Strawberry Funk

It. Is. Thursday.

May yours be full of glitter and unicorn farts and topped with a generous helping of awesome sauce and a sprinkle of fuck yeah.

Just wanted to say really quick - this blog is my crack den of free therapy and you are the coke I get to snort off of a hookers teet. Therefor it should go without saying, that if all goes well I will not be doing the ole "well, fixed that problem so peace out, suckas!". Nor will I hold it against you if you have to take a step back from me a bit or a lot at any time, and if you're on the fence about it - let me just say I don't want to sit at the freaking fertile table at lunch.  Also, I am unsure how much I will be talking about pregnancy on here but I can tell you that for now it may be a lot because I'm nervous, but once that subsides a bit when I do talk about it it will be in the manner I talk about everything else which is 90% totally freaking ludicrous. And that's all she wrote for now.

My betas went swimmingly - at 12 dpo (7dp5dt) it was 44, 14 dpo 135, 16dpo 386.

Today I am - and I can't believe I am saying this - 5 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I am nervous and grateful and nervous and excited and nervous.

...And nervous.

I know what you're thinking - 'just enjoy it you asshat!' because this is what I would have been yelling a few weeks ago. And I'm trying to.. I'm trying to.  I'm trying to live every moment as though its soundtrack was a super duper relaxing 70s funk song.

(No joke - I was up for two hours in the middle of the night with that song stuck in my head, being further and further enraged that there's no explanation as to why it's called strawberry letter 23 WHEN THEY KEEP SINGING 22. No I was not high though that would greatly help my nerves at this point).

I'm trying to be a groovy, groovy bitch and I am about 60% of the time.  The other 40% is spent worrying what will happen if I allow myself to be totally happy.

I go from feeling like a giggly creature high off the ole strawberry funk to totally overwhelming anxiety.  Pretty damn quickly.

(Source)

I just wonder when it lifts - when the worry lifts and it feels real.  When the overall worry will lessen enough for me to mostly feel the happy.

And before you get totally irritated with me - I am SO happy and so fucking grateful there are no words for it.  I just want to feel it fully without being a superstitious ass about it and get it through my thick skull I won't get punished for enjoying the happy.

I have to be better about letting myself feel happy because right now, in this moment, I am pregnant.  I've been waiting for this for so long, and damnit I'm going to enjoy it.

I occasionally shout to my husband (full decibel) THERE'S A PERSON IN HERE.  Mostly because that doesn't fully register with ME.

There's a PERSON IN HERE. I have to try to relax and enjoy that shit because by the beard of Zeus, after 4 years there is, as of this moment, a PERSON IN HERE.

Tomorrow is my first ultrasound - I'll only be 5 weeks 2 days so they'll just be looking for a sac (or sacs).

I promise to become a much more interesting person once this worry subsides a little.

Keep a toe or two crossed for me - I shall update tomorrow.

Until then, you stay funky internet.

Blogoversary

Today my blog is a year old.

I can't believe it's been that long, and I also can't believe I hadn't been doing it longer.  Mostly it's my anniversary with you, so a few thank yous are in order.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for commenting.

Thank you for lurking.

Thank you for being pissed when I'm pissed, tickled when I'm tickled, and baffled when I'm baffled.

Thank you for laughing with me.

Thank you for chiming in when I rant.

Thank you for sending good vibes to a stubborn uterus, and rooting for me even when I don't have the energy to.

Thank you for the kind words.  Especially the ones that have told me I would make a decent Mom, the ones that have made me blush about my writing abilities, the ones that said 'nah, girl, you're not crazy, I think that's hilarious too.'

Thank you for letting me rant and rave, blaspheme, use the F word a record number of times, feel sorry for myself, find the humor in the usually humorless, and not hold back.

Thank you for being receptive and supportive in every blogpost, whether it's serious or simply arguing my case in the Ryan Reynolds vs. Ryan Gosling debate (which may, despite it's total lack of depth, be my favorite post ever mostly for the insane comments).  (And I  forgive you if you side on Reynolds... mostly).

Thank you to the people who started reading from the beginning, thank you to the ones who just started, and thank you to everyone in between.

On day one minute one of blog writing, I was in a rough spot and starting this blog helped me drag my ass out of it. 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think anyone would want to read the sometimes uterine-related rants of a mad woman (but mostly just the unrelated ramblings of a mad woman). Through this blog and finding others, I've virtually met so many wonderful people (and a few in real life) and for that I am so thankful.

Thank you for letting me into your lives and for being a part of mine.  You have been more helpful and inspiring than I could ever communicate, and you all should know by now I have a tiny, mechanical, untouchable robot heart. This is quite the feat. 

The fertility blog world is just one, giant, wonderfully loving monster that existed long before me and I'm thankful it has tolerated my tiny, insignificant ass for this long and in such a receptive way. 

(source)

So happy anniversary to us.  If you lived any closer, I'd be taking you out for a steak dinner and giving you the really, really good sex tonight.

Bystanders

Happy Wednesday, warrior-wombed.

I am, yet again, at the mercy of the a/c man.  Today is the day he will come and make my breezy dreams finally come true.  That's one trip for diagnosing, one trip for removing giant hunk of metal treason, one trip for replacing.  Did I mention because of conflicting accents that I can't understand a word he's saying, and he can't understand a word that I'm saying?  If this were housewife porn we'd be off to a very rough start.  And seeing as how a giant tumbleweed of dog hair just blew past me I can safely say I would be the world's worst housewife, so no porn angle is a little limiting.

I'm sure everyone is aware of what's happened in Ohio on Monday, but seeing as how I can't be sure how much coverage this is getting outside of the U.S., I'll give you the jist.

Three women in Ohio went missing, separately, 10 years ago - two were minors and one was 20.  On Monday evening, a man was outside of his house and heard a woman screaming next door.  Upon further inspection he saw that it was a young woman holding a child, trying to escape his neighbors house.  So that man, Charles Ramsey, broke down the door and called 911.  He thought he was intervening in a domestic abuse incident, and it turns out he was helping to free three women - and a resulting toddler - from the captivity they'd been held in for ten years by three brothers.

First, let's all take a minute and think about what a freaking miracle at the end of horror this is.  Horror because I think this sort of thing happens a lot more than we think it does.  Horror because we can only imagine what those women have gone through.  Miracle because when I hear about someone going missing for ten days, that dark part in the back of my head thinks 'what are the chances they're still alive?'.  These women resurfaced after ten years, and just a few miles from where they went missing.

Second, can someone buy this man a beer?  Free McDonalds for life?  A pony?  Something?

If you've watched or read interviews with this man, he is definitely rough around the edges.  So naturally, seeing as he's a black man combined with the fact that he's not pretentious, some of the interwebs is making fun of him and saying he's going to be the next Antoine Dodson (of 'hide you kids, hide yo wife' fame).

(Sidenote:  Antoin Dodson has now renounced his homosexuality.  I have no words... Hide your wives?)

Ummm, no.

This man was a bystander that sprung into action.  It would have been the much easier, much more popular route to take to simply go inside and 'mind his own business'.  Thinking it was just going to be an instance of domestic abuse - which is famously ignored a lot of times - he got involved.  He helped the woman before he even had time to think how it would affect him.  If part of his brain wondered if right behind the girl there was going to be an angry man with a gun, and I'm sure it did, he didn't listen to it and a lot of people would have.

And now that he knows what he did was not just the 'typical' domestic abuse incident in a bad neighborhood?  He doesn't even want the reward.

No one should give a shit about how he 'presents himself' and just be figuring out how to present him with a round of drinks, and pray for neighbors this good.

When I lived on the east coast, I volunteered with a rape response organization.  We dealt with women directly after their assault, and accompanied them to the hospital.  From my experience with that I can tell you that it is frightening how often someone has the opportunity to intervene, call 911 - do something - and doesn't do it out of fear. In the self-defense classes we used to teach, one of the first things taught is if you're in trouble to yell "fire!" because "help!" people have a tendency to ignore.

