Mom to Bee

After last week’s disappointment, I was thrilled yesterday to go to my very first acupuncture treatment for fertility (and a little bit for anxiety).

Appropriately, I began the appointment by being retardedly nervous. See, since information is my one true love (you know, besides Mr. Bee of course) I had tried my best to research the crap out of acupuncture prior to the appointment. But you’d actually be surprised with what little information is out there about where in your vagina they stick the needles.

KIDDING!!

Overall, the appointment was pretty non-eventful. The pretty little office was located (and still is *rim shot*) between Patty Murray and Maria Cantwell’s offices in Tacoma which, being the nerd I am, was pretty cool. I asked if Maria would be joining us but the receptionist just looked at me like it was a totally ridiculous question. Rude much?

After explaining why shoving needles in to me would totally be a good use of a senator’s time, my super sweet acupuncturist brought me back to The Room…

The Room was a dark and cold dungeon-like space lit only by candles…

Oh wait, no, no it wasn’t.

Sorry, since my appointment was so not story-worthy, I’m feeling the need to embellish a little. The Room was actually a warm and lovely little room with a massage table.

See? Not very story-worthy.

After an hour of discussing the consistency of my bowel movements and size of my menstrual clots (okay, maybe it is story-worthy), I was told to take off my shoes, socks and tee shirt and lay down on the comfy massage table.

I don’t know why the acupuncturist got nervous when I asked where the stirrups were and when I’d have to take off my pants.

Laying on my tummy, I got one needle in the top of my head (to release all the hot air, I presume), one in my right wrist, one in my left foot and about a dozen or so in parallel lines on either side of my spine. I was told to expect some cool Qi sensations but I guess my Qi took the day off because all I felt was my anxiety picking up. I mean, what if I got a stomach ache during the treatment?!

I think we can all appreciate the horror of having explosive poo while you have a needle in your foot and needles all the way down your back.

Needless to say, the relaxation breathing technique went from recommended to goddamn necessary real quick.

Overall, the experience was pretty cool and I’m looking forward to next week’s appointment. Now that I kind of know what to expect, I’m hoping to enjoy the experience instead of having to concentrate on not pooping all over the massage table.

In the meantime, I’m trying to transition from being a 30 year old to being approximately 75.

What do I mean, you ask?

Well, besides the crazy nutritional requirements (you mean, I’m supposed to eat vegetables???) and weird ass bone marrow soup I’m supposed to make myself (yeah, I might wait a while to dive in to that one), I also was given approximately 1800 new supplements to add to my daily regimen.

And by “given” I mean they cost like $90. OUCH!

So yes, I’ve had to start using one of these:

I shit you not, people. Look how many pills I have to take every day:

This definitely goes on the list of Shit I Will Make Cletus the Fetus Feel Guilty About When He/She is Finally Conceived.

And yes, I’ll start the guilt trips as early as conception.

Song title: The Next Step by Island Rhythms

Last week’s therapy session, like the week before that and the week before that, was ridiculously insightful.

Fer reals, people. I totally recommend therapy. Not only do you get to fulfill your narcissistic tendencies and practice your stand-up to a captive audience, you also learn a ton about yourself. Because, duh.

So this last week, we delved in to my anxiety and planning tendencies.

What planning tendencies, you may ask? Well, obviously you don’t remember this:

I think maybe some of you made reference to my insane Excel spreadsheets I create in preparation of last Spring’s trip to Las Vegas. Because obviously you didn’t realize that I’m sick. Are you happy with yourselves now?

Well, it turns out that my ridiculous planning techniques are really just a coping mechanisms to deal with my anxiety. Apparently not everyone creates Excel lists and detailed daily itineraries for vacations. Who knew?

Oh, but I don’t stop there. Not even close.

I will even look up the menu for a restaurant that I’m going to in say, like thirty minutes. Because God forbid something catches me off-guard.

That’s when Dr. Crazytown my therapist asked me how I handle surprises.

And then I realized something.

I don’t let myself be surprised. Ever.

If there is even a hint of a surprise in my future, I will research that shit out of that mo-fo until I know every single detail of said “surprise”. Seriously, I will hack in to the tubes of the Internet if I have to. Me and my laptop are not to be trusted.

