Friday, November 30, 2012

Pregnant vs. Unpregnant

Happy Friday, my darlings!

I am going to say upsetting things.  It is Friday, however, when people flee the internet for 3 days like cockroaches in daylight.

As we speak I am sitting in delightfully new pajama pants counting down the minutes until it is socially acceptable to order some Italian for dinner.  Bub has a work thing tonight so I am solo and ironically watching Home Alone to get in the mood to put Christmas decorations up.

Holiday movie, or snuff film?  You decide.

There has been some weird shit going on in the blogosphere with the whole pregnant person vs. non pregnant person thing.  

If you think I'm talking about something that happened on your blog - probably, but I can count no less than 7 incidents in the last couple of weeks that I'm drawing from so you'd be one of many.  Namely with snarky comments and general weirdness. (Oh, I'm also referencing an in real life incident)

Now somehow by the grace of Tom Cruise I have only ever gotten one comment that I believe was meant to insult me (weirdly enough I believe it was meant to say that my dislike of Twilight is a step back for the woman's movement) and only ever read a couple of blog entries that made me say, out loud, in my best Whitney Houston voice "hellllll to the nah" and unfollow.

So by me being general with this, you're not really missing out on any juicy gossip.  I'm just talking about the weird divide between people who are already knockedupensphritzel and people who are still in the trenches.

So I submit for your approval, from a completely unqualified and goofy full-of-love place in my heart, some of my ideas on what should be our general rules and guidelines.

Thoughts for the unpregnant:

Let me start this by saying, I am not pregnant.  I was pregnant this summer for about 30 seconds, and it did not end well.

I'll be the first to strip off and jump into the pool here and be honest.  There are about... 5-7 ladies that when they got pregnant/should they get pregnant, I am/will be genuinely happy for.

Lemme back up a minute - if someone is not on that list of 5-7, it doesn't mean I'm not at all happy for them or that I wish them ill will (fuck no, settle down) it just means that some percentage of me, upon hearing of their pregnancy, goes "Of Fucking Course".

(And by all means - if there is someone who would like to leave me shivering in the water here and claim that they've never had that response to a pregnancy, please reveal yourself so I can point at you and make my best home alone face).

I don't think the girls who have 'graduated' from infertility will begrudge us this - the vast majority seem completely sensitive to this, and even in the midst of their happiness go to great pains to point out which entries are going to be mildly and/or greatly upsetting to people still in the trenches.

(I'd like to state for the record here that I am not referring to the very few, as the lovely EmHart puts it, 'born again fertiles' who seemingly immediately forget their entire struggle... Those people are an entirely separate breed that requires a post of their own - I'm just talking about the majority of pregnant infertiles.)

I don't think there's anything wrong with, if you're not in a place for it, taking a step back from a pregnant blog if it's too much for you.  And I think the pregnant understand that. There's enough misery involved with being around pregnant people in real life that I don't think we have to push ourselves too hard in online life - don't make yourself completely miserable to avoid taking away one one millionth of a persons complete happiness. (And I really think that the vast majority preggos get that).

But here's what we can try our very, very best to do.

The ones you're close to, the ones you feel a connection with - do your very, very best to maintain it. Much more than likely after an infertile gets pregnant there are going to be weeks/months where they are absolutely terrified and still, do not in any way shape or form, relate to fertile people.

I've been traveling this road for three years, and I've had one loss.  I can safely say that, should I end up pregnant again, there will be no blind celebration.  There will be no immediately telling everyone (except you people).  There is no longer an automatic connection in my mind between pregnancy and a healthy baby, that ship has sailed - and I think I can speak for the pregnant in saying for most of them, that ship has sailed too.

Also, should I become pregnant, I swear on a stack of religious pamphlets I will not begrudge people who take a step back from my blog (although in my particular case, I tend to blog about other things anyway and I don't see that changing).  There are, however, a few girls who I'm particularly close to who I would expect to try - the operative word here being try - their best to rally around me.  Mostly because I will be terrified, I detest fertile people, and if you can manage it I don't want to be abandoned in my scariest moment.

So what I think we can try to do is ask ourselves 'am I one of those few people that if I left them alone right now, they'd be genuinely hurt?' and then do our best not to do that.  If it's some new person you're following or someone you don't have a particular connection with - life's too short.  If you have one, try to keep it.

Also, they're going to be complaining about pregnancy symptoms.  This can be a bit trying - but I think we can try our very best to keep in mind that they're of course grateful, just terrified.  Sympathy for the terror is really my greatest request.

Something I literally struggle with everyday is to remind myself that by a woman getting pregnant, she's not taking a pregnancy away from me.  Dumb luck has thus far taken a pregnancy away from me.  (I'm all for thinking fertiles have taken away pregnancies - fuck those bitches).

And we can try - at least for those 3-7 women that we're closer to - to keep in mind that when we're pregnant, after we've all been through we probably will barely be able to handle the guilt that we have built in, much less any additional guilt being put on us.  

Thoughts for the Pregnant:

Much like my thoughts for the unpregnant were strictly about pregnant former infertiles and not the 'born again' fertiles, my thoughts for the pregnant will strictly be about people who are still in the trenches and have been there for awhile.  Those girls who have been trying for two months - screw them.  I'm bouncing them out of the club.

I have an infertile acquaintance who just had a previously infertile friend tell her she should 'be grateful for her infertility'.  And then proceed to give her the speech - you know the one - about how her life has meaning now that she has kids, she just understands so much more now, things she couldn't have possibly known before!

I know you agree - How.  Rude.  How in the name of Jodi Sweetin does someone say something like that?

Here's the thing.  Accidentally or on purpose, occasionally when someone gets pregnant they immediately assume that all other infertiles are going to get pregnant, and that now that they are pregnant, they can see the situation much more rationally.

It is - and I think we can all agree here - never appropriate to tell someone in the trenches anything other than "this fucking sucks that you're going through this and I am so pissed on your behalf". Jazz it up with your own words a bit, but you get the jist.

If you had recently beaten cancer, you would not go into the chemotherapy room, plop your now 20 lbs heavier body next to the sickly sucking on their popsicles, wolf down a burger and between swallows say "Oh my gawd you guys, you're going to be so thankful for this down the road".  Because none of them know if they're going to get where you are (and neither do you) and some of them just won't.

Most of us are married - or at least have girlfriends, boyfriends, partners, etc. etc. I happen to be happily married.  I have - maybe - a few helpful tidbits of advice, when asked, on marriage (that would work in at least.. my marriage).  Finding Bub, being in the position to even start a relationship?  Luck.

Should my 16 year old sister in law and I get into a discussion on love, I will tell her one day she's going to meet someone fantastic and if she wants to get married, she can.

When my 35 year old already divorced friend comes home from a blinddate and tells me that midway through dinner the guy cleaned his ears out with his keys, and then when they got back to his house disappeared into his bathroom for 20 minutes and at one point shouted "release the kracken!", I do not tell her this was all a necessary experience that is going to earn her love.  (By the way - true story).I tell her that guy is a douchebag and that I'm hopeful for her, because there's only one reason I found Bub and she's on dates with kracken guy and that's luck.

My point is, with someone who's been in the trenches for awhile I think it's best to be pissed on her behalf, and optimistic for her at the same time without being condescending. Ask yourself when you're talking to her "am I in any way making this sound like I earned this, and she hasn't yet?"

