is disgusted by Barack Obama. The first time I saw this ad I almost laughed. It was like John Kennedy (nice name for a Republican, eh?) was telling me exactly who to vote for by giving me Mary Landrieu’s voting record. Thanks, John!

———-

And now, as a palate-cleanser, my current favorite ads on TV — the Coach Jim Mora Coors ads:

“Don’t talk about playoffs!”

“Shirts with random triangles”

God, it makes me laugh out loud every time.

———-

Now: your turn. What are your favorite and least favorite ads on TV?

———-

*If you can name that obscure musical reference, I’ll send you your very own bottle of Bacon Salt (um, best invention EVER).

**Found out last summer that my father — my father — upon retirement had started watching Dr. Phil. This was incredibly surreal to me. Granted, Dad has always liked wacky non sequiturs like “”No dog ever peed on a moving car,” but it was still an odd thing for me to hear.

The very short version

-Moved all belongings into UHaul

-Moved into a hotel

-Got married!  Yayy!

-Drove car (with cats) and UHaul to Cedar Rapids to stay with husband’s parents

-Drove car (with cats) and UHaul to Kansas City, MO to stay with husband’s brother and sister-in-law

-Drove car (with cats) and UHaul to Little Rock, AR to stay in motel

-Drove car (with cats) and UHaul to Baton Rouge, LA

-Moved into apartment in Baton Rouge, LA

-Started job hunting, outfitted apartment, perfected jambalaya

-Finally got internet and cable installed after 2 no-show appointments

-Wait, what was that?  There’s a hurricane headed this way?

-Watched the weather channel obsessively

-Neighbor arrived at door.  “You guys might want to come take a look at your rear windshield.”

-Golf ball has destroyed rear windshield of car we purchased a month prior.  So much for living next to a golf course.  Cardboarded and garbage-bagged and taped to the best of our ability.

-Hurricane hit.  Hard.  The worst hurricane to hit Baton Rouge since Hurricane Betsy of 1965.

-100% power outage in Baton Rouge.  Flooding.  Trees down all over.

-2 days later.  Still no power.  85 degrees in apartment.  Eating cold baked beans from can.

-Forget this shit.  We’re packing up the cats and driving to Austin!

-Currently: spending a few beautiful days in Austin with pal from grad school.  10% of power currently restored in Baton Rouge.  50% of power should be restored by Sunday.  We are headed back to Baton Rouge Friday to have rear windshield replaced Saturday.  Who knows whether our apartment will have power by then.

-In short: things have been . . . busy lately.