The Reason Why I’m Single

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This is a question I have pondered often. Am I too pretty? Am I too smart? Am I too ridiculously hilarious? Am I too perfect, you know in that annoying too good to be true kinda way…

Perhaps I’m too modest?

A reader suggested why recently….FullSizeRender

Well that was a strange suggestion as I don’t even like horse riding?!?

Anyhoo, my search continued and I think I have found it! It’s my neighbours. No, not that douchebag detective that still haunts my hallway. Neighbours. As in the really, really, really good TV show, Neighbours.

Stop sniggering. It IS good. Last week I had a stupidly busy week at work and didn’t leave the office until really late each night. When I finally got home on Friday night, tired, cranky and stinging for a wine, I realised that I hadn’t had time to watch Neighbours any day that week. That’s right folks, I had 2.5 hours of Neighbours delight ahead of me. What more could a single gal ask for on a Friday night? If only I had 18 cats to share such a magical night with…

And maybe I soon will. An Elite Singles survey recently revealed that singles think that Neighbours is the least attractive TV show that a future partner may like to watch. Say what?! Shut the front door.

And that 67% of singles think that liking the right TV shows can make someone appear more interesting. Now that, that I can agree with. Like Kardashians. If I could just find a man who (would admit to) Keeping Up With the Kardashians, I would be all #soulmate.

The study perhaps also revealed another reason as to why I’m single. The top 3 most attractive shows were:

  1. The Big Bang Theory – favoured by geeks and freaks
  2. Game of Thrones – closet sexual deviants ;p
  3. Criminal Minds – homicidal maniacs in training

Yep, ain’t nobody got time for that….

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The Insurance Policy – Part 2

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If you have found this post before Part 1, off you go….

If you read this blog in hope of an occasional saucy tidbit into a single woman’s sex life (come on guys, I know there a few of you and I’m sorry that I so often disappoint you), off you go too….

This is the second half of the story about me freezing my eggs.

Day 8-9 It’s the weekend and I’m glad of this as I’m feeling quite tired. I stay in bed until noon (mostly because I can, yay to no kids!) but I generally feel a bit off with no appetite at all and a slightly upset stomach again.

Fortunately I had no plans anyway so I can stay home and binge on Sex and the City. It’s also good to have a cheap weekend as I’m about to be super poor after spending $11.5k on my potential future children that I’m not even sure that I want now. It may be the raging hormones, but kids are really giving me the shits lately. As are all the Facebook mummy posts complaining about their lives or praising their kids for doing nothing of interest. Yay, little Johnny can drink from a cup. Who cares. I’ve been doing that for years. Where is my fucking prize?

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Day 10 Up early on Monday morning for the blood test and scan that I hope will indicate these suckers are coming out on Wednesday. The ultrasound nurse seems really excited about my progress and says I’ll need to take the trigger shot home today as I’ll take it tonight if my procedure gets booked for Wed. She shows me the syringe and it’s huge! I immediately feel queasy but she assures me that the actual needle part is the same size as the one I’m used to. Why do they have to go and do that huh?!? Size matters people, it does.

I head off to work with my new syringe packed in a delightfully discreet black cooler bag with a random bright butterfly on it and some words that indicate it contains medication. I’ll have to slip this into the communal fridge at work and hope for the best considering the fridge is usually a high theft zone.

I’m called at lunchtime and told that I’ve got some nice big eggs, but the stragglers need a few more days to grow, so I’m booked in for another round of the blood test and scan on Wednesday.

I’m not too fussed about this as today I feel great!! I feel like all the sleep on the weekend has given me a burst of energy and because I’ll need to take a day off work soon, I work back until about 8pm to get ahead.

I’m kinda digging this no appetite and stomach bug thing too. Although I feel fat and bloated, I envision that I’ll end up coming out of theatre looking like Giselle when these eggs are out. Maybe I can stay on these drugs forever….

Day 11 Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! What the hell has happened overnight?!? I wake up with the most painful boobs EVER! Showering, towelling, dressing, it’s all torture to my nipples!! Driving to work I am for the first time regretting that I have a car with sport-tuned suspension as every single bump is killing me!! The cold office environment is also rather distressing. Could this be revenge from my hateful reaction to little Johnny’s cup triumph?!?

Day 12 Up early again for….you know the drill. Today I arrive and my nurse is unusually young. Up until now they have been older ‘mumsy’ types. This girl is young….and hot….and has ridiculously pretty blue eyes. Ok, this feels awks….