And really, when things like this happen and you hear a story of someone being heroic, it's an opportunity to ask yourself and really think about what you would do. And be inspired to be a Badass free of Bullshit like the ridiculously charming Mr. Charles Ramsey.

(This one did give me an inappropriate chuckle, though...)

While we're on the subject I need some guidance, and ye whose lack of functioning wombs have been replaced with wild amounts of wisdom, will hopefully be able to help me figure things out.

On Monday I wrote about munchausen by internet, wherein a person keeps a fake blog for attention, usually full of horrible tragedy and unbelievable miracles.  The last two days my time usually reserved for dicking around the internet and watching cats behave cat-like has been replaced by gobbling up information on this phenomenon.

Here's the thing... At what point do you intervene with a blogger?  When do you go from being a reader to being a bystander?

If you come across a blog where a person is claiming to harm themselves or to be in some kind of situation where they're being harmed or harmful, is there really a difference between passing that blog by and passing by a similar person in real life?

Normally, when a story or concept gets me playing the 'what would I do?' game I'm pretty good at it.  I'm not a woman who waffles (though I do love me some waffles).  I know with a good deal of certainty that in the fight, flight or freeze scenario whether it's on my own behalf or someone else's, I fight.

But until the last couple of days, all of those scenarios involve something happening right in front of me, live and in HD.  Adding the internet to the situation throws me completely off.

If a woman was in front of me and making claims - however outlandish - of being beaten, tormented, abused or victimized, whether it be by herself or by others, my thought process would be what do to do help her, not whether or not I should.

If I came across a blog where the woman was making the same claims... this is where I get stuck.  If she's not asking for money, do you just leave her to it?

Even if you know the claims being made are more than likely untrue... what if you're right?  Girlfriend still needs help, and even if you walked away you don't know that other people won't become emotionally or financially invested.  Or worse - what if you're wrong?  I can't help but think that at that point you have now, albeit in the comfort of your own home wearing pajamas,  become the asshole on the news who walks past a woman passed out on the street.

Is there a difference between seeing something like that online and just quietly stepping away from the blog, and seeing something like that in real life and walking past it?  And if there is a difference, help me - what is it?

I think that the bright cornea-burning computer screen somehow takes the edge off of remembering that on the other side of what you're reading there are real people.  The security of being invisible as you pass through people's lives makes a whole lot of things possible.  It makes it possible for us to ignore things that we don't like, to make fun of people like Charles Ramsey, to look at the facebook pictures of that dick ex boyfriend you had in high school.

If you removed the computer aspect from people, very few would be able to walk by a woman screaming 'help I'm being abused! Pay attention to me!' even if you were pretty sure she was lying.  No one would have the balls to mock a guy who just did something completely heroic.  You would not be in your ex boyfriends bushes with binoculars (...hopefully not).

The internet gives us permission to do a lot of things, and I am mostly cool with that.  If someone's blog bugs me, I don't read it.  The unfollow button may be the greatest thing to happen to the internet since someone figured out how to upload videos of cats.

But in the online world, at what point does ignoring something make you complicit?  What's the line a blogger's toe would have to go over to make you want to figure out how to intervene?  And then, do tell, if you do find a blogger who is making outlandish claims and you find yourself wondering whether it's worse if she's lying or telling the truth, if you did want to do something... what exactly would that something be?

I'm thinking of the example (and subsequent blog) I read online, where a woman faked her cancer blog. Claimed she was dying, had been abused, had had suicidal thoughts.  The people who reached out and tried to help were screwed, because she was a fake.  The people that ignored it let those other people be screwed.  So what would have been the happy middle solution?  Would there have been one?

I in no way shape or form would want to go trampling in someone's life without permission.  Violation of privacy is a disgusting feeling, and I think we can all agree my specialty is more in the realm of inappropriate jokes.  I also know, however, that in real life I never want to be the person who regrets not doing something because it was 'none of my business'.  Does that translate to online though?  I don't know.  And how does the online world make it seem like it's really none of your business, even though I think we can agree part of the purpose of blogging is to have people read it?

The last couple of days of thinking about these things and all I've come up with is that if you throw in a computer into any given situation, I will freeze... and I'm not a freezer, ya'll, I'm a fighter.  Just tell me how.

Munchausen by Internet

Good morning, sunshines!

I sincerely hope your cinco de mayo has not transformed itself, this morning, into a cinco de uh-oh.  Fun fact from a former resident of Mexico:  no one celebrates or gives a shit about it there.  Cinco de Mayo is basically Mexican St. Patrick's day - just replace the leprechauns with donkeys in sombreros.... nonetheless I am in support of any holiday where animals wear hats and nachos are encouraged.

The weekend in the mountains with my Mom was hella relaxing, ya'll.  Thanks for all the loverly wishes - seeing as it's a day to both celebrate my Mom's birthday and mourn the fact that my Dad passed 10 years ago, it's a bit weird and tricky, and every year we sort of blindly grasp at how exactly to feel about it.  A game of pin the emotion on the sombrero wearing donkey, if you will.

I'm happy to report that pretty views, unbelievably fat squirrels, wine and the potential to get eaten by a large bear helped ease it quite a bit.  Be jealous:

Today I would like to talk about something weird and disgusting.  Either you're going to pass by this entry and think 'well that's weird', or if you're like me, one of those people that has to gawk at the accident on the side of the road, you're about to disappear into the internet for about 4 hours feeling equally intrigued and nauseous. Soooo yeah... I'm about to weirden up your day.

A few months ago I read this article.  Don't worry, I'll give you the jist, but holy shit me read it when you get the chance.

A lovely lady was diagnosed with breast cancer, and felt isolated and in need of support about her diagnosis.  She turned to blogging and, as you do, found ladies that were in her exact same position.  She also, without trying, found multiple people who were faking cancer, and blogging about it to get sympathy.

There are several examples of it in the article, but there was one that bit me on the ass harder than the rest.  A young woman in Texas made a tumblr blog about having AIDS and cancer when she was, in fact, perfectly healthy physically.  She went as far as to shave her head, fake seizures in videos, order feeding tubes and wheelchairs off of Amazon, receive hundreds of gifts from well wishers, etc.  She even conned some friends into changing her adult diapers.  (Let's all pause for a moment and let that sink in...).  Even though the article uses pseudonyms, it didn't take a lot of snooping to find the real blog.  When one of her friends found out what she was doing, she broke into the account and changed the password so that the blogger couldn't take down what she had done.

So when I found the blog a few months ago, I disappeared into it and read it from start to finish.  It is, suffice it to say, super disturbing... But if you're like me and want to look, I suggest reading from the beginning.  So click at your own risk.

Part of me wanted to write about it a few months ago, but I couldn't really find words.  Then yesterday this lovely lady (wanna find blogs you have mysteriously missed?  Join twitter) tweeted the article and after we started talking about it I was re-inspired to maybe open up the discussion on this sort of thing.

Soo... it's a completely icky thing to think about, I know.  I don't even like typing it, but my thinking that our little infertile corner is and will remain to be completely immune to this sort of thing, is probably me being optimistic and naive.  I mean, this is the internet. In regards to any other subject I logically understand that a good percentage of it is full of shit, and if there are 100 blogs about lady troubles one of those is going to be written by a bored, slightly disturbed middle aged man.  And yet somehow in regards to our type of blogging, I would still be shocked to find out that someone was full of doo doo.

For the record, I'm not really a blog unfollower.  Once I follow, I follow.  I think in a year I may have unfollowed twice and both were because the blogs turned into 99% religion and 1% infertility (with a religious twist).  It was just too much for me, and I didn't see a scenario where I would read with excitement and/or have a helpful comment, and probably more so I unfollowed because if they really started reading me back they would inevitably start a petition to have me burnt at the stake.  That's been the extent of my having to step back from any blogs that I read.

