and again… just like new

Good old Clear Blue, she loves me, even though I neglected her last cycle. (Is it a sign of too much ttc-ing when you say cycle instead of month?) She wanted a pee-stick this morning – I think it’s too early for that shit, but what’s a little disagreement over pee-sticks between friends? – but because of Cat Drama™ I had no FMU for her. Nor any SMU. “Tomorrow, honey,” I whispered sweetly in her little electronic ear, “tomorrow, I swear.”

I’ve got a fabulous prize for all you non-ttc-ers who can figure out those acronyms. Fabulous – like a cake.

It looks like Plan B is up and running (oh, god – the cracks that could be made here). Early November, cycle number 50-bazillion – The Age of BioTranz. Yes, I am putting my trust in Fed-Ex again, even though they have fucked me before. Fuckers. Anyway, Plan B is such a good one (you can’t beat it with a stick, remember?) that its karma will steam-roll the crappiness of Fed-Ex.

There was a sort of cheesy article (column?) in The Washington Post Magazine yesterday (searching for link…) about old friends. The writer mused on what to call them – she didn’t like the “old” part, but wanted to distinguish them from newer, more fly-by-night friends. My answer is to call them family.

Hang on to your hats, kids, it’s CD 9.

Can you believe it’s been near to a week since you last heard from me? Ack! I *know* you’ve just been on the edge of your collective seat, breathlessly waiting for the next installment of How My World Turns. No? You say you reserve that breathless waiting for the new season of The L-word? Hey! Me, too.

It’s just not so exciting here in Starr Hill these days. Oh, I’ve had a pretty good week – the usual ups (nice dinner for my mama’s birthday; some rain ((!!!)); a pretty drive and delightful date to a nice party with the Kingpin and her not-so-Insolent Child; dinner with work friends that also included new Fertility Hennaz™) and downs (rain – keeps pre-school children inside and makes the wood-pile wet if it is uncovered which it is; a horribly sick ((aye, like the shingles, y’all – that shit’s bad news)) assistant at work which created Teh Drama for her ((poor thing!)) and bought me a day with 3 different subs in my class, one of whom brought her teething 1-year-old with her ((with my consent, but whew, the Mouthing of Work)) – but, wait my kids did a fucking great job dealing with the rolling tide of subs and we had a damn good day, so let’s actually count this one in the ups column, too, ‘kay? Because my class rocks.). Wow. Did you even follow that? What crazy syntax. And the parenthesis – there must have been a sale somewhere.

But here’s the real deal. I am sick and tired of ttc.

The donor drama has sucked – even with the unbeatable back-up plan (which really is so great you can’t beat it with a stick), it’s sucked. I love, love, love the back-up plan, but I really want it to work out with the cute French gay current plan. I should have been knocked up months ago. Months. Ago. Then none of this would have been an issue (ok, laugh if you want). And I am reminded of that every time I bash my head into another lawyer’s unresponsive answering machine. I will not even begin to go into the utter stupidity of having to deal with all this bullshit just to get knocked up. It is simply stupid.

This cycle of nothing has sucked. It’s too short to really be considered a “break” so I’ve kept up the nasty Chinese herbs and the pre-natals and the god-damned-never-ending-temping. The stick-peeing will start soon, too! Woo. And hoo. The drinking’s been fun, though. Woo and hoo, as we say. But, over the clinking ice in my glass, there’s been the dull roar of Time Passing. Yes, I know I am too young to say that; I know there are women everyday who get pregnant when they are a decade older than I am now; I know there’s no “rush,” that it “will happen,” but, still, sick and tired, remember? How about a baby now?

And smack in the middle of The Passing O’ Time Roar? The delicate *plink* of an egg being dropped. And lost. It’s the lack of even a chance of conception that fed the monster of bitterness this month.

I told my first ttc-related lie today. A very, very nice woman at the aforementioned party asked me about my Fertility Hennaz™ – she wanted to know if it meant anything. Well, it does. Unlike my tattoos, which don’t mean shit, I get henna with the ever-fertile pomegranate dyed onto my skin because it is a fertility symbol. So I lied to her, this very nice woman, with whom I’d had a nice conversation. Lied and said that there were stars and pomegranates there on my palm, just things I like. 2 months ago, I might have said why I had them – she’d already mentioned her children were adopted – and used it to open up a conversation about how we go about making families. But I’ve gotten more and more close-mouthed about this whole thing. I’m tired of talking about it, and yet, the more Time Passes, the less and less other shit I have to talk about.

I am beginning to bore myself.

Don’t fret overmuch, my general good nature ensures that I’m not debilitated by the sickness and tiredness (knock on wood I don’t get the shingles, though – aye, my poor assistant!). I’m just sick and tired. And bitter. Bitter and done. Could I just have my baby now, please? Thanks. I’ll be over here in Starr Hill, breathlessly waiting for the next season of The L-word.

for all i am worth

Tonight I write for two babies – one who’s made her arrival and one who is to come.