Because - I'm sure you'll remember - for the most part it feels like we're all on the Titanic.  Some girls got on a lifeboat when they were first available and not squished, and some of us are in the freezing cold water balancing ourselves on doors with that damn dead weight Leo.  It's helpful to keep in mind, during communication, that if you got on a lifeboat, even if you don't feel lucky (because after all, you were on the Titanic to begin with) it's looking pretty sweet from the water.  Do your very very best to avoid complaining about your lifeboat too much in front of those of us stuck in the water.

Thoughts for All Sisters-in-Shittiness:

If anyone's particularly nasty to you, cut em' loose.  I'm all for spirited debate - gawd knows people don't always agree with me and I am wildly impressed that when they don't, minus 1/2 of an occasion, they express it in a way that makes me think.

But if they're expressing it in a way that's purpose is to make you feel shitty or stupid? Let me know if I need to go to bat for you, and try your best to guffaw at the situation (and maybe feel a little bad for them).

I'm adding this inspired by a note - I think another thing that we can all try to keep in mind... Should I get pregnant, there are going to be gajillions of infertiles who 'deserve' it more - who have battled far longer than me and with far worse circumstances.  Likewise, there are going to be gajillions of people (particularly in real life) who have three kids, all conceived very easily, who 'deserve' it less than me.

Unfortunately, the line of people who get sent home after this war isn't organized by who has the most battle scars.  (If it was, we'd have far happier children and far less orphanages - but it is what it is).  I think we should all try our very, very best to accept this (which is close to impossible).  If we could come close to accepting it, however, I think when we're happy we'd have less of it taken away by the sadness of others, and when we're sad we'd be less likely to be catapulted into an even deeper sadness.  (And that's kind of the constant battle of this community, in a nutshell).

And pregnant or unpregnant, much like this cock-or-two, try to step a few feet out of your cage every once in awhile and apropos of nothing say to the world "bitch, I'm fabulous".

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Dear Santa

Happy Wednesday, my fellow womb warriors!

(Sidenote: anyone seen that movie "Womb"?  It's freaking disturbing.  Woman loses love of her life, woman utilizes technology to give birth to clone of her love, falls in love with son.  If you're looking for another horrifying weird movie to do with falling in love with children, see "Birth".)

Yesterday, I went to Disneyland.... I swear I don't live there (okay fine, I've been meaning to tell you guys I'm Mickey Mouse).  This time with the lady best friend Ms. Kali.  I ended up getting her a half of an hour later than anticipated, and we missed a horrifying accident at the Disney exit by the same amount (spooky). There were miraculously no lines, and we did everything in record time.  

This morning, I went and spent ludicrous amounts of money at Bath and Body Works on my Christmassy smells. I wreak of chemically produced Christmas cookie.

And now, some letters to Santa.

Dear Santa,
I am in no mood to go Christmas shopping this year.  I am planning on going Friday with Mr. T to the ::gasp:: mall.  While I make no promises that I will not be carrying pepper spray, I can perhaps promise that if I do, I will make it peppermint spray as it seems more festive.

Dear Santa,
I also do not believe I will be bringing myself to send out Christmas cards this year.  The thought of having to send 50 cards out updating people on my last year.. well... I fear if I had to wipe my ass with 50 cards I would eventually chafe.

Dear Santa,
Thank you for finally coordinating Bub's special spooj appointment in Massachusetts.  I am convinced this was due to you working your contacts with a small nod to my being a harassing, shrew-harpie of a wife.  Seeing as how he has to make it from D.C. to Boston at the butt crack of dawn on December 26th, I was hoping you could explain to me how that sleigh-magic works, or at least offer up a ride.  (In his own way he needs to be there to spread... cheer).

Dear Santa,
I was just at the Bucks of Star and a hipster girl was trying to impress a hipster boy by talking about Bob Dylan, but kept calling him Bob Dole. I did not laugh until I was in my car. Please update your records.

(And I quote - "People nowadays just don't understand how moving the poetry of Bob Dole was... I think they should do another movie like that one where Cate Blanchett played him".)

Dear Santa,
I don't know how common the request is for fully functioning reproductive organs, but if it can be done, please throw a good ute down my chute.

Any additional letters to be sent?  I'm like, 80% sure my blog is in his newsfeed.

Monday, November 26, 2012


Happy Monday, my darlings!

Americans, I am hoping that your Thanksgivings were scrumdittilyumptious, or at the very least you were drunk enough to stand on a table and say "fuck all ya'll!" without fearing consequences.

Mine was lovely and child free.  It was at my Mom's house this year (we throw it sometimes, too) just my Mom, my sister, me, Bub, my Grandparents, and my lovely friend Kali.  So I ate my face off, and my biggest problem for a day was trying to transport both dogs in one car and there was too much celery in my otherwise favorite stuffing (celery is for rabbits! Rabbits I say!).  

Sidenote - I made Kali watch this new show on MTV called "Catfish".  SET YOUR FREAKING DVRS.  No no... check on demand and watch the first episode.

I am usually against MTV programming, however a couple of years ago there was this documentary that I loved called "Catfish".  A man stumbles into an online relationship with a woman, and falls in love with her.  Then he does research on who she is, and she's not exactly who she says she is.  So now they're doing a TV show spin-off, wherein each episode they take a person who's in an online relationship, and help them hunt down/finally meet the person that they're involved with.  As I met Bub partially online, let's just say I am very lucky that he was neither 100 years old or a 10 year old lesbian.  It is my new guilty pleasure.

And on the subject of new pleasures, though Towanda the Honda is still dead in my driveway, Saturday we  purchased a new car to share.

Folks, I have driven this car for only two days and have discovered that I am, indeed, Batman.  (Bub can be Robin or Batgirl - these are his choices).

In uterine news - it looks like Bub's super snazzy sperm test is going to work out.  It's an experimental test they only do in Massachusetts (reminder - for IVF we had poor fertilization with seemingly no explanation ::jazz hands::) and it's looking like he may be able to coordinate it while we're on the east coast visiting his family.

This is of course awesome news - annnnnnd reminds me that IVF will happen again in the near future either way, so I have to stop living like an aged rockstar.  Mainly knocking it off with my smoking and guzzling pepsi like the first person to make it to Diabetes wins. (In my defense, Batman is supposed to have a very husky voice, and if we were racing to diabetes I would win because my car go vroom vroom).

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


Happy day before food-death, Americans!

And greetings, ICLWers!

Me in bullets:
  • Been with Bubba for 9 years, married for six.
  • Condom laziness followed by actual trying in 2009.
  • 9-10 rounds of clomid, 1 IVF, 1 chemical pregnancy.
  • While I have my occasional moment of introspection, and certainly have sad eggs, this is mostly a place for shenanigans.
  • ::jazz hands::
I was a vegetarian before I met Bub.  Let me rephrase - I was a vegetarian who loved the taste of meat before I met Bub.  Then one day I casually ate some beef and broccoli and it was all over after that.  Within a week of dating him I was hooked on Bub-meat and meat in general.

This morning - 

Bub:  Any bets on which turkey gets the Presidential pardon?  Your choices are cobbler or gobbler.  I'm going with gobbler.
Me: I'll take cobbler.... Wait.. what happens to the other turkey?
Bub: Pause... maybe they both get to live but the one who wins gets a medal or something.
Me:  That's it after tomorrow I'm not eating meat.
Bub:  Oh... gawd.