I have, however, had a few moments of the internet where I never engaged with an infertile at all because something struck me as off.

A long time ago, I happened to be perusing new blogs at Mr. T's house and happened to come across the blog of a pregnant infertile.  I read a little, and something about her story struck me in my gut as wrong and I couldn't really put my finger on it.  Then she posted a picture of herself 6 months pregnant, and I showed it to Mr. T and asked "does this look right to you?" and he said "that's not pregnant, that's just fat". That may sound judgey - keep in mind I'm a chubby girl, and my chubby assessment was that he was right.  Feed me a steak, give me an hour, I could recreate it myself.

I used to be a regular on one of the more popular trying to conceive forums.  Now, these are hugely helpful websites, especially this one... but more than once there was a girl who was very obviously full of shit, or whose sole purpose was apparently to stir shit up online.  (I can't, ya'll... I'm too exhausted for shenanigans.  My feeling is that if you find yourself using the word 'drama' on a regular basis, you're probably the cause of it).

And of the few times people have seemed not-quite-infertile in forums, I don't think it's a case of someone telling a lie to the internet - she believes she's infertile.  When I was an active user, every few months there would be a case of someone having recurring chemical pregnancies, and a gang of frustrated infertiles would whip themselves into a frenzy telling her it was impossible.  I had a 100% verified chemical pregnancy from IVF -  100% verified because they were monitoring me so closely.  I typically call it an early miscarriage because for a few days there I had the medical community's permission to be happy.  We can save the argument for another day, but it doesn't matter to me if a girl can actually prove to me that she's had a chemical pregnancy... I know that some people have had a ton of them, and some who believe they've had ten have never had one.  As someone who has definitely had one, I take no offense to the idea that she might be wrong if it's real to her.  And if it does irritate me, I just leave her to more understanding people.

My response on the very few occasions where a blogger or forum user (when I was one) seems fishy is to just not engage with that person or take a step back.  I have yet to be invested in someone and think 'wow this person is full of shit'.  I suppose if someone had a lot of people emotionally invested - and definitely if they had anyone financially invested - and I had proof that they were full of crap, I would say something.  As ballsy as I tend to be, though, part of me would hesitate in rounding up the pitchforks.

Why, you ask?

One, the easiest way to tell if someone is doing the whole munchausen by internet thing is if they fall victim to a series of tragedies... however a good percentage of infertiles, including  myself, have fallen victim to a series of tragedies - when it rains and all that.  I am a person whose history has some outlandishness to it.  I'm adopted and half of that story is coocoo.  The day I found out I had to have IVF, I came home and my cat died.  My Dad died on my Moms birthday, for chrissakes. Gawd knows some of us have recurring miscarriages and that is quite literally a series of tragedies.

Two, I would be hesitant to round up the townsfolk and battering rams unless I had more than just my gut feeling, because I'm not sure what I would do if someone said to me "I don't believe you are who you say you are!  Prove you're infertile!"  I mean, honestly... If someone were to leave that as a comment to this very blog post I'd be like... "Umm.. Dude, I dunno how to make you feel better about it... Come to Los Angeles armed with sperm, try to impregnate me, watch the ensuing meltdown?".  Seeing as I am infertile, I would be hap-hap-happy for someone to find a way to prove to me that I'm not one.  My entire infertile existence at the moment is dedicated to finding someone who can find a way to prove that I'm not one.  Make me a liar, Doctors!

Three, it's just sad.  Don't get me wrong it's totally fucking disturbing, but it's also... just sad.  I'm not sure how you go about dealing with someone in that kind of dramatic mental state without doing more damage.

Four, and this is going to sound wussy... I have stumbled across once or twice a blog where people are in love with the blogger, and I don't get it, it's just not for me.  It would never occur to me to stand up on a soapbox and say "hey, why are you all kissing this girls ass? Explain it to me". I just don't read it.  So if I just had a feeling in my gut about someone, I would be hesitant to stand up on my internet soapbox and say "hey guys, why are you all believing this?  Explain it to me." Mostly because I wouldn't want to be pitchforked myself (this is all assuming there's no request for 'donations' or anything.  I'll let people hate me for a few minutes if there's a possibility of saving them money).

From my disappearing into hours of reading about Munchausen by Internet, I've gathered a few things that make me feel a wee bit more confident about the possibility of a day when I'll have to ignore my hesitations.

One, if the person is full of doo-doo their series of tragedies will be incredibly outlandish and unrelated to each other.  And more than likely, it will happen at a time when someone else in their online circle is going through something real that may steal the spotlight from them for awhile.  There will be dramatic twists and turns, etc.  It won't just be that they got a flat tire, it will be that they got a flat tire because they had a seizure behind the wheel after swerving to stop themselves from hitting big foot. And most important, it'll happen a lot... Not just one dramatic thing a year, or a series of totally related dramatic things, but unrelated dramatic things happening to them all.. the.. time.

Two, the stories that they tell are usually fairly easily disproved with a wee bit of research.  My big point here is by all means if you have a gut feeling about someone, do some research.. but be armed with proof before you go dismantling someone.

Three, they are mentally disturbed.  We're supposed to respond firm and gentle with the purpose of getting the victims out of the situation, not with the purpose of harassing the perpetrator for initiating it.

Four, if you find a person like this more than likely their followers are going to be pissed with you at first if you're the one to hold up some proof.. Who wants to initially believe that someone would do something like that?  You'd be doing it not to build a gang and light torches, but to save some people time and energy once they've had time to process their initial response.  Personally if I was convinced enough of someone's falsehood, I would probably just privately email someone else in our community that I trusted, to have them verify to me that I wasn't being batshit before I went about trying to handle the situation.

So I've only had a few gut feelings about a few people in my entire online infertile experience... I've lucked out. So begins my internal discussion and my questions to you, what exactly are we supposed to do when this happens?  Has this ever happened to you?

The darling Rachel had the idea that maybe we should blog about this... Let me know if you do.  I'm just thinking maybe we should have the discussion, as icky as it is.

Sidenote:  I love me some catfish.  That show freaks me out and intrigues me to the point where if I watch too much of it I turn to Bubba, who I met partially on the internet, for reassurances that he's not in fact a portly middle aged man with a wife.

Twitch

This.  Is.  Thursday.

I spent the morning at a Doctor's office who didn't want to see my twat.  (Is it weird that upon entering an eye Doctors office out of habit I undressed and spread eagle immediately?  Somehow he found that weird).  Okay, he might have not seen my nooners but due in equal parts to my dress, static cling and wind, much of Hollywood Blvd did.  Welcome, tourists!

My eye has been consistently twitching for three days now.  No, but seriously - constantly twitching.  In my sleep, even.  In case you missed it I've also had Thriller stuck in my head for going on 8 days.  I haven't quite figured out what the connection is, but there is one.  A few more days and the twitch may evolve into a full blown, out-of-my-control Thriller dance.

So I spent my morning trying to convince him with wild hand gestures and general dramatics that I was clearly suffering some sort of stroke, had a series of undetectable brain tumors and/or that given my brain's choice in musical accompaniment this was the last phase before I'm full on zombie.  He was unmoved.  Something about stress and taking a chill pill in the form of a vitamin.

I purchased a fan as I am at the mercy of an air conditioning repairman who has ordered a part, which, naturally, happens right on the cusp of a heatwave and as there's a giant raging fire east of where I live.  It was the last fan of it's kind, and a woman was about to grab it, but in the vein of Louis CK I gave my best 'I'm taking this fan home, that's what's happening next, you decide if we're going to be on the evening news' look.  Heat makes Stork's plumage and crazy eyes poof out.  I now own a fan.

But look!  A pretty view of Hollywood from the waiting room.

This evening I will be packing whilst watching The Office.  (Yes, I know..... it's been terrible since Steve Carell left.  But if your friend says "I'm about to die a slow, painful death" you do not say "oh, okay, peace out I'd like to remember you as you were".  In the spirit of loyalty you have to watch until the sad, final twitch).

