Well, I got the call today. The Pikes Peak Range Rider board has put their foot down. I am not allowed to come to the guest night. Apparently the only women allowed to come are on the VIP list. That means that they have to be part of local government (city council, county commissioner, state rep. or senator, or US Rep. or Senate), or part of the PRCA or PPRR Foundation Board, or a landowner who has property they either are using currently or may wish to use in the future. I am NOT a VIP. I just created the database, the invitations, recreated the main logo, updated the annual logo for current and future years, created the books that tell each committee how things have been done in the past and provided all the files on computer disk, recreating the documents for future use. Oh, and manually fixed this year's list, merged and printed all the labels, folded stuffed, licked, addressed and mailed the invitations.
I am trying to be big about this. I'm sick to my stomach from the disappointment. Ah well, such is life. The delight of menses is supposed to be compensation for the exclusion from a lot of really fun and interesting things, exclusion being solely based on the lack of a certain appendage whose primary benefit seems to be peeing standing up. Oh....and, ruling the world. Ordinarily I'm a big fan of men. Just not tonight. Pigheaded, misogynistic, irritating...that sound you're hearing is me sputtering for more words.
What is up with women that our events aren't more fun? More exciting? Even with my bad back I long for trail rides, skydiving, sharpshooting, archery, whitewater rafting... I enjoy the teas, movie nights, whatever, but you don't see a bunch of women getting together for a week of camping, rodeo, horseback riding, catered meals, etc. For one thing, we don't spend that kind of money on ourselves, generally speaking. For another thing, we would never ask for a week away from the kids and household responsibilities. I confess that camping has lost a little of its allure now that dad isn't there to do the heavy lifting. I'm sure not strapping 100 pounds on my back! Get me a packhorse!
I long to be more physical than I am really capable of anymore. Maybe that's why I push it, like yesterday, hauling up the new patio furniture to the deck and putting it together--by myself. Fibromyalgia can be a harsh taskmaster. Fibro is a vindictive woman, punishing you whenever you do something fun or challenging. Fibro wants you to be less than. Less than what, you ask? Less than everyone without Fibro. It will punish for using power tools with an ache that makes you want to cut your arms off. It will punish for too long a walk by forcing you into bed or at least into walking with a pronounced limp for some time. It will punish you for a few hours of housework by draining all your energy and making your limbs weak. And fibro is punishing me for having the temerity to carry the furniture through the garage, up a flight of steps and putting it together. I worked 5 hours total yesterday and paid for it the rest of the day, evening, night and even more today. Fibro is cruel, capricious. I must exercize to gain any control over the PCOS, but the same exercize that will save me from PCOS will torment me from the fibro.
Forgive me for complaining. I generally try to ignore my ailments. They bore me, and irritate me, I can only imagine what they do to you. I feel like someone's aging aunt, wanting to tell you about her gallbladder operation over and over again, as if you wanted to hear it at all. I have a feeling that talking about one's physical problems makes people as uncomfortable as sitting through those ED commercials. "An erection lasting 4 hours or more may be a sign of a serious condition." Could we just all not talk about it?
Anyway, I apologize. I felt like venting. Anyway, the next time some man wants you to pat him on the back for the tough life of being male, go ahead, but in your own head remember that we bleed for days every month without comment. We push an eight pound screaming person into the world through a very small portion of our anatomy. We manage toddlers and household budgets and cooking and schedules and shaving, and makeup, and hose (never forget hose!), endomitriosis, cysts, monthly hormone shifts, bloating, irritability, exhaustion, hauling kids to soccer, baseball, music lessons, AWANA, scouts, dance class, gymnastics, swim lessons, play dates, birthday parties, bras that pinch and bind, swimsuit shopping, and their parents, all while trying to meet the ideal body type as set by...gay men and anorexic models. And some of us manage a job, too.
I guess with all that going on it's only right that men would try to protect us from roughing it eating a dinner in the hills of Colorado, surrounded by fresh breezes, mountain air, the scent of pines, a bonfire, gentle music on the night breeze, as the day fades to night and the stars come out to enjoy the cowboy serenade. Thanks guys, I feel more feminine already.
My old boss is being very decent about it and wants to make it up to me. I'll let him because I know it will make him feel better. I will be gracious and appreciative. I really will appreciate it, but I'm sure he knows that nothing will really make up for it.
My social calendar just opened up for June 23rd.
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