A Retraction

Disregard the previous post.  About 3 hours after I posted it I found out....


I'm pregnant :)

ode to the Single pink line

You
Are Not

We
Are Not

Back?

Forgive me Blogger, for I have sinned.  It's been 3 months since my last post.

 In that time a lot has happened, but not much has changed.  I didn't leave my job.  I didn't transfer stores.  I applied for a banking position, was offered a job, and turned it down.  Ben still doesn't have health insurance so I have to stay at the shit hole.  He's working as a sub again.  Not even a long-term sub.  Just a day-to-day.  That's a long story for another time.

We're still trying.  It's month 7.  I start testing again in 6 days.  Wish us luck.

I fell off the wagon diet-wise.  Back on as of last week.  Up to 243 pounds.  It's fairly disgusting.

Not sure if I posted about wedding cakes.  I'm still the only one at work doing them.  They've been a nightmare.  Brides that shop at grocery stores are (there's no other way to put it) ghetto bitches.


I'm still not sure if I'm the blogging type.  It seems really nice in theory, but Ben takes my laptop with him to work everyday, and the office is on the 3rd floor and that's ridiculously hot.  That and I just don't know what to talk about half the time.  Bitching about work and dieting and infertility can only last so long before it gets boring.

We'll see.

Llama Llama Duck

It wasn't your typical Saturday.  The stars aligned and we found ourselves facing three middle school "graduations" (evidently that's a thing now) and Father's Day.  We'd recently lost several cake decorators so it was just the two of us- BPD and me.  Our manager helped here and there as she could, but mostly it was just us two against 51 cake orders.  Just to give it some perspective- a typical Saturday sees maybe 34, 35.  A busy Saturday sees 40 or so.  Christmas saw 65.  51 is a lot.  For 65 we had all 5 of us working non-stop.  Two people on 51 is nuts.

That being said, we cranked them out.  I was left alone with the last 5, but that's fairly typical.  She leaves on time and I scramble til I get to leave 20 minutes late.  So by the time I hit order 51 my brain was mush.  All I wanted to do is get it over with and get the hell out.  I looked at the order form.  Full sheet, of course.  Couldn't be a little 1/4 sheet, noooo.  Had to be a mega cake that feeds 80-92 people.  I looked at the decorations.  Edible image of an older African American couple.  They looked nice.  Classy.  I looked in the margins.  "Wants landscape, freehand drawing of tool belt and outline of a loma."  I blinked at re-read.  Ok landscape I can airbrush.  Check.  Tool belt I can draw.  Check.  Wtf is a "loma"??  I scanned down to see who had taken the order.  Rich.  Good.  He was working the bread station that day.  I could go ask him what the hell a loma was.  I found him out on the floor, "Hey, Rich, um... do you remember this order?  What's a loma?"

Rich is in his mid 60s.  He recently underwent some extensive surgery on his heart.  He can really only be described as a shriveled up former biker.  He's got the super long, thinning grey ponytail tucked up under his hat and has tattoos hidden under long sleeves year round.  Oh, and you can never, NEVER understand what he's saying because he is a chronic mumbler and sounds like he's been smoking for 50 years.

So I asked what he meant by "loma."

"Huuuuuh...  He wants a landscape and a tool belt.  The guy's a landscaper or something."

"Yes, Rich, I see that.  But what is a LOMA?"

"Huuuuuuuuh.... loma....."

-silence-

"Huuuuuuuuuh.... loma..... he wants a llama."

"Are you sure?  A llama?"

"Yeah.  He's a landscaper."

"But what does that have to do with a llama?"

"I dunno.  That's what he wants.  A landscape, a tool belt, and an outline of a llama."

"Ok Rich."

So that's what I did.  I drew the shit outta that llama.  It was the best llama ever to grace a cake.  I boxed it and drove home.

Sunday.  We were busy again on Sunday.  44 orders.  We jumped right in to them.  After a few hours BPD and I took our first 15 minute break.  When we got back our counter lead was waiting with a very strange look on her face.  She looked back and forth between the two of us and finally asked, "Did either of you do a cake with a llama on it yesterday?" 

"I did"

-Hysterical laughter-

"Sooo... turns out it wasn't supposed to be a llama, so much as a 'lawnmower'."

And the worst part is- I DIDN'T TAKE A PICTURE.  I would SO be on cakewrecks.com, too.

Arthritis is for Old People

I have arthritis.  Yes, I'm 26.  No I'm not "awfully young to have arthritis."  In fact, I was diagnosed at 18.  My mother was diagnosed somewhere around 15.  It's called psoriatic arthritis.  Because, evidently, my psoriasis got lonely- it was working a solo gig from 7th grade up until the fall of my freshman year of college.