Packing for what, you ask?

Stork is going away with her Mom for the weekend.

My Mom's birthday is May 4th.  My Dad died on her birthday (yes indeed) and it will be ten years ago this Saturday.

If you are in the mood for a wee bit of grief porn, I wrote all about it here.  (You know what I mean by that.. How many times have I watched the sad YouTube videos of women going through IVF with the inevitable Coldplay song on in the background?  Answer:  A million.  Some days it's a good idea to soak in the familiar pain of others, some days it's not.  I'll let you decide what kind of day you're having). 

Suffice it to say my Mom's not a super fan of her birthday anymore.  This year she rented a cabin to get away and announced to me "I can totally go on my own, you know, I'm a big girl".  Right, Mom, I want to be the asshole on Dateline crying and seizing as I explain why I didn't just go with you.

So I am looking forward to a weekend relaxing my eye twitch away with my Mom.  In air conditioning.  Not in 97 degree heat.  I feel sort of bad that Bubba will be stuck here, sweating, taking the dogs out in the heat and enjoying the use of my fan until I get back and rip it from his grubby little hands... but not too bad.  I'm sure he and the animals will enjoy a weekend of being hopped up on pizza and beer and watching space documentaries. 

Wishing you all a loverly weekend free of twitches, unavoidable 80s songs and bad weather.

And PS - check this shit out!  I am just... humbled and honored and definitely buying myself that smoking jacket and monocle.

And PPS - okay so I blogged about that asshat who wrote on huffpo about how awful it was going to be to have twins.  Apparently a dad of twins responded (thank you for pointing it out, S!) My eye already feels less wonky.

And PPSSSSSSS - Okay I blogged some major grievances about my half sister, Summer, who is a pregnant moron.

A recap for new people - I'm adopted, I've met this girl in person once, our relationship is limited to messages and texts. She just left her husband at five months pregnant on account of his not putting ultrasound pictures on his facebook page.  Ahh, mature love.

So now she appears to be on some creepy app whose sole purpose is to find and then casually hook up with strangers.  Like grindr for straight people and with less nipples. Mind you, half of the photos in her 'mom to be' album are all pictures of her boobs (I know what you're thinking.. "oh she must mean accentuated boobs when she's showing off her belly".  NOPE.  Just her boobs) so it's not altogether surprising that these are, in fact, being used as a hook up profile picture.

How do I know all of this, you ask?  Well, every time she looks at the profile of some skeezy guy on this skeezy app, it apparently broadcasts the activity and profile to all her facebook friends including me.  So, for example, on my facebook newsfeed there is a picture of some clown with no teeth and it reads "Summer is checking out the hook up profile of Skeezy McGee".

If there is a gawd in heaven I have to believe this is unbeknownst to her.  So.. do I tell her?  Or is it more polite to pretend like it's not happening? Subquestion... How exactly do I word this without sounding judgmental?  Because that will be a struggle. Also can't fathom how awkward it would be if she in fact knows and doesn't care.

Also, at what point in arranging a random hook up with a random stranger do you slip in that you're five months pregnant and five days separated? Is that covered in baby books?

Join the Movement...

Greetings, cybervixens!

We are coming to you live from under a heating pad at House of Stork.  Seeing as how my body has failed to churn out a period in 3-4 months, I did the 10 day Provera/progesterone boogie and am now suffering the necessary consequences.

This week is NIAW.  Yes, I know the internet is full of acronyms but this one is important: National Infertility Awareness Week, April 21-27.

Resolve is one of the Mother Ships for Infertiles.  It is a non-profit organization for access, information, all the necessities for those of us who are fertility challenged.  And this week, being NIAW, they issued a blog challenge for bloggers to write about how they are affecting people's lives (including their own) in ways big and small when it comes to infertility.  (Click here if you want to participate, ya'll).

It's a week for dipping a tiny infertile toe out of the infertility closet, in hopes that someone will learn something from said toe.  A week to take our angry uteruses out for a spin, because girlfriend has been cooped up for far too long and probably has a lot of shit to say.

Hi, my name is Stork, and I am an infertile.

From looking at me you wouldn't know this.  Hell, from talking to me you might not even put together that I want kids - but I've been actively doing the baby dance for over three years now, and flirting with it from across the room for almost seven.

Whether or not I wake up in the mood for it, infertility is a part of my life Every. Single. Day.  Even at my most distracted, Hope and Sadness will both wriggle their way into my mind if only for a fleeting second.

Sometimes I try to strangle them.  Some days I shout about them (and seriously consider buying a megaphone). I always try to laugh at the situation - because let's face it, anything involving a wand wearing a condom whether it be Infertility or a Harry Potter fetish porn can be funny - but sometimes I still end up crying.  This afternoon, as I said to someone earlier, what I would like to do is smash Hope and Sadness into a tiny little ball, wedge that ball into the pit of my stomach and then throw some pancakes on top of it.  That's how I'm feeling about it today, and I make no promises or guarantees as to how I'll deal with it tomorrow.

I don't think it's fair for me to say that I created a supportive community for myself when it comes to my malfunctioning lady parts, because that implies more planning than there was.  Even though my period was always a rebel that did what she wanted when she wanted, and my thyroid is the bodily equivalent of angry cat where it's response to every request is a fervent "NO" and to poof out hair in strange places, I am still somehow surprised that I'm here.

That's the thing about Infertility - whether you knew it was going to be an issue or not, once you actually start the process of dealing with it it's always... surprising.  What if someone had said to Dorothy before the tornado hit  "hey, dude, by the way...You're not going to have the Home you've been looking for without walking this super long winding road far from where you'd ever imagined you'd be.  You're going to have support but you're also going to be tormented.  And this will all just be in the hopes that eventually some person at that end of the road might have just the right amount of magic to make Home a reality." I'm not sure she'd be any more prepared.  When for the first time that journey appeared before her in color, I think she'd still be lonely and afraid.

Whether I had clues or not that it was coming, I started casually climbing the lush mountain known as "hey I think it's time to make myself a family" and promptly fell straight off a cliff.  I marched right to the top of that mountain and into thin air, and before I could even wrap my head around what was happening my body found a net.  The online infertile community - in the form of bloggers and some forums - existed long before I even started to climb and it caught me, no questions asked.  My friends and family, with a few stumbles but a surprising amount of grace, managed to tap dance and Forrest Gump their way through figuring out how to support me.

And once you get over the initial shock of the fall and your knees stop shaking long enough to think straight, you start thinking and learning about how to best give back to that support system, how to be a functional part of the net.

At best, my 'contribution' to the Infertility community is just trying to be a functional albeit very goofy part of that net when I can; trying to aide in catching people when they fall, and stepping up to the plate when my particular brand of support (which is slaphappy and silly) benefits somebody.

It's because of you ladies that the only bruises on my ass are from hormone injections and not from a spectacular splat falling from Hope to Reality.  In honor and frankly in total awe of you, when I have my wits about me I try to pay homage by being a part of that net.  I am a goofy, totally ridiculous and very specific part of it, but when I get down on myself about how 'useless' my antics are I remind myself that people need goof.

And whatever it is that you are, whatever weird little thing it is that you do well when it comes to being there for other people, it's amazing.  No matter how ridiculous or specific it is, it is amazing.  If your specialty is rarely called upon, it contributes.  There will be a day where you are exactly what a woman needs to make her feel good, and there you are, in our ranks.  Making jokes, photographing roadkill, knitting sweaters for siamese cats, whatever it is.  It has and will continue to do something for someone, as long as you stand with us and be a part of the net when you're able.

I've learned from, continue to learn from and am eternally grateful to be a part of a wild pack of rabid womb warriors who roam this here corner of the Internet.