Here's the thing.  Bub loves meat (that sounds like an excellent title for a gay porn).  Plus he can't mess around with his diet too much because, in the words of Wilford Brimley, he's got the type 1 diabeeeetus.

Secondly, our exposure to non meat eaters the last few years has been limited to Vegans, let's say... 5 vegans.  So one of those vegans is delightful, knows how to cook and knows what they're talking about.  I would eat their food, I would eat it so hard.

The other 4 we were exposed to a few days into their vegan decision, and have to sit there for ten minutes while they grill waiters under hot lights and then end up sulking and picking at bread.  Additionally, if you ask them about their decision they don't seem to have any answers and this being Los Angeles it comes off like a socially acceptable way to be anorexic.

Plus, unfortunately, our vegan exposure has always inevitably wound up with someone holding a giant bag of kale like it was their last bit of crack, trying to convince us that it's just as good as bacon.  Discredited.

So vegan for me, I think, is out.  I buy the million dollar eggs that are free range/grain fed and I feel pretty good about that.  I also don't drink a whole lot of milk and I don't wear leather as I am not a Persian socialite or 1970s rock god.

But I am sick of watching movies where an animal dies, diving to cover my dogs ears and then telling her afterwards that that animal is an acting animal.. they are tickled pink to have had this role, and are in a bar right now getting laid strictly because of it.  Inevitably my dog looks at me and says "but.. you eat those kinds of animals". Damn that dog and her retorts.

So lots to think about.... after Thanksgiving.

(10 points if you know who that is... he makes me tinkle laughing.  TINKLE).

I have had the same car since I started driving.  She is a 1997 honda civic, and her name is Towanda the Honda, and she has been the acting queen of my motor safety for 15 years.  Her skin is pealing, she shakes if you turn the not-really-functioning ac on, she is full of trash, she can only play a song on my ipod for 30 seconds at a time, and her rear says "honk if you're cute, bark if you're ugly". Oh how I have loved her.

Bub had to drive her yesterday so I could get his car serviced - but don't worry, I warned him to watch out on his way home for women flying out of nowhere onto the hood of the car as Towanda is the ultimate pussy magnet.  It's a real liability.

She is dying, friends.  I had it verified by the car doctor on Monday, and today when I took her for a wee spin her check engine light went on.  Her next and final ride with me will be to my mechanic's to be stripped and sold for parts like a common street whore.  Mentally writing her eulogy as we speak.

In other news - as I was waiting at the mechanics for two hours yesterday staring at the ceiling and enjoying the smell of manly musk, I realized I have fooled around with one of the cast members of American Horror Story and teenage 'dated' him for a few weeks. I had this revelation, had Bub check online for the one fact I knew about him that is odd, and it was him.  I have love letters from him either buried somewhere in my house or my mothers garage.  (If this peaks your interest - message me.. I can't believe it).  If I was a crueler person I could make money on ebay, I tell you.

Tomorrow we in American Infertiles will sit down, count our blessings, stuff our faces, and try to act as though we are happier than we actually are.  Our holiday portrayals could win Oscars, I tell you.

If you need a giggle to prepare for your performance, I give you... Stefon.  (Seriously, if you have no idea what this is look up "saturday night live stefon" - always makes this funny-snob CACKLE.)

Monday, November 19, 2012

The Twilight of Cancer

Well helloooooo, blogosphere!

We had a bit of a scare over here last week at House of Stork, and so instead of blogging I have had my lips essentially glued to the side of Bub's face and reminding him that I like him a lot.

So Bub had his kidney stone incident which turned out to not be kidney stones.  He was home a couple of days after I took him to urgent care, and he kept saying "it's cancer".

I am,  in most situations, the calm and rational one.  And I reminded him repeatedly that if you look up anything on google, it will say you have cancer.  Type in 'stomach pain' = cancer.  Ouch ouch my toe hurts = cancer.  Stevie Wonder's Greatest Hits = cancer.

However, because I lost my Dad to cancer ( and one you rarely, rarely die from) I have some dormant cancer-ptsd in the back of my head, so when urgent care called Bub after they got his ultrasound results and told him he must return to urgent care to have the doctor explain the results to him, I panicked.

So for a good 3 hours in the middle of last week, Stork was teetering dangerously between agnostic theism (don't believe in organized religion but I'd like to think there's some universal force) and flat out atheism.

Mind you, I used to be much more optimistic.  Score one for infertility.  But at this point, I am optimistic about G-d answering my prayers much in the same way one is optimistic that someone will answer the phone after you've been on hold with the cable company for 2 hours.  Yes it requires a certain level of optimism, but mostly you're just pissed.

(And before you tell me  G-d wants to smite me - one thing I am 100% certain of is that if there is someone out there in the ether trying to take care of me, they can handle me being pissed.  When a 4 year old is pissed at me, I let the 4 year old be pissed - I don't have the desire to hit them over the head with a frying pan in response.  And I only have 26 years on a 4 year old... G-d has a gajillion on me).

I did, in the waiting room, repeatedly think - you know what, I don't need money, I don't even need kids - I need Bub.  Of course I desperately want children, you know I do.  But when it comes down to it, in the scary moments, I will pick my husband over theoretical kids every single time. So I was telling G-d/Zeus/Tom Cruise in my mind, I can handle not having kids far better than I can handle not having Bub.  I would be a shell of a woman without kids, but I would not survive without Bub.  If need be, we'll just be one of those interesting childless couples that travels a lot, wears turquoise jewelry and has a scarf for every possible occasion.


Turns out he was fine - he just had a gnarly infection. In the parking lot afterwards I kissed him out of relief and slapped him for scaring me because that's how I roll.

And now on to more important things - the Twilight series.

I have written about religion and politics in here and somehow got away with it.  I fear what I'm about to say may be the thing that causes several of you to break up with me.  Here goes.

Twilight is the worst thing ever.  Not book, not movie - the worst thing ever.

Seeing scores of teenage girls lining up in tents to see this movie makes me weep for todays youth.

I read the books a few years ago - when we were back east for Christmas, my sister-in-law Bubella had a copy and I read it to see what the fuss was about.

A few points.

If you take a vampire and make him able to walk in the sun (and the worst consequence is that he sparkles like a diamond), make him a vegetarian, and a virgin, you have just removed everything that made a vampire cool in the first place and replaced him with a closeted homosexual.  (My point - if you took my gay husband Mr. T and made him immortal and sparky, he would not be frightening he would be fabulous.  For badass vampire, see Bela Lugosi or True Blood).

Let's just ignore the fact that it's awful and lazy writing, and just focus on one particular aspect of this - the author forgot to give Edward a personality.  She made him rich, and handsome, and the sparkly gay-pride-parade version of a vampire...but no personality.

She did give Bella a smidge of a personality, however...  if by 'personality' you mean clumsy, and absolutely incapable of taking care of herself without the aide of a man.  In reading the books it became clear to me that the only way the story would have resolved itself appropriately is if in the end the vampires and werewolves got to rip this girl to shreds.

(And I won't even get into the movie... as I have explained before, I believe Kristen Stewart is good for nothing except upsetting my bowels.. Hair flipping and grunting does not an actress make).

Now not only am I supposed to believe that this town is riveted by this mind-numbingly boring and incapable girl, but I am to believe that the oldest, most powerful vampires in the world stop all that they are doing and give a shit about what's going on with her.