Psoriasis makes my life annoying.  Arthritis can make my life difficult.  It can also make me feel like I'm on trial.  Like when my boss demands to know why I'm not using a speed icer to base-ice cakes.  It makes my right hand turn into the hamburger-helper glove the next day, that's why.  When I simply state "it flares my arthritis.  I'm sorry." (my sarcasm isn't appreciated at work) he looks at me like I'm lying and asks with raised eyebrow in a voice saturated with skepticism, "Really?"  "No, actually I just don't like the way it looks.  I want it to take me a full 45 seconds longer to ice your precious cakes."

Even my trainer, Anne, gives the knee-jerk, "Aren't you too young for that?" *Sigh*  Sweetie, I know you're 22 and kind of, well naive and maybe even a little dumb, but this is your job.  I told you three months ago that I have psoriatic arthritis.  I said, "treat me like I don't have it until I speak up."  So when I say "The humidity is making me flare" why do you look at me like I have three heads??

I'm not asking that everyone know that young and old alike can suffer from this disease.  I guess it isn't common knowledge yet.  But if it comes up in conversation, could you at least refrain from treating me like a liar?

Sorry.  Just needed to vent.

Weekly Weigh-In

So tonight will be quick since it's waaay past my bedtime and I get to wake up in 5 hours.  Weighed in at 233.6 which means I'm down 2.2 since last week and down 7.8 all together.

Off to bed I go

Putting It Off

So it's basically been a week since I've posted.  Honestly it's because I just don't want to think about things all that much.  My appointment with my gynecologist, Dr. F, was last Wednesday and after going over my charting he agreed that something was probably going on and testing was in order.  So on the 20th I'll be going in to get my progesterone and prolactin levels tested, as well as having a tsh reflex test done.  I've been putting off this post because I thought I'd want to write about what each would mean, and would, therefore, need to do a lot of research.  Turns out I don't really want to do said research.  I'm having a hard enough time knowing that there is something wrong, let alone really looking into what all the possibilities are.  I know the basics- in looking at yaz and infertility prior to seeing Dr. F I kept hitting progesterone over and over again when discussing lack of ovulation.  As for the prolactin- he wants to test that since my left breast has been producing (more than a bead, less than a stream, or a "bream" as F put it to lighten the mood).  So my basic understanding is milk in breast = maybe too much prolactin = inhibited ovulation.  Finally, I did end up looking up tsh because I had no idea what that meant.  Turns out that's a thyroid test.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was wonky.  I'm heavy and hypothyroidism runs in my family, though the women in my family don't typically need to go on meds til menopause.

Dr. F then started discussing options.  Well, one option.  He said if the test came back low or high or whatever (he rattled off a range of numbers and said what his magic cutoff number was but at that point all I heard was INFERTILEDEFECTIVESICKNOBABIESFORYOU) that he'd want to put me on clomid.  In my vaguely dissociative state I sort of remember him asking me if I'd done research on clomid (why would I have?) and I sort of remember saying no, I'd never heard of it.  He said something about what days I'd take it and what days I'd need to have sex and starting with one pill then testing hormone levels again and maybe having to up it to two pills.  I do remember him saying that twins was a side effect.  Funny how that little tidbit of info will act as a verbal bucket of cold water in your face.  I wouldn't mind having twins the second time around (because then I'd have my magic 3 number and husband would have to suck it up- haha) but NOT the first time around.  So I'll be doing research about alternatives to clomid, should it become necessary.  In the mean time I just don't want to read anything else until I have results directing me to relevant areas of literature.  No use freaking myself out any more than I already am, right?

Weekly Weigh-In

Yesterday was my first official weigh-in.  I think I'll keep it on Tuesdays since I always have those off and can weigh in at the same time each day.  Anyway, I was a little nervous- I haven't been 100% perfect this past week.  I was pretty sure I'd lost though.  5.6 pounds to be exact. I know some of that was water retention and that I can't expect to lose that much every week because that would be unhealthy, but I'm still pretty excited.  Especially given the week I've had.  The job transfer fell through so I'm stuck at the hell hole.  I'm fairly certain I'm not ovulating at all (I've been charting for 4 months now and the first line NEVER gets darker than the second line).  I've been doing a lot of research on that and it seems that people who've been on Yaz often have that problem.  So I'm scared and angry about that.  I've got a doctor's appointment later today to talk to my obgyn about it.  I've been stressing out over that all week, too.  Typically I'd have spent every waking moment at home drowning my sorrows and stress with food.  I still sort of did that, but I had tons of celery and light popcorn in the house so I didn't really sabotage myself the way I'd have liked to. 

Anyway, I'll focus on the positive- I lost 5.6 pounds in a week.  Go me.