As far as contributing to this pack... For me, I've started dipping my toe out of the shame closet. While I haven't worked my way up to Facebook yet (never fear, should I ever be that girl that makes a pregnancy announcement I will give a sizable shout out to science and medication), as a result of this support system I'm much more likely to tell people about my struggle.  Maybe not all the time in a sit down pow-wow let's discuss sort of way, but when people ask me what I'm up to, I've learned to tell them what I'm up to. Hell, I once announced to a room full of drag queens and drunken gays that I was having mimosas to have an appropriate, heartfelt goodbye befitting alcohol prior to my first IVF.

I'm starting to do the Facebook math.  Science tells me that 1 in 8 couples experience some form of infertility at some point.  Facebook tells me that half of the women on my newsfeed are pregnant, half of the pregnant women are pregnant with multiples, and 0.0 of them have ever said anything about infertility.  In case you don't feel like pulling out your calculators, that equals a whole lot of unnecessary shame and bullshit.

I'm learning that mostly, people respond to learning of the situation in two ways - either they say something so awful it's hilarious (my favorite example:  a cousin saying "so... does bub have to have surgery to get his sperm removed?") or much more likely, they're supportive and say something wonderful, even if it's not exactly what I would say.

I think one of the biggest contributions a person can make to this community other than just deciding to be a functioning part of it is taking your own experiences of how people responded to your womb woes, and applying them to the womb woes of others.  And if you're reading this and you're new to the Infertile community, or you're not an official member but a loved one of someone who is -  by all means, take whatever you can from my experiences or from the experiences of others and run with it.  Listen to women like me, who have without choice ridden or are riding the roller coaster.  Cheating off of others is not only acceptable but encouraged.

One of the largest and simplest ways a person can help the infertile community is to learn how to be there for, and then be there for, it's other members.

On that note, some promises I'm making based on lessons I've learned, and if you're new to our fold some promises I hope you'll consider making to Infertiles before you've even learned the lessons:

If you are new to a treatment, I will be honest with you about it.  Some parts of it are going to suck.  Most of it's not going to be nearly as bad as your mind can build it up to be.  Much like godzilla, you will be swelling up to twice your usual size and terrorizing your entire city.. but in a charming way.

I will never belittle your feelings about a negative pregnancy test.  You have every right to react to it however you react to it.  Even if it's totally 'expected' I will be pissed with you.

I will never say "so why don't you just adopt?" People hurl this phrase around, and I can't say if I wasn't an infertile I would know how much that phrase stings.  But, we infertiles know - it implies that you're being selfish and that adoption is the 'easy' solution. When a woman is putting herself through hell to make a lifelong dream come true, it's not selfish. Putting herself through fire shouldn't indicate stupidity or selfishness, it should tell you how very badly she wants it. And even women who have only ever wanted to adopt will tell you that adoption is not 'easy'.  We all have girlfriends who have always dreamed of getting married and it just hasn't happened for them so far - and we know not to say to them "why don't you just give up and be single?".  Of course she may end up single, but the heavy editing of a lifelong dream happens on her timetable, not ours.  Implying that you 100% know what the outcome of her struggle will be is a disservice to her and a lie.

Also, as an adoptee, should you end up adopting I will kiss your patootie and you will officially be a saint in the eyes of stork.  Maybe I'll even wear a medallion with your giant face on it. My adoption, in my eyes, was my parents looking at all the kids in the world, pointing at me, and saying "you, kid.  You're about to win the lottery". Having said that, if it's something a person ends up doing, they have to be stoked about it and if you ever are, I will be stoked for you.

I promise to always remember that it is irrelevant whether or not someone's path is the one that I would take.  Irrelevant. It is no one's place to judge how a person creates their family, and most of the time when a woman is doing something that I wouldn't do?  In some way or another it's because she has a bravery that I'll never know.  (Okay but in the spirit of honesty if you're talking kidnapping or making your family entirely out of sock puppets, I will probably have to judge you).

If you have an infertile friend and they are spending so much time talking about their problems and it's starting to bug you? I promise she's controlling herself heavily and you're only seeing the visible top of a deeply submerged iceberg.  It's like one day waking up and discovering that you are going to have a live crow stitched to your head for the next several years.  Yes, you absolutely want to go out and not always talk about that fucking crow, but that shit is distracting.  And it will be difficult, some days, for that person to listen to you complain about your gardener not trimming your hedge properly without her thinking "DUDE.  I have a CROW stitched to MY HEAD".  She is trying, I promise.

I genuinely believe that the appropriate response to most woes of an infertile is to say "that freaking sucks and I am pissed on your behalf", and to not provide suggestions for a next step unless they ask.  And then whatever that next step is?  Get pumped about it for them.  If they do exactly the opposite of what you would do, get pumped for them.

I will cheer with you, I will cry with you, if someone is being an ass I will take off my weave and slap them with it for you, I will make inappropriate jokes (my specialty).  I will embrace hope when you need me to and I will throttle that ho when you need me to.

I think of our little club like AA - does anyone grow up wanting to be a part of that group?  No.  But what a life saving group of badasses who have seen hell's fire and come back to tell the tale. The most confused and fragile members of the group are going to be the new ones, and us veterans need to remember where we came from and act as sponsors.  You are my Sisters in Shittiness and I'm proud to be a member of a group full of such survivors.


Some helpful links that Resolve suggests for new Sisters in the fold, or if you just love one:
*Infertility 101
*About NIAW


So here's to dipping a toe out and to being whatever strange part of the net you can be.

Broads, Ladies and Ants.

Happy Wednesday my lovable infertiles.

My other writing and general shenanigans have been getting in the way of being on here.  Bless me interwebs, for I have sinned.  It's been about two weeks since my last blog confession.

This past week, an old friend of mine (old friend of Bub's, actually, I know her through him but I adore her like she was my own) popped up on my Fertilebook newsfeed for the first time in awhile and I pounced on her like a jungle cat.  I sent the usually inquiry as to how she was doing (1 paragraph), she sent me one back telling me how she was doing and asking how I was (1 paragraph) and then I unleashed a novel of vaginal tales upon her (4,976 paragraphs) and hastily followed it up with "I'm sorry my life is full of gay men! Your uterus beckons to me!"

She was, of course, gracious and lovely because she is, in fact, gracious and lovely.  It felt good to get shit out, but afterwards I sat and was a wee bit surprised at myself because this felt like an unplanned and out of the blue enema.  I have spent weeks feeling chicken shit about impending IVF this summer.  To be more specific - chicken shit buried under 1,000 lbs of 'things I have to do before IVF'; some realistic, some the realistic equivalent of acquiring myself a unicorn by July.  So, as is my usual response to being buried under too much emotional rubble, I have sort of accepted the weight of it without actually processing any of it.

It's like the trail of mutant ants that have infested my shower.  They've been there for two weeks and every day when I get in the shower I look at them and think "shit I should really do something about that" and then take my fucking shower and go on about my day without, you know, the doing something about it part. (Sidenote: they seem to be removing hair from my shaver and marching off with it.  Should I disappear, please explain to Dateline that my being dragged away forcefully and made Ant Queen is a plausible theory).

So four things have occurred to me:

1. I've probably been a little absent on here in part because I'm in some sort of weird denial that My Big Chance is coming up this summer;
2. While I'm absolutely-fruitly blessed in the best friend and husband department, my life is currently lacking in the lady-companion department;
3. I should probably get an exterminator and
4. I should take out a page of the ole ant-playbook, because those bitches carry around rubble a gajillion times their size and don't break a sweat.

I feel the need to point out here, and in no way do I mean this in a way to offend or to instigate an argument because you will lose - that my best friend, Mr. T., kicks your best friend's ass.

It is the stuff of Will and Grace - give one of us a charade to act out and the other will get it in under 10 seconds.  It is the stuff of Harry Potter - we communicate much in the cosmic-psychic way of Voldemort and Harry.  Of course in this scenario Voldemort is much more attractive and campily catty rather than evil, and instead of a lightening scar on my forehead I have a birthmark on my thigh that looks like a chocolate chip cookie.