And my greatest point, a few of the positive messages for todays teenage girls include:
  • All a guy needs to be is rich and handsome.
  • You are unable to take care of yourself without said guy.
  • If guy asks you to forsake your family and people who are trying to be your friends (despite the fact that you are unbelievably boring) in order to be with him, you should.
  • If an in-theory 100 year old man has been roaming the earth waiting for a 17 year old girl to fall in love with, this is in no way creepy.
  • Don't have sex before you get married - it's just plain stupid to test drive a car.
  • Get married at 18 so you can have sex - it always works out.

And my darling infertiles - spoiler alert - the dead man knocks her up.  Now I understand I'm supposed to suspend disbelief here, it's vampires after all.  I am willing to do this for sex.  Fine, okay, the dead man gets a boner despite not having any blood circulation (I calm myself about that one reasoning that he must just constantly have a boner). But fully functioning 100 year old sperm?  NO.  I won't!  I can't! 

(Sidenote - I have not read the 50 shades books.  It wouldn't occur to me first of all only because erotica has been around forever and I don't understand what's wrong with just watching porn.. But more importantly - inspired by Stephanie Meyer's writing?  NO.)

(Another sidenote - this may just offend me here, but the whole thinly veiled Mormon agenda... You're incomplete without a man, getting married at 18 is smart, don't have sex before you're married because the guys power will be too much for you - barf - and if a pregnancy is killing you, doesn't matter, keep it anyway).

The only argument that gave me pause was when one of my friends pointed out that I hate this series so much and yet I love Romeo and Juliet.


My response to that - 

No one reads Romeo and Juliet and thinks it's relevant, in the literal sense, in this day and age.  Story of love - universal, powerful forever... but logistically finding someone, marrying them at 13 and instead of running away offing yourselves together?  I think most girls put together that that's not plausible.  But there are girls - oh I assure you they are out there - that think these books are the perfect example of what love is.

These books are a great example of love much in the same way that Beverly Hills is a great example of love. Rich old man meets emotionally vapid woman a quarter of his age, marries her because it's the one way he can get nookie.

And even the idea of comparing this woman's writing to Shakespeare... Much like Kristen Stewart's acting, it makes my bowels hurt.

PS - I am inflicting myself on the internet further.  My apologies to your ears - I was a guest on this week's Bitter Infertile's podcast (and it was early, early in the morning so my apologies for any allergy-riddled sounds).  I'm in the last 45 minutes I think - but listen to the whole damn thing!  Was fun.  What a great bunch of broads.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012


Good morning, interwebs.

This is Jenn.  Jenn is an amazingly kind, absolutely hilarious, possessor of an amazing open heart and I don't believe she has ever written anything I haven't had to read all the way through.

In the weird world of IF, she's one of those broads that I was genuinely (not just mostly genuinely) happy to learn that she was knocked up.  I want nothing more than for people like her to put one up on the scoreboard for Team Awesome, and should one of these days I manage to spawn be able to say "now there's a Mom I would want to hang out with".

She started bleeding on Monday and went to the ER.  They told her that they needed a couple of days to verify it, but she was most likely having an ectopic pregnancy.  This morning they verified that it's an ectopic pregnancy and just sent her to have her methotrexate shot.

I am heartbroken for her, truly heartbroken.  Sending her good vibes and giving her some kind words is encouraged.

On my end, thus far I have accomplished:

  1. Harassing her with text messages
  2. Setting myself up for a potential underground railroad should she need to escape ( and good Lord do I mean it - I am on call with trannies, legal pot and celebrity stalking)
  3. Cursing whoever is in charge of this shit show with particular emphasis today on her behalf.
Whoever's in charge, you're making a shit load of mistakes with these women.  Girlfriend was made to be a Mom.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Colors of Medicine

Happy Tuesday, Tiddlywinks.

Yesterday was not the best ever.  On the other hand, it could have been much worse.

I basically had a day of experiencing, live and in HD, the southern California emergency care system for the first time in a long time.

My Mom took my Grandma to the emergency room yesterday.. So I unexpectedly threw on some clothes and drove the hour and a half to join her.  My Grandma's fine - she has had some.. falling spells?  And is lacking some of her usual feist. So I drove down to join them because sure I wanted to assess the situation, but mostly because my Mom's kind of been running herself ragged and I wanted to make sure she.. you know, ate.  So my morning consisted of breaking into the patient section of the ER (I am both delightfully sneaky and charming - FACT) and bringing them Subway sandwiches so we could throw lettuce all over the hospital. 

Then Bub alerted me that he needed to go to urgent care...  He had yet another date with a cup yesterday morning, and I am somewhat sad to report that the urgent care visit was not in any way a result of some sort of porn catastrophe.

 A late manly Monday fact - Bub is the worst patient in the history of ever. He once got in a gnarly car accident and was outraged that I took him to the hospital.  His uvula was once swollen so bad that it was stuck down his throat, and he was horrified that I made him go to urgent care.  So for him to announce to me that we were going.. I assumed he had lost a limb or at the very least was texting me whilst on fire.

Mind you - we're used to having to go to Cedar Sinai, an excellent hospital in LA (if you're a celebrity that's where you give birth or overdose).  Much like a swanky Hollywood nightclub, it's delightful once and if you get in - but in this case you get in right away only if you are a celebrity or you have lost a limb.  (I once sat in the waiting room for 6 hours with a kidney stone, passed it, and then left without being seen).  So hospital options definitely puts one up on the scoreboard for living outside of Hollywood.

So I left my Grandma at the ER (again, she's fine), drove the now 2 hour drive to get home, let the dogs peediddle, did 10 seconds of work and got dressed.  Then Bub and I went to a ghetto fabulous urgent care which was empty, the Doctor was lovely, the whole thing took an hour and they sent him home with some pain pills... Looks like  he probably is having a kidney stone, won't know until he gets an ultrasound tomorrow.

Sidenote:  yes, feel bad for him, poor Bubba.  Also know that G-d is smiting him for when I have had kidney stones, and he looked at me and said "do we really have to go to the hospital?"

So Jenny is now an expert in the many shades of healthcare available in the greater Los Angeles area.

Ladies!  I am tickled pink that so many people have requested the questionnaire from EmHart & myself.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about - Miss Em and I are working on a screenplay and need your help - click here.

And now for some good vibe requests.

This is Jenn who we all know I have a lesbian crush on.  She has had a little scare with her pregnancy and is finding out what's going on tomorrow.  Visiting her and sending good vibes is wildly encouraged.

This is LeslieGail, who is one of my newer lesbian internet crushes.  She is lovely.  Her pregnancy is coming to an end, which is devastating and good vibes are also wildly encouraged.  

As if that weren't shitty enough, her Doctor acted like a huge, unbelievable asshole and I have been enraged all day on her behalf. So enraged that I'm wondering what can be done about this kind of situation?  Just review someone like that online, send a letter on her behalf?  I'm not sure.  Leslie wrote him a well thought out eloquent letter in response to it - which shows what a lovely and mature person she is.. I would've been  halfway through peeing on the roof of his car before it occurred to me there may be a better way to handle it.

I understand that there a large quantity of asshole Doctors out there with absolutely zero bedside manner - which makes me appreciate the wonderful ones holding down the fort even more.  I also understand that some of our demands and expectations can be stressful - it's a stressful situation.