And it’s totally been happening my entire life…

When I was little I would search my entire house CSI-style from the glitter-embedded popcorn ceiling (oh yeah, baby! 1970′s houses ROCK!) to the cold garage to find my Christmas presents. (Don’t worry, Mom & Dad. I only found the presents once. Or twice…). I was SO excited the year I found the Girl Talk board game!

But I digress.

Some years I would even attempt to unwrap and then rewrap the presents that were already under the tree! Fortunately for my parents (and Santa), I would usually give up because it was far too time-intensive for my busy tween schedule of watching Jem and reading Teen Bop Magazine.

But that’s not even half as sneaky as I can be.

Not only did I find out what my engagement ring looked like prior to the question being popped (which really isn’t that crazy), but I also found out how he was going to propose before he did it. See, Mr. Bee took me to San Francisco for the weekend to propose and to be fair, I didn’t know about that plan before it happened. But I did know about the plan before the San Fran Plan (say that five times fast!).

I was sneaky enough to find out that Mr. Bee had actually planned on taking me on a week-long trip to HAWAII to propose! I was beyond excited!! Of course, knowing that I wasn’t supposed to know was tricky. I couldn’t share my excitement because, well, I wasn’t supposed to know!

Then something horrible happened. Mr. Bee’s work ended up scheduling a mandatory you-don’t-attend-you-don’t-have-a-job kind of meeting during the week that he had planned (and booked) the trip to Hawaii. So he had to cancel everything. And, of course, using my totally inappropriate sneaking and snooping power of deduction, I found out that the trip had been canceled.

I was crushed! But, of course, shouldn’t have been disappointed as I shouldn’t have originally even known enough to be excited! I ended up confessing to my discoveries to a friend in school because I had to tell someone, right?! I needed at least one friend to share my excitement (and disappointment) with!

I finally confessed what I had done to Mr. Bee in preparation for this post. So what if I waited roughly 6 or 7 years to do it?! I never said I wasn’t totally chicken shit. I’m just a snoopy chicken shit.

But something that did surprise me was that Mr. Bee wasn’t at all surprised! I guess he knows me better than I thought…

So, honey, if you ever want to (try to) surprise me again in the future, you pretty much have to be prepared to never, ever leak word of it to me and probably use an email that I have never even heard of before. And you might want to move and change your name, too.

And, dear God, never bring the presents IN to the house.

Because I WILL find them.

Song title: The Element of Surprise by E-40

The other night I did something that I swore I’d never do.

All my friends and family would say that this is the last thing they would expect me to do. I’ve always held on tightly to my deep-rooted beliefs and the fact that I went against them this week, well, it’s disturbing to me and everyone I love.

I could use a lot of excuses to explain my behavior.

I was bored.

It just happened.

I was drunk.

It was a chemical attraction and I couldn’t fight it.

It was just one time.

It didn’t mean a thing.

It wasn’t personal; it was simply physical.

But none of these reasons excuse what I’ve done.

Mr. Bee, needless to say, was shocked, to say the least. I could just tell him to get over it, but it’s totally reasonable that he would have a reaction to what I’ve done.

Will I have regrets? Probably.

But it wasn’t a personal thing. It was strictly physical.

And man, was I tired afterward.

So what if it was only 12 minutes of walking jogging on the treadmill.

I EXERCISED, PEOPLE!!

That’s right, you heard me. I, Mama Bee, who is best known for her Eat-brownies-and-ice-cream-while-watching-The-Biggest-Loser Diet Plan, actually climbed on to the treadmill yesterday for some “me” time.

And by “me” I really mean “what the fuck was I thinking”.

You are probably shocked and asking yourself, “But Mama Bee, how do you maintain those adorable love handles and ferocious muffin top without exercising?!”

You know, I’ve just been blessed.

Blessed with a shape like a teletubby, that is.

And just so you know, getting to the treadmill alone was quite a task.

It pretty much goes without saying that this room doesn’t get used very often. Unless it’s as a dumping ground for random crap.

So after fifteen minutes of Indiana Jones-esque excavation, I finally climbed aboard that mother fucker and hit “Start”.

And then I realized what horrible shape I am in.

At one point I even had pain in my right shoulder and figured that it was either (1) my joints reacting to doing anything more strenuous than changing channels on the TiVo remote, or (2) I was having a heart attack/stroke.