And as far as infertility shenanigans go, there's nothing missing from my ability to talk to him about it on account of me being an innie and him being an outtie. Even in his infinite gayness he has thus far braved two invasive vaginal exams when Bub couldn't be in attendance.  When I had my early miscarriage and was a near-silent disaster for a week, he came over, cleaned my house, and bequeathed me with the perfect miscarriage gifts: a giant stuffed strawberry, "The Passion of the Christ" and "Fame".  If Bub is my heart, then Mr. T is my glittery colon.  There's no Hallmark Holiday for it, sure, but he wades through all my shit bravely and if removed I would cease to function and eventually suffer death by constipation.

But I have exactly one close lady friend in L.A., miss Kali, and that is it.  My other awesome lady friends are spread out in the world. Stork has not found solid, local girlfriends.

I want to make clear that it's not that I hold on to some ridiculous notion that I'm in my 30s and in a big city so therefor I should be living out the plot to Sex and the City.  (Honestly, they should've just called that series "Puns and Posing").

I especially want to make clear that I am not one of those "oh, I don't get along with girls" girls.  You know who I'm talking about.  The ones in college who went on and on about how girls were just 'trouble', how they always felt more at home with the boys. (Which is such bullshit because the butchest tomboy lesbians, when they belong to themselves have lady friends...lovely, lovely lady friends).  I know that when a girl says "I just don't get along with other women!" that there's a 99% chance that she's a rancid cunt (and I'm being liberal, here) and it's a self esteem marker much in the way that making out with a girl for a frat boys viewing pleasure is.  (I'm all for bisexual college experiences, but I'm just talking about the girl that overall does things not for herself but for what others will think of her).

I love women. So it's not a lack of want or need, here.  I want and I need.  I think it's in part due to a lack of local options, but probably even more so my total suckiness at any first date type scenario and my inability to bullshit overall. (Sunny has been my one infertile local date.. we skipped the bullshit and went straight to cervical mucus.)

You tell me if I'm being bananas here, please, but I think even the ladies who live here (why haven't we met? Let's make out and not for the benefit of a frat) will agree that we have a higher percentage of women who are not full of friendship in frivolity because they're just so fucking full of shit.

Every Los Angelian is pretending to be something - it's an entire city founded upon playing pretend.  I'm fancy, I'm rich, I'm somebody, I'm best friends with ::name drop::.  When two women meet there's usually earrings, cocktails and adding 7 u's to the word cute (which you will be expected to use liberally) involved.  And I don't know how to participate in that kind of a conversation, nor do I know how to have a meaningful friendship that starts out that way.

I think it has a lot to do with the broad to lady scale.  Much like I don't believe anyone falls 100% to one side of the sexuality scale, I don't believe a woman falls 100% to the broad or lady side.  Every broad has an inner lady and ever lady has an inner broad.  And I think, for the most part, while we all lean to one side or the other, most women are fairly close to the middle.

But not really here.

Here the L.A. lady is revered (think of a traditional 'lady', but with a spray tan, boobs, and the ability to portray 'rich somebody', true or not).  You are expected to be one, or do your damndest to fake it.  And in a city of absolute extremes, wherein pretty much everything you encounter is going to be Loved or Hated, such is the reaction to a broad like me.  I am either hated, or on rare occasion absolutely loved.  I am not tepid.  If I'm not for you than I am 100% not for you, and if I am we're going to be great friends. I am the girlfriend equivalent of sushi.

(So the pay off is actually quite nice, my frustration is just that it's hard to find.. I know, I know.. what isn't.)

I don't really know how to lie or bullshit.  I curse.  If PJ's or flip fops are in any way an option I will always select that option. When something is awful or beautiful, I say it.  I don't pretend to have my shit together when it's not, and I'm much more interested in what a girl is like when she's comfy at home saying what she actually feels than when she's wearing high heels in a bar, telling me how nice so and so from True Blood is in real life (apropos of nothing) and asking if the fact that I write means I can cast her in something.  (No.... No.   I'm an unfancy 5 ft 2 chubby lady whose outfit cost less than $40, so the only thing I can really cast is a ginormous shadow... so...... No.)

And let's not forget the issue of kids.  Los Angelian women my age seem to fit into one of two categories.  One, their entire life had no meaning prior to their children, their ability to procreate defines them and most of your interactions will revolve around you looking through their IPhone photos and putting the appropriate number of u's in your "cute!"s.  Two, they regard children much in the same way they would a stranger walking into their house and taking a giant dump in the middle of their bed.

And I, the Mystic Infertile, have a hard time fitting into either one of those categories.

My roundabout point to this vent is that I'm very glad you exist. Prior to blogging my only online experience with women seemed to be Fertilebook, where everyone loves to sonogram sniper me. I'm happy that even if it's online, there's a whole lot of honest vaginas out there doing their thing.  Whether it's because of the anonymity or the fact that we've all seen the dog and pony show and are just too exhausted to bullshit, I love that when I need a woman of substance in my life apart from my Mother, there you all are.  Kicking ass and taking names no matter where you are in the baby race.  Being honest.  Being ladies when it's called upon but much to my delight, mostly being broads.  I have so much respect for you my verbose self can't even put it into words.  When I disappear in an attempt to bullshit myself and marvel at the strength of ants, I miss you.  You who most of whom I haven't even met. You are what makes me want to stop bullshitting myself and marvel at our own ant-like abilities.

Whether I'm currently being a grumpy old fart or not, it's just nice to know that there's a little corner of the world I can retreat to with like-minded, bullshit free women, where everything isn't just a sour slap in the vagina.

This is my 100th post, and I don't even know how silly Stork of early 2012 was managing before this blog.  Love to you all.

ALSO.  Sort of on point in regards to that particular brand of college aged women with an inability to get themselves good girlfriends but mostly because it makes me die of happiness.... As a 100th post gift, I give you the video that made me laugh for about 20 minutes straight like a lunatic.

Do not watch it at work or in a church pew or some strange place, Sam I Am..  DO watch it if you haven't seen it and are in a semi private setting.  DO IT.

And holy gawd now I can embed this.  It may very well be a toss up between this and my wedding day in the contest of BEST THING EVER.  I do not know what would come in second, it's too hard.

I'm pretty much inconsolable about the fact that I didn't coin the phrase 'cunt punt'.

You're welcome.  You're just... welcome.

Equal

Greetings blogosphere!

Yes I have been weirdly absent.  There is not going to be any giving up on this blog, so if you're worried I'm going to be one of those ones that fizzles before it dies, it's not gonna happen.  Stick with me I'm coming back slowly but surely, I am I am.

The simplest way to explain it is that I've just been focusing on getting my body and head right.. To be around pregnancy, sure, but mostly to stop totally numbing myself out to infertility altogether.  I would like to not be totally numb and ignore it, and I would also not like to feel every last little thing about it all the time so that it's consuming my whole world, if that makes sense.  And as of late it feels like it's one of those things with no middle ground which for me at least does not make good writing - but I'm approaching middle ground, finally. Methinks.  Hopefully writing it out doesn't jinx it.

But I miss you.  I'm gonna start putting in an effort again because it's weird to not have my free internet therapy. And it's weird because mostly I miss you for all the not fertility related things... It's nice to have people to talk nonsense with and know confidently in the back of my head that no, seriously, if I have a bad day... she gets it.

What have you missed?

1. I have decided to enhance my grocery shopping lists when Bub goes to the store so he doesn't inexplicably come home with none of the items I have asked for, but all the hot sauce in the greater valley.

2.  I've felt weirdly tired and kind of out of it for a few weeks, and then frustrated because going to the gym 3-6 times a week has resulted in exactly the same amount of weight loss that I accomplished when my exercise consisted of running for the remote from couch to coffee table to turn off the sad-animal commercials.  A quick jaunt to the ER on Tuesday from some pain - turns out I have a kidney infection!