But understanding?  Required.  It is fucking outrageous that there are RE's who do not understand that what is a 15 minute discussion in their day which they will quickly move on from has the power to completely destroy a womans already fragile mental state. 

There is, of course, a shit ton of bad news that has to be delivered to women from these offices on a daily basis.  But an RE allowing his frustrations or personal shit to color how he delivers the information is unacceptable.  For you, a bad day or temporary frustration is something that you will get over in a day or two - however, for that woman, however you handle the delivery of that information has the potential to traumatize her.

Jesus.  Maybe their needs to be a site exclusively dedicated to rating RE's and their bedside manner.  It maybe wouldn't save us a lot of grief but it would certainly help us decide who we want with us when we're grieving.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Give Us Your Brain Goo

Hello, ladies!

I was planning on going more into detail about this today but I am taking an unexpected (seriously found out about it 10 minutes ago) trip.

The jist.

We had a discussion a bit ago about how we the IF community are poorly represented in film - we're usually glossed over, and we're usually horribly depressing.

One of my lovely lesbian internet lovers and I, Miss EmHart, are going to attempt to tackle this issue by writing a script.

We need your help.

As she has put it in super pleasing and explanatory way, I'm gonna ask you to click here to figure out how to get involved.

And then I'm going to harass you about it tomorrow.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Talking to Mirrors

It's Friiiiiiiday!

I don't know why on Earth I should be excited about that, as my weekend will kick off with spending a ludicrous amount of money to have restaurant food delivered to me just so I don't have to go out, and end with cleaning my house so that I can actually get shit done next week.  But nonetheless - Bub and I will be in the same place for 48 hours and I'll have someone to answer my ridiculous questions as they pop up.

Yesterdays:  do you think dogs vote?  It's a valid question.  There are two humans, two dogs and a cat in this house and I assure you the dogs have no idea that we were dealing with an election.  (Though I can also assure you, had they known, they would have barked for Obama.  They are two black lesbians, after all). I don't see why it's not entirely possible that when Phoebe runs up to our gate and seemingly barks at the trash can that that's actually her pre-designated voting booth for mayor of dogtown.


There once was a man at a party who tried to hit on my husband and then steal his shoes.  We are now friends because that is how I roll.  He posted this to my facebook wall yesterday, I clicked to see what it was as I was getting my shoes on, and quite literally fell off my couch from laughing.  Enjoy.

As it is the month of November, a time to be thankful, some bloggy things that I am thankful for.

I cannot believe I haven't thanked her for this yet (in my defense, I thought I had and then realized this morning nope, nope you didn't because you were having problems signing into her blog).  Apropos of just her being awesome, Ms. Sunshine over here sent me a care package, complete with smarties (all gone) and a chap stick with a monkey on it that I pull out regularly to talk to.  Ms. Sunshine, you made my day.  Thank you for making my tummy happy and for my new best moisturizing monkey friend.

Thank you for all the lovely comments on my post about my Dad.  It makes me happy to think it spoke to anybody who has lost a parent or knows someone who has.  You know I'm not one for goop and introspection usually, so it's a little weird for me to have stuff hanging out like that.  Thank you for being so kind.

Some of ya'lls nominated me for the Liebster Award.  Amazing.  (Also, and I can say this because Bub is German, I love how even happy words in German sound a little hostile).  I can't explain to you how tickled I am when people seem to appreciate my blog.  It seems a lot of people have been nominated for this - so instead of re-nominating you, I'm thinking of every once in awhile on here doing an entry strictly on a blogger that you should be reading and why.  Ich liebe dich.

And somehow - somehow! - my list of followers seems to have crossed the 100 threshold this last week.  I am simultaneously giddy and wondering how many of you should be heavily medicated.

I swear - when I started this blog I thought it was just going to be me, talking to myself about my uterus and occasionally throwing in the unrelated rant.  Seeing as how I do this every day in my mirror anyhow, I thought, what would be the harm in doing it online?

But no, instead I have gotten to meet some badass chicas who are always so funny, thought provoking and kind.  I was expecting to talk to mirrors, and in the way of mutual experience I kind of am - only the mirror has opinions and her own brand of hilariousness and kindness that I could not expect.  (And those of you mysterious ones who don't comment - please insert yourself into my life as it makes it harder to hit on you inappropriately if you don't).  Thank you for taking an interest in my weird little life.  I am so thankful for you.

And as getting sappy makes me uncomfortable, let's just say...  Boobies.  Poop.  Fart.

Oh!  I did solve the economic crisis yesterday, it's a super awesome plan.  Ready?

Three words:  Gay. Bridal. Registry.

BOOM.  Solved.

**Edit - also strangely enough I checked my traffic for the first time in forever and I'm getting a bit of traffic from Facebook?  Anyone know what that is?  (Don't get me wrong - I am delighted that anyone would be linking to me anywhere - just curious.. Other than you Jenn who I know did but it doesn't look like you... And Jenn, that one guy who commented on it... My word, my word...)

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

To Dad

This Sunday, the 11th, would have been my Dad's 67th birthday.

I'm writing this on the 7th because to tell you the truth, I'm not so sure if I sat down on Sunday and tried to get through it I would be able to, and I want to put something out in the ether about this man that you unfortunately will never get to meet.

He passed away from cancer on my Mothers birthday, May 4th, in 2003.  It's been nine years and counting - and my brain still can't seem to wrap around the fact that that number is only going to get bigger.

His birthday falls on Veteran's Day here in the U.S.  For some strange reasons, I happen to have eaten my lunch about a dozen times in my life next to the Vietnam Memorial in D.C. to people watch.  Most of the time people are just walking by it, sometimes they stop to take pictures, sometimes they stop and look at it for a moment before moving on to chasing pigeons.  More than once, however, I've seen a grown man walk up to the wall like he were approaching a casket at a funeral, clutch it to steady himself and burst into tears.

That's how I feel about my Dad's death.  Most people don't know anything about it, a chosen few were aware of it and moved on to the point where it's just occupying a dark shelf in the back of their minds.  For me, I've seen too much and I remember it all.  If I think about it too hard the Earth becomes unsteady, and as long as I live he'll never be another name or a statistic that I can easily pass by.

Watching cancer is to watch a monster.  It's like your loved one has turned to sand by the ocean, and as sure as you can measure the ticking of a clock you watch the ocean rise up and slowly take little bits of them away, one wave at a time.  In the moment you don't even care where 'away' is, because all you know is that it's not with you.  You're overwhelmed with the sense that they're communing with something you can't see, something you've forgotten and they're remembering.

Losing a parent is something I know some of you know plenty about.  And I'm sure I can speak for all of us who are a part of that particular horrid club, it's not one you imagine being a member of quite so young (I joined at 21).  It's both a comforting and horrible fact to know that eventually, everyone will be a member.  They'll all feel differently about it when it happens, but everyone will eventually understand.

My Dad was the strongest person I've ever, or will ever know - physically, emotionally, you name it.  I know those just seem like words that people say - but believe me, he's the strongest person a lot of people have ever known.  The only ever time I genuinely saw him break down was when he was sick and apologizing to me for ever putting me in the position to experience losing him. (And while I genuinely hate having lost him, I am nothing but grateful for every moment I had him - 21 years with him was a thousand times greater a gift than a lot of people have in a lifetime with a father).