She is also really talkative and whilst I’m laying there waiting for her to get all set up for the scan she is chatting to me about random things. I haven’t noticed this before, but there is a basket of condoms on the ultrasound machine stand that are all unwrapped. The thought had crossed my mind during previous scans that these women were likely at a ‘super expert’ level of putting on condoms considering how many times they would do it a day, even more than a hooker I presume. But now I realise they would likely be foiled by the foil. I also can’t help but think that doesn’t seem all that hygienic, but I guess it’s kinda the same as rubber gloves in a box right?!?

Anyhoo, I also notice today the extreme amount of lube that goes on the condom on top of the ultrasound wand. It’s a blob the size of a large strawberry! Again I’m distracted by thoughts of them buying lube in barrels. Probably easier to just get it on tap. Anyhoo….

It all starts and we continue chatting which is still a little weird until she gets all excited by the amount of eggs she is seeing that appear to be of a good size. I can’t help but like her now, but it’s still weird that she keeps stopping what she is doing to make eye contact with me whilst we talk….whilst her hand is holding a wand in my hoo haa.

I’m told if my blood test is good I’ll likely be booked in for theatre on the Friday. I spend my day at work getting organised to take Friday off, and just before 5pm I get the call confirming tonight is trigger shot time. I’m to take it at the same time that I’ve been taking the rest of my injections, 10pm, then no more shots at all. I have to fast overnight and turn up at the day hospital at 7am for admission. I’ll likely be scheduled for about 8am, the procedure will take 20mins to half an hour and I can go home about 10am with a ‘responsible adult’ escorting me as I’ll be unable to drive following the light general anaesthetic.

Turns out the massive trigger shot needle wasn’t that massive. I put my last needle in my trusty yellow sharps container that’s been perched on my beside table for almost two weeks and get an early night.

Day 13 is bad. If I had known I would feel so shit that day I would have worked from home, but that wasn’t really an option as I’m crazy busy preparing for a brand launch the following week. My boobs are even sorer than before, I’m tired, my stomach is bloated and tender, it kinda hurts to sit and I’m on the verge of vomiting all day….until 4pm. All of a sudden I feel great again! And I stay at work until 8:30pm tying to get ahead considering I’m taking a day off before a long weekend.

Day 14 I’m up and off to the day hospital in the dark at 6:30am. When I arrive there are only men waiting in the reception area. I’m asked to fill out a heap of forms, pay a heap of money for the procedure that day and I’m asked 82 times what I’m allergic to. Unsurprisingly the answer does not change the more I’m asked.

I’m taken down to the theatre prep area and given an open backed cotton robe, with a terry towelling robe to put over the top and a blanket, all of which had been in a warmer. What a nice touch! Once changed I sit and wait for the anaesthesiologist to come and see me. There are magazines in the room with me and I see the top one has a story about Sonia Kruger wanting to have a second baby at 51. Fuck that shit! Sure, it’s potentially possible after doing this that I could do that myself, but I’m pretty sure if I get to 51 and I haven’t used these eggs, I would have stopped paying the freezer bill a while ago!

The anaesthesiologist guy comes and asks me all the questions I’ve answered on the forms. The anaesthetic nurse comes and does the same. My doctor comes and does it too. Then I’m taken down to theatre at 7:45am.

Shit this is a real theatre. There are lots of machines in the room and about 5 or 6 people who I assume are about to see my vagina. Everything is white and bright and I’m asked to lay down on the bed in the middle of the room. I’m not sure what I expected really, but it was probably something more like my doctors office when I get a pap test, the only difference being that I would be asleep for it today.

I’m laying on the bed whilst the anaesthesiologist is talking to me and putting a cannula in my hand and I notice the stirrup type leg rests beside the bed. Again I’m thinking about my vagina on full display with my legs in the stirrups and….

Holy shit where am I?! That anaesthetic guy pulled a swifty on me. It’s like I’ve been roofied. I’m in recovery and I can see a clock on the wall that says it’s 8:20am. I’m really sleepy but I’m feeling ok which is a relief as I’ve woken up from anaesthetic before and been sick over the side of the bed….and been told off by the nurse as I didn’t wait for her to give me a bucket. Sorry lady, I was not in control of my bodily functions!!