3.  Bub went to south by southwest for a few days, where in addition to having music they have some sort of nerd summit that he went to for work.  I feel like I have heard the phrase south by southwest before in passing, but didn't really know what it was and am delighted to report back that it is not, as originally suspected, the name of some cowboy themed whore house (I may or may not have inspected him for glitter upon his return).

4.  I am positively delighted by how many people on my newsfeed have changed their profile pictures to this little gem in the last couple of days:

In case you are living under a rock, or are far cooler and with more self control than I and therefor NOT dancing with the devil known as Fertilebook, people (particularly straight ones) have been changing it to this sassy little equal sign, or one of it's even sassier variants like this -

or this -

in response to the US Supreme Court hearing going on right now about whether to turn over Prop 8 here in California, or possibly whether or not denying gays the right to marry is unconstitutional in the whole country

Ya'll know, unless you're new to me in which case we should get it out of the way now mayhaps, this is a particularly important issue to me. I suppose everyone has at least one issue that they're particularly passionate about, this is mine (and a lot of other peoples... Even ones who don't give a shit about politics, usually).

I freely admit that I do not have the patience to argue about this one, anymore.  It's ludicrous.

Louis C.K. does this great bit about how it had to suck being Abraham Lincoln because when he was arguing with people who were for slavery, he had to approach it like he could totally see why they felt that way. You know, "oh yeah, it's totally awesome that you have people working in the fields for no money or fair treatment, don't get me wrong, but, you know, there's this other side to it...."

I admittedly could not be that person about this.

All my other liberal mindedness I will happily discuss with you, disagree with you, and try to get it from other perspectives.

Not this one.

To me it's not 'liberal' or 'conservative', it's right and it's wrong (as evidenced by the many, many, many conservatives on my newsfeed who strongly disagree with me about everything else and still have this badboy as their profile picture).  It's discrimination, fear and hate vs. acknowledging other people don't have to be like you, love and acceptance.

If you are against spouses of the same sex, then don't get yourself one.  (Although lawdy lawdy could I use a wife).  Much like 50+ years ago if the idea of marrying someone outside of your race icked you out, excellent, you don't have to.

Also, to be clear, I would also like to state for the record that this is not a downward spiral to people marrying chickens.  No I'm not an atheist, I don't agree with everything that he says (though I do enjoy him) and I openly admit that he's kind of an asshole, but my feelings on this particular argument can be summed up with this lovely quote:

Bubs and my favorite argument is, of course, that marriage is for procreation.  So by that logic our marriage is null and void, as is all those cool cats who choose to not have children, or those that get married post-menopause.  (By this argument do my grandparents have to divorce?  After menopause are you just supposed to say 'see ya' and move to your very own cat-and-porcelain-figurine filled apartment?  This is unclear).

I also believe that this is mostly - mostly! - because gay sex 'icks' a lot of people out.  (Again... then don't have it.  Although I think maybe you're just not watching the right porn).

1. If we get to vote on who gets to be married based on who having sex disgusts us, there are going to be a whole mess of straight people I'm voting off of sex island.
2. I'm not particularly into S&M but I don't lurk in front of courthouses with a sign that says 'G-D HATES GAGS'.

Also, I don't understand the need to get up in everybody's crotch anyone.  Aside from all human beings being safe please, concerning yourself with how other people are doing it I'm gonna assume that you're not doing it right.  I have orgasms on a regular basis and I'm pleased as punch that other people are having them.

And as I said on Facebook this morning, I do not understand how hard that last bit is to get.  I have trained my corgi to not go sniffing around other people's crotches.  My corgi.

I realize it's most unfortunately a one-step-at-a-time thing, but I have to say as an adoptee.... Had I gotten stuck in the system, there's not one fucking part of me - not one little nucleus of a cell - that would've thought 'sure I'm in foster care and I feel unloved and unwanted, but thank G-d I'm not in the home of a loving lesbian or gay couple'.

And of course, the mother of all arguments, this will take something away from your marriage.

::sigh::

Here's my bottom line.  I am happily married.  Infertility is a bitch don't get me wrong, but I am deliriously, happily married.  I am so lucky.  I am lucky to have found Bub, as there are people far better than me who have not found their Bub yet.  I am so lucky, and there's not one part of me that wants anyone who gets that lucky to be denied the right to say 'husband' or 'wife', because it's awesome.. and it's hard enough finding them in the first place.

But I was delighted to see all of those equal signs go up (and they're still up).  I'm a total cynic - you know this - but I think it at the very least makes a nice, quiet, simple statement, without having to argue, that you're behind people that you love, or people that you don't even know but who are blessed to be IN love. (Love is a blessing that I have, and I do not own the exclusive rights to... It does not make me the authority on other people's right or lackthereof to have the same thing that I have.).  People who I honestly didn't think prior to a couple of days ago would have even been for marriage equality.  It makes my grinchy heart swell.

And if they decide that denying people the right to marry is against the law ("no!  We were wrong when we discriminated before, but this time...") then please blame straight people, they're the ones that keep having the gay ones.

The Walking Fertiles

Greetings, interwebs.

I am not dead, I am more... undead.

It would seem - and I'm sure every last friggin one of you could've related to this statement at one point or another - that the entire universe is pregnant.  I don't know what happened in November or December... my theory is that in several counties in the U.S. and possibly internationally there was some sort of sperm spill into the water system, and once I have any proof towards this I plan on donning a low cut shirt and fussing about in front of television cameras Erin Brokovich style.

While I am ecstatic for some and indifferent to most (c'mon people, you can relate) I have found it best to use my power of invisibility as of late rather than hone my acting skills.  I'm in survival mode.  It is the Walking Dead all up in here only instead of zombies I'm trapped in a prison of my own making to avoid herds of pregnant women, and frankly I'm praying they'll infect me but all they fucking do is bite.

(How much do I love that show.. Let me count the ways).

I am ever-so briefly in Walking Dead mode, yes, but I am coming back slowly but surely, promise promise.

Though, as I said, I am using my cloak of invisibility rather than my acting skills, I did in fact deliver such a performance recently that I am sure if Daniel Day Lewis hadn't come out with Lincoln this year, I would be dominating the Oscars this weekend and weeping in front of a camera in a ballgown in a much more dignified fashion than anyone on the Bachelor.

(Seriously - Daniel Day Lewis wins all, I say.  Best actor, best picture, best foreign documentary, best performance by a man in a top hat).

As you may recall I am adopted.  I have a half brother on my maternal side that I am close to and understand, and a half sister on my paternal side that I don't particularly... get.  We'll call her Summer. I love her, do not get me wrong, I do.  I flew her out a few years ago, we had an excellent time, but mostly our relationship has been limited to the occasional email or comment on Facebook and I think that's about as far as we're destined to go.

Anyhoo.

Girlfriend is 24 years old, has been married for less than a year (as far as I can tell, they were cheating, breaking up and making up riiiight up until the wedding.  This is her third engagement, so I waited until she had been married for a month before sending a gift this time.)  She is somewhat familiar with my struggles, wildly immature, and told me she was pregnant by sending me a picture of her positive pee stick.  

A few things before I say things that are going to sound wildly snotty.  You all know I'm a bleeding heart liberal.  I also, for the record, am in one of those financial brackets where part of my taxes will be going to people who have less.  I am hap-hap-happy to do that, I'm pretty sure whoever your religious idol is wanted people to have... food.  And Summer is one of those people that has no money.  None.  The biological Father we both share ditched her, her Mother, left her with some impoverished and very elderly grandparents, girlfriend has nothing.  No.  Thing.  This is genuinely one of those people that when they get help, needs it.

Here's where I get snotty.

She found out she was pregnant 2 weeks ago via a very very positive at home pregnancy test.  She has no insurance, was shocked that a Doctor wouldn't see her, can't afford a bus ticket or a taxi ride to a planned parenthood.  Still hasn't been to a Doctor, but apparently a case worker for the state is going to see that she sees one soon.