For me, joining the loss club meant realizing that the center does not hold, that anything and everything can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye.  Everything, everywhere, ends.  And as anyone in our infertility club will tell - the hardest part of loss isn't necessarily forcing yourself to go on with your life, but it's in re-entering the normal world and realizing that people just kept on living theirs after everything was taken away from you.  The world did not stop nor is it going to be any gentler with you because yours did.

My husband missed meeting my Dad by 8 months.  When people ask how I knew that Bub was 'meant' for me, part of my response is always that he had lost his Dad at the exact same age as me (to the month) and that he was the first person who told me it was going to be okay who I could believe. He's also a man in every sense of the word, much as my Father was. Had they met, they would have loved each other.

Of course I want to talk about my Dad's life and what a good person he is - but as any of you who have had a miscarriage will understand, even when you try to focus on the beginning or the middle of a story, when it's a sad one the end always has a way of finding you.

My Dad was kind of hysterical.

He wasn't like me in the outgoing kind of way.  He was thoughtful, and chose his audience but when he had one, he was hysterical.

He would persistently suggest whenever a boy came over to my house that he was going to put on his neon shorts from the 80s, his Stetson hat and cowboy boots.  Occasionally he would come find me in the house wearing that outfit and do a little jig.

If we were driving (and it's a known fact that he was the worst driver) and I wasn't paying attention, he would scream out of nowhere "Jenny!  Jenny!  LOOK! LOOK! OH MY G-D!".  I would yell "WHAT?!" in a panic, and then he would casually point out the window and say "a tree".

Whenever I would leave the house he would say, word for word, "look both ways before crossing the street and watch out for people running red lights".

Once, in a blizzard, he walked a mile just to get me tampons.

Apropos of nothing, he would make a point of every few days hugging me, kissing me on my cheek and saying "you make it all worth while".

He never talked down to me about anything - politics, sex, my ridiculous teenage problems or whatever random Jenny thought I had.  Not once, in my entire life, did he ever make me feel like anything other than charming, capable, smart and loved.

He taught me that defensive driving is the way to drive.

He taught me that there are people on this planet who can eat beets raw (disgusting but true).

He taught me that I'm capable of outfoxing any man at anything.

He taught me that the people who run around screaming "you should be afraid of me!" are never the ones you should actually be afraid of, but the ones to be pitied.

He taught me that there are moments in this life that require absolute seriousness, and so when there's a moment that doesn't, you shouldn't take it so seriously.

He taught me that I am a force to be reckoned with - to this day when things get hard I think "Jenny, Dad would've had the utmost confidence that you can handle this".

He taught me so many things that if I spent my time thinking about why I have made any choice in my life, Dad would always be somewhere in there.

One thing he could never quite convince me of in life is country music.  He was more of a CCR, Rolling Stones kind of guy, but he did have a tendency to sing "On the Road Again", and tried many times to convince me of the validity of Mr.'s Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash.  I remained unmoved.

After he died I had a hard time letting myself get truly emotional about it - it's just not my way. I think both of my parents would prefer it if I didn't try to be strong all the time and just let things out, but that was especially true of my Dad. A little bit after he died, someone showed me this Johnny Cash video.  I burst into genuine tears, felt every bit of it all at once and thought "damnit, you win".  (Watch, it's beautiful).

So for you, Daddy.

And I would trade every last bit of my empire of dirt for just one more day with you.

Put Your Head to My Breast

Oh, ladies.  Oh ladies.

If we were all in the same room together, I would squeeze the hell out of you in a bear hug and then when your guard was down stick my tongue in your ear.

I am so happy, across the board.

First and foremost, my President, Mr. Barack Obama was re-elected.

On behalf of the gays, uteruses everywhere and my darling European friends, I would like to thank the HELL out of everyone who went out and voted, with particular emphasis on people who waited in line for hours to do so (seriously... now would be the time to ask me for sexual favors).

That being said... You know how I feel about LGBT rights, and in case you didn't get some of the 'smaller' news regarding yesterday's election, some other awesome highlights:

  1. The first openly gay person was elected to senate in Wisconsin.
  2. Maine and Maryland (whoop whoop Maryland!), and now Washington made gay marriage legal.
  3. They of the recent rape comments, Akin and Mourdock, were beaten quite rightly.  (Hey, ladies, I guess we can shut that shit down!)
I am so fucking proud, not to mention relieved this morning, that my biggest problem today apart from trying to clean up my husband's celebratory beer bottles is trying not to verge on smug.

(I am stealing these pictures today from the lovely Bridget.. Bless her heart for voting blue in a red state).

Yesterday morning I was saying I was going to try to do some work, and not watch the news all day.  By yesterday evening, my eyes were bloodshot from alternating between the TV and the internet without blinking and my finger was stiff from hitting the 'refresh' button.  I had to remind myself over and over again that it's like this every election - it looks bleak for democrats at first because the red states are counted first.  

My hometown is D.C.  As I've explained before - D.C. is actually a tiny freckle of a city, and most of us who say "D.C." are from southern Maryland or Northern VA (NOVA). I'm from NOVA and I, she of the robotic emotionless heart, cried in 2008 when VA went blue.  This year it was again considered a swing state - and it was a fucking white-knuckle situation over here in Stork Town reading the facebook newsfeeds and seeing all my VA friends in line for hours trying to vote.  I kept saying it was going to go blue again this year and even with Bub doubting my brilliance, I was right.  (Okay - that was smug).

If you look at the state getting counted - it looks like tiny blue specks at the top of a sea of red.  But everyone lives where the tiny specs are, and while some of those giant red counties certainly have a fair share of peeps, some of them I'm pretty sure consist of just maybe one man and his pet goat.

I also may or may not have been forced - forced I tell you! - to participate in an online argument.

Okay, so I would never ever participate in a completely pointless online discussion.  I wouldn't.  Sure, I occasionally look at the mind numbingly stupid comments on political articles, but I would never jump in.  There's no point.

Allow me to insult myself a little to avoid being thought of as smug - I have Rodney Dangerfield-esque bug eyes, my hair will always be bozo-like, and if you threw a ball at me not only would I not catch it, I would duck and most likely squeal. 

That all being said, my one usually useless gift is being 'witty' or doing a decent job at putting words to things.  99.99% of the time I choose to use this gift for good, but on the rare and I feel called-for occasion, I can use this gift for evil.  (I would like to point out that by 'witty' and using it for 'evil', I do not mean just hurling insults).

What are the occasions I would use this gift for evil?

Gay rights.  I refuse to allow this to be a discussion anymore.  (Did anyone see that Louis CK skit on SNL where he's doing stand up as Lincoln, and says how much he hates having to talk to slave owners, and to pretend like he can kind of see it their way?)

Also, if you are a friend of someone I care about and the two of you get into an argument, I will stay out of it because it's none of my business.  If you completely go over the line and make them not so much angry, but feel like shit about who they are as a human being, I will claw your fucking eyes out.  (Never fear ladies, you're in the 'people I care about' category).

Mr. T, the best friend, is gay, married to a man, and one of the kindest (and cattiest - this is what makes him brilliant) people you will ever meet. He put up a very innocent status on Facebook yesterday to the affect of "Why don't people in places like Kentucky seem to understand civil rights?"

A 'friend' of his jumped in and she said a few words on the subject.  The first few I would've stayed out of - "I'm sick to death of people lumping me into that category just because I vote Republican".  Sure, okay, I'll stay out - I can see how that would be frustrating.  Then she says "I'm sorry but my finances are just way more important than making gay marriage legal.  You'd feel different if you had a family".