Honestly, the jury is still out on which one it is. Since I am regaining use of my left side, I’m guessing it wasn’t a stroke.

Despite the ramifications, I’m hoping to make some changes to our nightly routine to make some room for a half hour of exercise and/or “me” time every evening. And this time, “me” equals wine and a bubble bath.

I can’t take all the credit for the life changes, though. It’s actually crazytown doctor’s orders. And now that I might actually be “one of those people who exercise” (you know, those people I totally hate and think of while I’m shoving pizza or brownies or pizza topped with brownies in my face), please don’t judge me. You may find yourself in the same position in a moment of weakness.

Fight against it. You must be strong. ::fist in air::

Oh shit, Biggest Loser is on. Where’s the ice cream?

Song title: Gonna Make Changes by Phyllis Hyman

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from confronting my newly discovered “issues” it’s that I’m going to be learning a lot.

Being a Psychology Major, I already am captivated by analyzing my physiological responses to outside stimuli and when and where it happens.

But a difficult life lesson that I’m struggling with is adjusting to my new life of psychological issues and conveying the seriousness (to me) of my problems to other people in my life. While I have found a few fantastic people in my life that I can talk to about my issues, I still fear that people don’t fully understand what is going on in my head and/or body. I’m not even used to labeling myself as an agoraphobe and panic attacky, so how can I expect others to?

I even had to have a sit down conversation with Mr. Bee about how, despite my tough exterior, I am really sensitive right now and need to be treated with kid gloves. That’s when he responded with a compliment and a problem all wrapped up in to one, “I just have a really hard time seeing you as fragile!”

And even recently, while dining with friends, we got in to a conversation about being emotional and I talked freely about the fact that I could easily cry at a moments notice. This is not a recent development. I’ve always been quite the cry-baby (ask Sissy). Of course in the normal course of any social activity with my friends, I don’t usually burst out in to tears, so when they all responded in shock that I am “that girl” it really made me realize that who I am and who people perceive me to be could be drastically different.

What people see: A funny, confident and outgoing woman.

What’s going on inside: An insecure girl who never quite feels like she is fitting in.

What people see: A social butterfly.

What’s going on inside: Someone who constantly suffers from what I’ve deemed “friend paranoia”, which is when you become convinced that your friends are really annoyed by you and don’t like you anymore.

The problem is: I am fragile right now. For the first time in my life, I actually have to convince myself to attend some social situations when the panic and anxiety get overwhelming. And even though my new medication has taken away my painful (and horribly inconvenient) stomach cramps and Exploding Butt Syndrome (trademark!), it seems that those stomach aches were distracting me from the real underlying panic symptoms, such as freaking the fuck out right before a big event.

While I was initially irritated when people didn’t respond right away (or at all) to my new-found crazy, I soon began to realize that my crazies are totally internal and it’s not like I really explain my insecurities to everyone I meet. I mean, I’m usually too busy describing my most recent bout of explosive diarrhea (because, let’s be honest, that seems to be what fascinates most of my readers and friends. Weirdos.) to fit in to how insecure I am when it comes to my interpersonal relationships and social situations.

I suppose we all see what people want us to see when it comes to friends and acquaintances. But how do you know that what you are seeing isn’t just a facade to distract you from what’s going on inside?

Song title: Who I Am by Jessica Andrews

So Tuesday was my first appointment with the shrink. I, of course, arrived roughly 12 hours early and camped out in the parking lot until the doors opened for my appointment.

Do you think the therapists notice stuff like that? The entire time I sat in my car, I was just imagining the psychologist staring out her window, taking notes.

Ironically I had practically no anxiety in anticipation of this appointment. Instead, I was really looking forward to it. It turns out that I totally love talking about myself. Maybe that narcisstic personility disorder guess could be accurate?…

It’s totally embarrassing, but one of my favorite things in the world is filling out questionnaires. My theory is that it’s like taking a test but since it’s about you, you are guaranteed to know all the answers!

I’m pathetic. I know.

Back to the therapy session…overall it was pretty boring and pretty much the same thing as last time: complain a out how horrible my childhood was (kidding, mom!) and tell her repeatedly how totally awesome I am (not kidding).

I’m starting to think that maybe mentioning the blog 25 times might have been overkill.

But at least I didn’t drop the url to her.

Yet.

Song title: Therapy by T-Pain