Bye then.

For those who hadn't already guessed, this blog is now defunct. It has been for a long time really, but I felt as if I should make an official announcement.

The blog itself won't be going anywhere, mainly because I still lurk on other blogs and use the links at the side, but there won't be any new material posted.

I've just got engaged and while the planning of the wedding will surely provide reams of material, I don't want this to turn into a smug blog that's all about my wedding plans. I wouldn't want to read it so why should you.

I'm still a martyr to my hormones and I still have a ridiculous collection of handbags that I've never used, so no progress has been made.

For those who've visited and commented; cheers.

God bless all who sail in you.

Kellycat xx

Just call me "Stig"...

I passed my driving test yesterday afternoon.

Twelve years after my first driving lesson, three instructors and five tests later, I've finally overcome my nerves to get through a driving test without crying and shaking.

Obviously, this means that I am now designated driver for everybody I know for at least the next ten years to make up for all the lifts I've scrounged.

Bugger.

The Puppies are back.

Despite the fact that I had my Mirena removed five weeks ago, and therefore my hormones should be returning to a normal level, I am currently bursting out of the largest bra I can find in my quite impressive stash of various sized-bras. In other words, I can no longer be contained by a 34DD.

Only a fortnight ago I was celebrating the fact that I had deflated back to a sensible 34C. That was until Friday, when they started to inflate again for no other reason than that my hormones thought it would be "a laugh". I wore a 34D bra to work yesterday but was falling out of it by the time I got home. God knows what I am going to wear to work tomorrow if they don't deflate overnight. Especially now that I have changed jobs and am the only female in my department...

And Funbags they are not. I can't find a comfortable position to sleep in as they are so painful and tender and I can't bear the agony of not having a bra on while I'm vertical.

And no, I am not pregnant.

Bastard, bloody, fucking hormones.

The Devil's Work

From reading other blogs, I know that sooner or later I'm going to be forced to switch over to the new version of blogger. From reading other blogs, I get the impression that this is not a good thing.

Considering that I'm not even sure how I started this blog in the first place, and I still can't work out how to do fancy things in comments*, please can those of you who have already gone to the dark side give me some advice?

What is there I can do to minimise the pain and not lose half my blog?

*I actually found out on Friday that I've been given a job in IT. I'm now working out which job I'm going to apply for once I've been rumbled.

Just a reminder of why this blog is called Hormones and Handbags...

LC - don't read any further. This post is about "women's problems" and I don't want to upset you.

I was going to leave a comment on Spinsterella's post but it was turning into a bit of an epic, so I though I might as well post it, as it's been a while since I've ranted on about my hormones.

I suffer from very, very bad period pain to the point of either passing out or being sick as Spinsterella described. I was prescribed co-codamol and ibuprofen to help, which although they left me feeling a bit spaced out, did take the edge off the pain until I had a really bad reaction to the codeine and had to be signed off work for a week. Which left me with just the ibuprofen.

When these failed to do the job, I was referred to a consultant to rule out anything sinister. Various tests and scans showed that there was nothing wrong with me (I was described as "structurally sound", which would be fabulous if somebody was trying to take out a mortgage on me) and advised that a Mirena coil might help. I was told that I probably wouldn't have any side-effects as the level of hormones in the coil was very low. This seemed great, as various other hormonal treatments, such as the pill, are not an option for me as they trigger my migraines.

For the first seven or eight months everything was lovely. Then I started to get the period pain coming back again. Then my boobs decided that they would alternate between cup sizes, and be incredibly tender and painful when on the increase, so that I ended up having to sleep in a top with built-in support. Then the pain decided not to go. At all. So I now have period pain constantly.

My GP has very kindly agreed that I can take up to 2400mg of ibuprofen a day, but as I don't want to become a candidate for kidney cancer, I'm not exactly overjoyed.

I have now been passed back to the consultant, as my GP doesn't know what else to do with me, and I suspect is sick of the sight of me. Despite being between a rock and a hard place with regards to getting rid of the coil, I think I'm going to have to, while demanding something else to cope with the pain. I've tried a TENS machine, but I had to have it on such a high level that the pulsing and vibrating just made me feel sick.

In the meantime, despite living on water, air and spinach, I can't lose any weight because I'm in too much discomfort to exercise. I'm also sick of having to cancel things because I'm in too much pain to leave the house.

Anyway, my intention was not to try to compete with Spin but to empaphise. Sorry for the whining.

Although you'd have a bloody griz on if you felt like this...

For crying out Aloud!*

I am aware that when stressed I have a tendency to chew my lip. I also have a tendency, when stressed, to swear a lot and huff and puff. I have also been known to grind my teeth.

I think most people, both professionals and laymen, will agree that, in times of stress, such characteristics are quite normal, and to some extent, expected.

I have been very, very stressed today. Not only am I in the middle of trying to sell a house and waiting to find out if I've got the job I was recently interviewed for but today everything went tits up in the job that I'm currently doing. In the middle of trying to organise three different projects, something else have gone disastrously, horribly wrong. It was all out of our control and we are currently doing damage limitation, but it still means a lot more work and a good few weekends in the office for the next month or so.

Today I am aware that I have developed a new manifestation of my stress. I have been singing Girls Aloud, out loud, for most of the day. This is not just an earworm matter, as it has not been restricted to just one song, but most of their back catalogue. Admittedly, each performance has had a very irritated, if not aggressive quality to it**, but I'm not aware of this being a usual and recognised symptom of stress.

Is anybody able to assure me that this will pass, or should I start hanging a sign saying "Do Not Approach" around my neck?

*Sub-editors from The Sun, please feel free to contact me at the usual address for permission.

**Partly from the stress I am already under, and partly from the fact that I am actually conscious that I am doing this, and therefore getting even more stressed and....

I never liked me anyway

It's chuffing freezing, so when I get home from work tonight I get changed straight into my comfy PJ's, ready to settle down for an hour of mindless mahjong before Duck gets home.

The doorbell rings. I'm not expecting anyone. Our house is currently on the market, so I'm swearing under my breath at the estate agent for not giving advance notice of a viewing as the kitchen is a mess.

I open the front door. An acne ridden chav is stood there pushing a laminated ID card under my nose.

"Don't worry love, I'm not here to burgle you. I'm part of a scheme reintergrating young offenders back into the community by selling household items door to door. Do you mind if I show you what I'm selling?"

Soft Liberal Me thinks, "Good on you for trying to go straight". Selfish Me thinks "It's bloody freezing and he expects me to stand here on the doorstep where all the neighbours can see me in my pyjamas while he trys to flog me tea-towels."

The two Mes struggle for domination over each over, before compromising and pushing forward Patronising Me as their spokesman.

"No thank you. No offence, but as you can see (indicates pyjamas) I'm not very well so I don't really want to be standing on the doorstep. Good luck though."

All Mes retreat back into the warm to consider their behaviour, before convincing themselves that they really didn't need any more tea-towels anyway.