(Let's all pause a moment and appreciate the hypocrisy in that statement).

Cut to me ripping off my weave, taking out my earrings and putting on my brass knuckles.  A few of the gays and I jumped in, and being the only straight person I started out by assuring Mr. T that there's no fucking way my finances are more important than his whole life, and while there are so many laws restricting him from even having his 'own' family, he sure as shit still has one and We. Are. PISSED. 

She then proceeded to crawl up her own ass in response, and say that this is why she didn't get into any discussions on the matter because people just think their beliefs are more important than hers.

My friends rights are more important than your beliefs.

To explain this in the most extreme way possible, I use the slavery analogy.  (Yes it's extreme, but it's the one everyone thankfully gets.  If you just use women or gay rights at face value - I mean, throw in a vagina or some fellatio and people get confused).

To those of us in support of gay rights, saying you are voting for a candidate who is openly against gays altogether simply because you believe he has a better economic plan (and thankfully, I don't, which makes shit easier) is like saying to your slave friend "Hey, it's nothing against you - I have a lot of friends who are slaves - it's just I really believe in this whole cotton thing".

So for people this morning who are confused about why someone like me can't vote for someone like Mitt Romney, let me make it clear - it's the social issues.

(Again stolen from the lovely Bridget).

Again let me say that I don't personally think this man had a better financial plan (or a plan, for that matter) but even if I thought he had a slight edge in that category, he and his friends have made it impossible - I repeat, impossible - for 'someone like me' to vote for him.

I want you to have the right to be icked out by gay sex.  Shit - one of my favorite games is 'what would it look like if these people had sex?' and 75% of the time with gay or straight people, I get icked out and question why I continue to wonder these things in the first place. (The other 25% of the time though....)

I also want you to have the right to be disgusted by abortions.  Do it!  Think it's wrong, yell about it, read articles that claim fetuses are a key ingredient in Pepsi.  G-d knows I need an abortion like I need a hole in the head and I have no freaking clue what I would do if I had an unwanted (ha!) pregnancy.

But I am not for telling anyone they can't get married because I'm icked out.  I'm not for telling anyone they can't have an abortion because I wouldn't.  You don't want a gay marriage?  Don't get in one.  (They're crazy though.. I'm looking at you, Sunny and Emhart).  Don't want an abortion?  Don't get one.

And while I don't agree with Romney's financial 'plan' (which again makes shit easier - much like boycotting Chik-fil-a was easy because their food is atrocious) but 'people like me' couldn't agree to something that involved sure-fire better finances in exchange for our friends' lives.

Even if there was a guy saying my IVF could be paid for as long as I agreed to let Mr. T be a second class citizen, or tell other women what to do with their uterus, I wouldn't have the stomach for it.

So please oh please, if this morning you're surprised more of us weren't converted and are wondering how exactly to fix that four years from now, take the social shit off the table.

Okay, I vented.  I feel better.

My most optimistic hope for the next four years is that we can stop talking about social issues that I promise you are going to be humiliating in a few years, stop voting on people's genitals in general, stop assuming that I'm a 'moron socialist' looking for handouts, and do our very best to accept that black is as about American as it gets.

Just trust me, from the mouth of a true liberal, I would love nothing more - nothing more! - than for my biggest concern to be the economy.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

I Voted, I Voted, I Voted

I got my ass up this morning, I got Bub's ass up this morning, and off we went to our local polling place.

This is the first year, mind you, that we have been voting in the appropriate place - the last couple of years we've still had to go to Hollywood to vote.  So this was the first time I got in and out of voting in less than two hours (it took maybe 20 minutes).

But it was 8 in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, and crowded!  And we're in California... It's basically a line for everyone to say to the country 'no seriously, we're liberals'. So G-d bless everyone in swing states right now, hot damn... I'm looking at you, Virginia, make me proud.

I'm also, for the first time ever, registered under my new, ridiculous, no-chance-in-hell anyone in the state other than Bub has the same last name.  So much easier.  (For the record, I've been married 6 years and it took me 5 to change it for no other reason than that's how much I hate going to the social security office).

I finished before Bub did, snuck up behind him voting in a large crowd and whispered "the answer is 7..."  Normally I do this when he's working, and apparently he does not find it helpful in voting, either.  Harumph.

And as you can see from my growing sticker collection in our bathroom, it also means we have been in this house for 3 years:

I originally thought I would post about the election after it was done, but some thoughts whilst we are still all hopeful and hopped up on patriotism:

1.  Delighted to see that Facebook is full of people having happily voted.  The cool thing, also, seems to be complaining about all the election statuses.  We're all sick of it, but come on.  I don't know that flooding my newsfeed with "I'm so sick of it" posts is any less irritating than the political ones.  And if we take away irritating facebook statuses... for me that would be babies, sports, and weirdly vague statuses pointing to some sort of emotional trauma you're having but don't want to share.  So that leaves... 5 people.

And as I said on Facebook - if you're sick to death of political posts consider what it's like, year round, for those of us not into sports.  At least when this is over there won't be yet another election starting in a few weeks just with different uniforms and a different sized ball.

2.  Just a thought -  there's been a poll running around that says 20 out of 21 other nations polled would vote Obama in.  In case you were about to think it, I don't think countries like France want Obama to be elected so they can take us over and jail us for thinking about Christmas. As I - read?  watched? - somewhere, if you try on a skirt and 20 of your friends say "that skirt sucks you should really wear the other one" chances are that would at least give you pause. (Also - I interpret this to mean "if you're unhappy the man hasn't cured cancer fast enough, perhaps the solution isn't voting back in cancer").

3. Specifically, I voted for my patootie and yours.  (As in - invite who you would like into your vaj or not, evict who you would like from your vaj or not).

4.  I'm going to pretend like I'm not going to spend the whole day watching news.  Honestly, if there was some way to knock me out until tomorrow morning.. Mostly because I'm not sure what's worse, getting bad news all at once or slowly watching bad news strangle the life out of hope.  (If infertility has taught me nothing else, it's to lean towards all-at-once... and yet, I will watch all day either towards slow-relief or slow-fear).

5.  Tomorrow I will be relieved and delighted, or hostile. And whichever way that goes, there will be people who feel the exact opposite way as me.  If you really want to be worried about obnoxious facebook statuses - think about what tomorrow will bring.

And in the event you want a distraction from all the chaos and you missed my post yesterday - go check out my little sister's blog.  She's amazing (and thus I voted on behalf of her young patootie, as well).

Monday, November 5, 2012

But Seriously, Don't Get Murdered

Happy Monday, my darlings.

The one positive thing that comes of being sick over a weekend is that I get to rule over Netflix streaming.  

Netflix is my homegirl.  She knows that I enjoy depressing political documentaries just as much as I do Ron Burgundy (and she cheats on me a little by suggesting G-d awful computer nerd documentaries for Bub). Only because I was pathetically sickly (and Bub was working in the other room) did I get to enjoy my horribly depressing documentaries in peace.

Cut to me watching "Children Underground".  Basically, to bulk up the working class not-too-many-moons ago a dictator in Romania made abortions and birth control illegal.  Now (or at least in 2001) there are horrendous amounts of homeless children living together in subway stations (imagine little orphan Annie if you took away the singing and made her huff paint).  It's all subtitled, depressing, and not the thing I need to be watching before this particular Tuesday.  This led to Bub looking up from his computer screen long enough to shout "Jesus, woman, I can't even understand a word they're saying and I'm depressed".