I Buy Notebooks

Every time I "restart" my healthy-living routine I buy a brand new notebook.  The medium 5-star college-ruled kind.  I always pick a bright blue or green cover- it matches my bright and cheery outlook on all of my future successes.  The crisp, white, clean sheets sparkle at me.  They represent everything I want to be.  They are pure.  Nothing has touched them.  They have no history, no errors, no evidence of failure.  They are perfect, and each time I buy one I promise it that I will keep it perfect.  That when I begin tracking what I eat and how often I exercise my new notebook will still be perfect because I will be perfect.

Wanna take a guess at how many half-used notebooks I have around my house?  Without fail they all turn into scrap paper for jotting down random life necessities- shopping lists, to do lists, sketches for work... The diet goes out the window and so does the notebook.

I've been operating under the heading of "The past is the past so forget it and start from scratch" and I still believe that- sort of.  I think the problem for me is that in giving myself a blank slate I am pardoning all of the choices I made that got me to this point, and while forgiveness is necessary, turning a blind eye means never learning from my mistakes.

So, true to form, I bought ANOTHER notebook yesterday.  This time I will write down the good AND the bad.  When I eat a bowl of Trix or put too much cheese on my potato (or dive spoon first into some Everything-But-The) I will not give up on my notebook.  And, just like me, I hope my notebook will get healthier over time.

How many times can your job make you cry before you say "I QUIT!!!" (Among other things)

My husband has been asking me to quit my job for weeks.  Maybe months at this point.  The routine is set- I come home after a horrendous day of being screamed at, having had things thrown at me (or at least sent whizzing past my ear), having heard the latest bitchy comment made behind my back, and the second I hit the front door I fall apart.  Sometimes that means I cry.  More often than not I've already cried at work in a bathroom stall, or on the drive home, so by the time I get home I've entered into rage mode.  I recount my day with rhetoric that would make my deceased grandfather (WWII sailor) proud.  Or maybe cringe.  Ben (the husband) listens.  He always listens.  He gives me hugs.  He agrees with me that the bakery manager, aka "Mussolini," (a passive-aggressive, menopausal- read   "hot flashing "-  Jekyll and Hyde type) is a bitch; he tells me that my Borderline Personality Disorder decorating lead, aka "Fearless Leader," is a nightmare.  And then he asks me the question that any sane individual would ask, "why don't you leave??"

The truth is I think about leaving every day.  I've watched three of the 5 of us core decorators quit.  The latest one of us to go leaves on Saturday.  After that it's just me, Mussolini, Fearless Leader and two part-time interns.  But I can't just quit.  True, if this was any other type of relationship I would have called a spade an abusive spade long ago and walked out, but this is a job.  I have to stay if only for the health benefits (Ben's don't kick in for another 3 months).

For the past 11 months I've repeated this routine.  Cry-rant and rave-claim defeat-wake up at 3 am to start it all over.  And then Sunday came.  Every week a list of openings within the company (it's a chain) goes up next to the time clock.  This Sunday an opening came up in a store that is literally 3 minutes from my house.  15 with a foot of snow.  Today I got the paperwork to make the transfer.  I will turn it in on Friday.  It will get faxed and finalized before anyone in the bakery knows what hit them.  And hopefully, in two weeks, I will be FREE.  I am terrified that the new bakery will be as bad, or worse, than this one- but I know what will happen to me if I stay.  At least this way I'm breaking the cycle of learned helplessness.

Wish me luck.

Day One

Recently I've been doing a lot of wishing and lamenting.  "If only I could go back in time and warn myself of what would happen to me."  Show myself the 240+ pound prison I'd create.  Explain the hell of going from 247 to 212 and back up to 241 again.  Of course I know, just like everyone else with any grasp on reality, that wishing doesn't do shit.

This morning, however, another thought occurred to me, "What if I do nothing and in 5, 10, 15, 20 years I'm sitting at the same desk thinking, 'If only I could go back in time and warn myself of what MORE would happen to me.'"  If I do nothing, change nothing about my life, logic promises that things will only get worse.

So here I am, beyond ready for change.  Being accountable to myself, my husband, my family, my trainer, even my future kids hasn't gotten me to where I need to be.  So I'm trying something new.  I'm going to be accountable to cyberspace.  I'm going to put my life in print where numbers won't lie and strangers won't help me make excuses.  More than that, I hope to find support out here. 

As for today's plans- I'm looking at a 1400 calorie day filled with cleaning and painting the future nursery (time killer and motivational!).

Hey! I Have a Blog!

Hello there.  My name is Sarah and I'm a 26 year-old pastry chef working as a cake decorator.  I've been married since July 2007 and I live in Pittsburgh, PA.  Those are the basics. 

I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while now.  I follow a few friends' blogs and they seem to really love it, so I guess I'm giving it a try now, too.  I'm thinking that the two biggest themes of this blog will end up being weight loss (I'm at a horrifying 241) and conception (we've been trying since March).  Both are lonely subjects, but maybe with this blog they'll feel a little less so.

Currently the extent of my computer savvy-ness ends with emails and facebook, so please bear with me as I learn.