The financial plan for taking care of this kid is foodstamps and welfare.  Again, this kid would starve to death and have absolutely nothing if it weren't for this little net.  This kid is fucked with or without the foodstamps, but thank G-d it will have that.  We are talking about a woman who has cardboard furniture and doesn't have the maturity or the fucking know how to spend money on things that you can't smoke.

This baby was planned.  PLANNED.  Personally I try to keep my nose 100% out of people's reproductive organs because I sure as shit don't like other people's noses in mine.  But fuck me sideways with a crossbow, seriously?!?  I feel as though if you're 24, you've been married a few months, have absolutely no money or insurance, that maybe planning one isn't the smartest thing to do.

But I have done my bit.  I have said "Oh yay I'm going to be an Aunt... sort of". It is exhausting to even mutter that in an email. Exhausting.

On a positive note, Bubba flunked the super shnazy sperm test and I had a summit with Doctor Kickass about it.  He is meeting with the embryologist tonight (!) to discuss who they need to wrangle in in California to get this shit done, and then we're off to the races.

Only I'm going to wait until June, methinks.  I need to quit sugar (in the process of it - see above grumpy cat) and yesterday Mr. T and I went to the gym. (No shit first time I typed that it came out gymp).

I am running a couple of miles a day on a sweaty disgusting treadmill.  I will not be trying to convince you that endorphins are better than heroin, I will not be shoveling kale happily into my mouth by the pound telling you it's just as good as bacon, nor will I be exclaiming how refreshing and awesome exercise is.

I just want to be clear... It's awful.  It's sweaty and disgusting.  I can't fathom how any gym is a pick up place as it is just a breeding ground for awful smells and douchebaggery.  I do not understand the enjoyment of exercise unless it is in the physical pursuit of an orgasm (which I shouted repeatedly at Mr. T whilst treadmilling.... thankfully he does not embarrass). 

But I'm gonna do this shit anyway so I'm healthier for IVF go time and so that I look less like the lovechild of Mr. Kool Aid and Rodney Dangerfield.  This way, when I actually do get pregnant ( and I will, damnit) in order to weigh me they won't have to tear down a wall to my house and ask the entire town for assistance in heaving me onto a large mammal scale.

I am slowly coming back.  Sweaty and pissed, but coming back.  Love to all.

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.

Anyhoo.

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...)

Badass Raccoon Shit

Happy Wednesday, Chiquita Bananas!

May I just say that my Monday (and part of my Tuesday) was mother freaking awesome - awesome I tell you! - because of you all and the vlogs.  I am a fairly brave person and it is a scary, scary concept of putting your face on the internet (even temporarily) with all it's pock marks and bugaboos for people to gawk at.  I bow in the face of your awesomeness.

It was magical.  It was like getting permission to search through someone's underwear drawer.  Totally satisfying to the peeping-tom spirit and delightfully dirty somehow.

So first, thank you to Miss Jenn over at Future Fords who gave me the idea - she's doing writing prompts (which I have to catch up on) and casually snuck in a video request on one of the days.  So a big thanks to her for letting me go from "that bitch is crazy" to "wait, this is kind of liberating" to "she is brilliant!" and thus knocking me up with the idea of doing this in the first place.

And an even bigger thank you to everyone who participated - for totally making my week, first of all, and secondly for being a bunch of fucking reproductive badasses all around.

We're going to do this again, maybe in a month or so (should we do the same kind of free for all questions?  Should there be a theme?) and PS, some of the vlogs got up a little late so it's worth checking the list again (I'll post it at the end of this bad boy).

And you there - yes you -  you're going to join us next time. I've done the macarena in a t-shirt celebrating an all nude Golden Girls art opening.... you can't outdo me in the weird department, I can only make you look good.  Join the badass movement.

In other news, there's a demon living in my shed.

Some helpful information in comprehending this:

1. I go scary movie crazy during the month of October.  I'm not a total horror freak usually, though it does hold a dark, weird spot in my heart.. That being said, it's completely masochistic because they still scare the crap out of me (ask Sunny, she will attest to this).
2. Of course I don't really believe there's something awful in my shed... right?  That's crazy.
3. I have a shed.

I live in a house that was built in the... 50s?  Anyhoo.  Only one couple has ever lived here prior to us, they bought it new and died in the house.  ( Don't panic - semi-natural deaths, it's not like they hung from the chandelier or anything).

We've been here 3 years. We bought the house because for the price it was large, and it's in an awesome neighborhood.  The interior was not new or remodeled.  Evidently the previous couple (who from all accounts were totally lovely) did all their decorating in the 70s and stuck with it.  Carpet on the floor, wood on the walls, a built in bar, and my office used to have mauve carpeting.  Suffice it to say, though I love the 70s not exactly our taste - so we moved in and did a lot of renovations.

Anyhow, the previous gentleman who lived here made a lot of the wood stuff with his bare hands.  So when we redid things (and it's still an ongoing project - our kitchen is a travesty) I didn't feel right about throwing everything out.  So right now, for example, I'm sitting at a wood table that he made, and some of the stuff we took apart instead of getting rid of it I put in the shed.. which we don't really use.

ANYHOO.

Only a few 'weird' things have happened which I will share with you... There's a tiny window in our attic (which I will never, ever go into - good luck with that, Bubba).  It occasionally opens and closes itself.  One day we were sitting in the living room, and heard a ticking coming from the attic.  Bubba goes up and has to go waaaaay deep into it, and some christmas light timer thing from the 60s had turned itself on.  So does, on occasion, the attic fan.  You can't turn it on or off.. it just does it by itself every once in awhile, and definitely doesn't follow any heat pattern.

Again, I've been bulking up on horror movies to try and get in the Halloween Spirit.  So it is bad timing that the door to my shed (which should in theory, be locked) keeps opening itself and closing itself.  I will close it,  the door is stuck, I will wake up the next morning and it's wide open.  This is the 3rd day in a row.  I am hoping this is just a family of raccoon locksmiths.

And now, from where I'm sitting in my backyard, I swear I can see a face (which I'm rationalizing has to be a trick-o-the-eye with insulation and the sun, right?).  It is so ludicrously clear that I was completely going to attempt to get a picture for you... but I fear, if this were a horror movie, when the chubby girl home alone picks up her phone and slowly approaches the shed-face to get a better look through her view finder, that would be the point where we would all shout at the screen "What the fuck are you doing you moron?!?"

I am Jenny.  I am part badass part chicken shit.  It will be a relief if my shed is full of raccoon shit.

**EDIT - after reading the first few comments on this I have a Stork request!  (I know, I know - you're exhausted from my last one).  Can everyone please at some point write a blog post about their paranormal experiences?  I'm getting a tiny taste of just a few and dying to hear more. (I have one that I'll share that makes me sound totally insane, if that's any incentive).  I feel that'll get us in the Halloweeny mood and help me hurl myself into a total paranormal breakdown. 

Now go check to see if you missed any, lovelies - some got up late.  Far better than watching horror movies, I tell you.

Lisa at (Still) Trying to Conceive

K at Our Growing Gardunn 

Cat at Already in my heart

EmHart at Follow Every Rainbow

Aspgriswold at Growing Griswolds

Jenny at Sprout

LeslieGail at My Hormonacoaster

B at A Work in Progress

Hapa Hopes at Hapa Hopes

Bridget at Iydkmigthtky

Kristin at Return to Go

Jenn at The Future Fords

Arwen Rose at MRKH Musings

Kitty Belle at The Hopeful Journey

Slese1014 at Mommyhood after Fertility Frustration

Stork Chaser at Dog Mom Chasing the Stork

Janet at Just A Little Off Kilter

SM at Unexplained Rantings   (password: magical toes)

Sunny at Cease And Decyst

Belle at Scrambled Eggs

Sharon at Ova Achiever