And on that note - your manly fact for Monday, Bubba is the worst nurse, like, ever.

Granted, I am not always the easiest patient.  I have no idea why, but if you give me a large mountain to climb physically or emotionally I will instantly turn into robo-woman, start playing eye-of-the-tiger in my head and get. that. shit. done.  (Case in point - if you count egg retrieval, I've had 3 surgeries in the last seven months and tossed in an HSG just for funsies.  Didn't bat an eye).

That being said, should I injure my thumb cleaning a wooden spoon - as I did a couple of weeks ago - this will lead to me thrusting said thumb under Bub's nose saying "I don't believe you're not more appreciative of the fact that I'm practically dying".

So my illness this weekend may or may not have resulted in me hurling my face into his lap in the least sexy way imaginable and saying "No, seriously.. Go on without me, live your life.. But should you insist on getting re-married when I'm gone, please make sure that woman always feels second best to the saintly dead wife and don't let that bitch touch any of my stuff".

Sidenote:  my Grandma has a clause in her will, apparently, that says that should my Grandpa get married after, woman number two is not allowed any of her stuff.  I'm with her.. Should I die I'm not going to say shit about 'get re-married and be happy'.  I want Bub to get all Biblical and hurl himself off a rock into a holy river.. is that so wrong?

In other news, several friends who I thought for sure would be murdered have not been.

Mr. T., the gay husband, has arrived back from a gay cruise for a few days before he gets travel crazy for shows.  Now, if we listen to the gospel according to Dateline (as I do) cruises are not in fact romantic getaways but where you go if you're trying to murder someone.  Seriously - every other weekend it's some newly widowed man-woman looking into the camera with a glint in their eye saying "prove it, asswipe, prove it". 

I made sure to point out before he departed that should his husband, or any guy for that matter, suggest a 3 AM stroll around the boat that he's not being romantic, he's trying to shove you off the side. (Even in Titanic, for chrissakes, Rose is clearly a murderer because if she really wanted to save Jack she could've have done something crazy like I don't know... shoved over on that door, a bit).  Pleased to announce that Mr. T is back on dry land.

My darling friend Jessica went to Paris, Spain... and a few less safe places.  Places where a woman needs to wear a Burka, and she has a mouth on her like I do.  (Suffice it to say I will be never going anywhere where a Burka is required.. because I would be murdered). She has arrived back in NY.  

Last but certainly not least, my snazzy bad ass sister-in-law, Bubella.  On Sunday morning Bubella left me a panicked (and hilarious) voice mail because she was home alone, she and a friend were upstairs, heard a noise, came down to investigate, and all the cabinet doors in her kitchen were open and stuff was moved around.  Turns out another friend had been dropped off in the morning, saw that the front door was unlocked, and played a trick on her (Bubella was home alone for the weekend). 

My first reaction was to laugh, and then I went into what the fuck are you doing with the front door unlocked?

Now granted, she lives in a good neighborhood but Bub and I's first apartment was a mile or two away - and in the ghetto.  Seriously.  I had neighbors slash my tires, there were break-ins, and every time I went to the local 7-11 I had a homeless man try to wedge himself into my car.

So I did my best to scare the crap out of her, and explain to her quite rightly that there are literally men in her neighborhood who drive around non-stop with their willies out, Friday through Monday, looking for teenage girls home alone.  And if I ever hear she forgets to lock the door again I'm going to come light her hair on fire.

Man, I'm such a good sister.  

As I have mentioned before - we have a friend relationship.  I'm not parental or authoritative in any way, unless of course she starts injecting heroin into her eyeballs. I figured long ago, should I not die a Burka-related death and poor Bub be forced to hurl himself off a rock, most of her life we're going to be adult-friends.  Case in inappropriate point, my handy work when she visited last summer:

That's a vulva with wings on her forehead in case you were wondering.

Could not love this girl more.  Oddly enough, if you count all my siblings - biological, in-law, whatever - I technically have 4 (all of whom could legally marry each other, by the way). Bubella is the only one I never shared any genes or upbringing with, and she is by far the one I am closest to and the most similar to.

My fantastic, wildly creative, unfuckingbelievable sister-in-law Miss Bubella has started a blog.  I'm so excited I don't know if I'll be able to stop shaking long enough to light her hair on fire if need be. Go, Read, Follow, Encourage, Tell her of the willie-men.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Dispatches from Death


It is the weekend, so the internet is going to be a sad abandoned carnival again... but as G-d is my witness, as soon as my weird little head cold retreats (don't worry kids, not pregnant, just some sort of black plague) I'm going to catch up on all my reading.  And writing.  And arithmetic.

I anticipate being up and running, and all up in your uteruses (uteri... uterus.. uteruses) with a flashlight at some point this weekend.  Should you be minding your own business on a weekend afternoon and suddenly feel your soul overwhelmed with sarcasm, the spirit of muppets and general shenanigans, that's me.  You should be creeped out.

And now, a few letters.

Dear Neighbors
On November 1st I was very excited when I woke up and heard moaning.  As I am a twisted pervert, one of the things I miss the most about apartment-living is hearing the neighbors' arguing, making whoopie, or doing both simultaneously.  

I was terribly disappointed, however, when I discovered that the moaning was coming from my very loud zombie woman decoration which I had apparently left on for 12 hours.  In her defense she only gets to let it all out once a year - but just the same, thank you for not egging our house.

Happily Eggless, For a Change.

Dear Trick-or-Treater dressed as Mitt Romney,
I'm sorry that my initial response was to be horrified, but it's Halloween.. right?  Isn't the object to scare me?
Be thankful I didn't deny you candy and then chase you down the street shouting about how asking me for treats leads to a culture of dependency. 

Genuinely Frightened

Dear Girl Dressed as Dumbledora-the-Explorer,
You win Halloween.  Maybe even life.

Shamefully didn't get it at first, blames headcold.

Dear Parents of Trick-or-Treaters,
A few things.  One, if you're in your 40s or above, I think it's safe to say you shouldn't be asking me to put candy into your plastic bag.

Two, though Kali is stunning and dressed in a SWAT outfit, please, Dads, do not take pictures of her.

Three, though it is Kali & I's third year of handing out candy together, we are not your friendly neighborhood lesbians.  Again, easy on the pictures.  Admittedly it's unfortunate that a hoard of you walked up as I was pretending to lick the candy and she was grabbing my boob, but it's all very innocent.

My husband is not the pimp you think he is

Dear Bub's White Blood Cells,
Look, you're German.  You're supposed to have a crazed need for power and dominance.  I get it. I thoroughly appreciate that you knock out enough shit to not get him sick, but if you could also knock out those last little traces of awful so that I don't get sick, that would be great.  My white blood cells are Welsh.  They would like to be left alone to herd sheep or something, please.


Dear Bub's Tonsils,
I can appreciate that you are the one thing those badass German white blood cells can't fix. You need to come out, I get it.  But it's like sleeping next to an angry bear.  An angry bear with a chain saw.  An angry bear trapped under a boulder whose only means of escape is cutting off his own leg.  If I could rip you out with my barehands without hurting Bub or having to wear him as a glove for all eternity, I would.