A nurse comes over and asks how I am and I tell her I’m fine, but sleepy. She walks away and I drift in and out trying to make my eyes stay open. She comes back a little later when I’m more awake and pulls back the blanket to get my hand out. They write the number of eggs they have collected on your hand so that you know as soon as you wake up and my hand is telling me….

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Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet! The scans were showing 8-9 eggs in each ovary so I had in my head I would get 16 or more. This is good!

After a while I’m feeling ok and the nurse gets me out of bed and moves me to the recovery lounge area to eat some breakfast. I’m put in an armchair and given cheese and crackers (WTF do you call this, French breakfast?), some cookies, an apple juice, a bottle of water and a coffee.

My blood pressure is a bit low and I’m told I’ll have to wait until it comes up. I’m offered more cheese and crackers and let’s face it, cheese and crackers are always the best little meal option on a tight ass flight, so I go again.

I’m sitting there alone with a number of other women around me also recovering who are all sitting their with their male partners. I overhear that the couple next to me are both called Peter. Yup, Peta and Peter. Seriously.

Soon I’m feeling better, my dad has arrived to pick me up (because #matureadult) and I’m ready to go home.

I’m told the scientists will analyse my eggs and call me in the afternoon to let me know how many eggs could be frozen. I hadn’t really considered that the number of my hand would not be the final number up until this point.

I get home and mum has made me a care package of her amazing cinnamon scrolls and chicken pot pies for later. The scientist calls shortly after and tells me of the 18 eggs they collected, only 12 were mature and suitable for freezing. Immediately I’m disappointed. A 33% failure rate is more than I expected. Even though 9-12 frozen eggs per cycle is average and I was on the upper end of average, I’m still frustrated that I so quickly went from overachiever to just average.

But I had in my mind originally that I was hoping for 12, maybe I’d get 8 or 9 and if it was 6 or less I would have to go back for another attempt. 12 is enough for me to feel like I’ve got a reasonable insurance policy, so I am going to leave it at that.

My folks leave and I log in to work and respond to a few emails. Everything seems under control so I lay on the lounge for a bit…which turned into most of the afternoon. I could not stay awake and moving around hurt. This was the most painful my insides had been so far.

The day after I’m still really tired and tender and I again spend most of the day on the lounge. I’m really glad my procedure was done on a Friday so I had the next day to recover as well. By Sunday I’m not so tired anymore, nor as sore, but my boobs are still killing!!

Who knows what will happen from here. With my current dislike for children I may never use the eggs, but I’m glad that I will have the option there and available to me. Or I may not use them because I end up having a baby naturally, but at least I know I have back up and I can feasibly delay my choice to have kids (or not) for many more years than nature usually intends.

All in all, I’m glad I did it and it wasn’t that much of a disruption to my life. Assuming my boobs go back to normal. Otherwise I’ll need a new more sensible car….

The Sexiest Unattractive Man Ever

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Last week Ms R and I headed out on a last minute adventure to the Chris Isaak concert. Grabbing some champers and a cheese platter in a bar before the show, we discussed the allure of Mr Isaak.

I’ve personally had the hots for him for many, many years. I told Ms R that although I thought he was in his early 50’s, I would most certainly go there given the chance!

Ms R disagreed saying he was a great entertainer, but far too old for her. To be fair, Ms R has been known to enjoy a slightly/lotly younger man ;p

Both in our mid-30’s, we were some of the youngest in the crowd when we arrived at the show. The opening act was James Reyne and he was amazing, yet had a distinctly 80’s sound. Again we debated if we’d go there and I was a definitive yes. Ms R was starting to come around, but not willing to commit. I googled and discovered he was 58. Shit!

So then we googled Chris Isaak. 59. Shit!!!

But……he is sexy as hell. The charm of a cheeky, charismatic man is very hard to beat. Many women go nuts for a musician, but personally my mind wanders to thoughts of how quickly they can strum their own instrument rather than how well they can strum mine….

After a few songs where we were up dancing and gazing longingly at Chris, I quizzed Ms R again as to if she still wouldn’t go there. She had changed her mind! I now had more competition….more competiton than the 40’s/ 50’s/ 60’s year old women just a glass of Chardy shy of throwing their knickers on stage.

Even with his boxer bashed nose, his Elvis hair and his ahem….short stature (185cm), I still would go there. He is deeeeeeeelicious!! Cheeky and charismatic trumps Bondi Vet/Channing Tatum caliber looks any day.

Oh and rich. That helps too…..   🙂