It is with great, great joy I can say that my very dear friends from the Valley (you remember, right – PFFV?) have with them their brand new baby girl Olive. Her mama pushed her out into the world late last night and last I saw them, not 3 hours ago, she was tiny and perfect – with a head full of baby-oily black hair and her mama’s mouth. Her daddy is beside himself – proud like you can’t imagine – and to hear it told, was the best birth partner there could be – rock solid and *present* and in full awe of what he and his wife have made. This baby’s been a long time coming – welcome to the world, baby girl, welcome to the world.

I came home from work this afternoon, anxious to check in with Cali, who’s up North, trying to make herself and another woman into mothers. She got some horrid, horrid news today that looked like it would dash her last best hope. Others have said it better than I ever could, but it has been fucking hard for her – to get to this point and, now, to hear that it might not happen. I won’t get into unfairness, or deserving because I hardly feel those terms have any bearing on ttc, but jesus mother fucking christ, cut this woman a break. She has welcomed me and countless other into the never-ending support of the IVP; she comments with support and kindness and encouragement on everything I, and countless others, put out into the virtual ttc world; when I first dipped my littlest toe into the seemingly vast and tight-knit world of blogging, shy as a beaten puppy, she said, “come on down, my sister, I am here and you are welcome.” She’s run with everyone who’s in this race and god damn, it’s her turn. I won’t tell you to pray for her, that’s not my style, nor will I say to send her “good vibes” because who the fuck knows what those are, but I will say that if you’ve got any extra love or extra hope, and I know you do, y’all, feel it now, because this is one woman who’s felt for me and I want to pass it back a thousand fold.

To you, Cali, I say, as a friend said to me recently, there’s a lot of mothering in you, girl. I’ve felt it myself and I *know* it’s there and your baby will be here soon, ready to take it all in. Hang tight, girl, just hang tight. We’re all here behind you and we know it’s coming.


All you invisible friends, especially you FF kids – you make my world better. You do. Better to a point where I am almost weepy with gratitude that you are just there.

Ummm… cheesey….
Sorry. More snark later. I swear.

things not to say

When your ex-girlfriend is visiting for just the barest part of an hour and then she leaves in her usual abrupt way and you wish it was different than it is, it is good if your roommate does not tell you how hot she is afterwards. Because, yes, you already know that.
FYI, y’all.

i want to sleep with her, not *be* her

(with all due credit for the title to my 18 year old cousin, who said to her mom, “Mommy, I don’t want to *be* Barbie, I just want to play with her!” in response to a “talk” about lack of reality in Barbie’s proportions)

Which Dyke to Watch Out For Are You?
created with QuizFarm.comYou scored as Lois

You are Lois, the ladykiller who’s mellowed into an awesome, loyal girlfriend. Give yourself permission to read the newest Harry Potter at Camp Trans.















sunday driver

You remember my love/hate relationship with cars, right? I knew you did. Despite of my strong dislike for Car Culture, I do love to go for a drive. Come on, y’all. It’s fucking gorgeous here – drought be damned – and, well, I just love to go for a drive. There was the perfect excuse: my uncle in LA, the lawyer one, wanted me to go check out a house for him. He wants to move here; he wants to live in Virginia again; he wants to build a crazy eco-perfect house with a tree and a stream in it; he wants to move this 200 year old house from one county to another; he wants to come back to the tiny town where he spent idyllic country summers on his grandma’s farm. We’ll see how all that goes (He’ll be shocked – shocked, I tell you – about how crazy things look when you cross the river heading out of the tiny town, because they built a new bridge. We were shocked – we said, repeatedly, “what the…” and “oh my god” and “how did we get here?” and again “what the…”). Anyway. I do love a drive (see above), and so I snatched up SAR and off we went. To see the 200 year old house (it used to be a tavern, I’ve read), and to visit her mama. Delightful. We couldn’t really get up to the house, because it looked occupied, and I am loathe to snoop around other people’s homes, but that gave us all the more time for a visit. With tea. And there was the moment on 53 where there was a clearing in the trees and we could see the mountains to the west, blue as you’d want them and far away. Fab.

And, in the world of ttc, I’d been off the boards at FF* for so long, my name didn’t show up anymore. Oh noes! Well, I remedied that. With a lame-ass post where I didn’t acknowledge all the folks there I should have, but managed to talk a blue streak about myself. I need to keep up better with those women; they keep up with me. It was a rough week, but things are looking up. My donor is sounding more positive, and I have the back up plan you can’t beat with a stick. So put your sticks away.

*Stupid FF, how I love to hate you and your hetero-normative “baby-dancing.” Because I am a VIP there (meaning I give them some money for extra features), I get a box labeled “Pregnancy Monitor” that tells me things like what the due date would be for this cycle, how many temps there are above the cover line and analyzes “Intercourse Timing” (ahem). Now, I have no “baby-dancing” recorded on my chart this cycle, because a) I don’t do that and even if I did what they mean by that I would NOT call it that because it’s stupid, and b) I did not inseminate at. all. this cycle, which all of y’all know and you’d think FF would know it, too because it is the place where I record such information. Still, it gives me a “Poor” in the “Intercourse Timing” box. Really? Thanks, FF. Go baby-dance yourself.