Now that we can all breathe again….

Managed to not lose the sticker included with my absentee ballot. WINNING.

I used to write a fair amount about politics, back in the day.  Then, for a long time, I really did not care much.  I was way too preoccupied with anxiety and depression over not knowing whether we’d ever get to bring home a baby, and trying not to acknowledge even to myself that I WANTED to bring home a baby someday.  So it waxes and wanes, my political fervor, I suppose.  But I wanted to quickly touch on one aspect that ties into this blog – the title.  My blogger blog went through several different names, but nothing ever really seemed to click and feel just right.  So for a long while, it was titled simply ‘Undecided,’ and it stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, as I sunk deeper and deeper into apathy, not really caring about much other than making it back to my couch at the end of the day to stare at the TV and try to not think about the subject that was all I could ever really think about.  Then came the 2008 election season, and along with it, Ms. Sarah Palin.  I am about as liberal/libertarian as they come, I think, but I must circle back around and offer sincere gratitude to John McCain for choosing her as his running mate, because it PISSED ME OFF how pandering and condescending and frankly just ignorant the whole thing was.  It made me realize, OH!  I CAN HAZ FEELINGS!  ABOUT STUFF! IN THE WORLD!  And I began to care again, to be less stuck in my head, in the never-ending internal dialogue that I rarely dared to even voice aloud.  Granted, this was all after my very first miscarriage, and I had varying reactions after each subsequent one, but during that campaign I decided that ‘Undecided’ was the very last thing that my blog should be named.  Still lacking any creativity or willingness to commit to tying any one specific word or phrase to my own life’s chronicles (what can I say, I hate to be defined.  Too constricting.), I simply changed it to ‘Not Undecided.’  It stayed that way long enough that I eventually started seeing the phrase turn up in my keywords/search terms, so I figured it had better stay that way, so that anyone looking for it without a bookmark could find it again. And so here we are.

(I never did change the url to reflect the title, though.  I have often thought that it should be ‘hard to MAKE a human,’ rather than ‘hard to be human,’ but again, I kind of like the built-in history reflection, even if I’m the only one who can recognize it.)

So, while I am not Obama’s biggest fan (looooooong way to go on civil liberties, civil rights, drug policy, the whole not killing innocent people thing, etc., etc.), I am deeply, deeply relieved to not be entering a Mittens presidency, for I firmly believe that it would be a far scarier thing than what we have now, which I will continue to critique (though not always here, I’m sure).  Shudder.  I think that’s all I need to say about that.

(Except also, YAY for the huge advances made in the Senate and House races, as well as ballot initiatives for marriage equality and legalization.  YAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!)


I hate today.

For more than the obvious reasons.  Yes, what happened in NYC nine years ago was awful and tragic and certainly worth remembering, to a certain extent.  I can’t even give that whole Koran burning thing the time of day, it’s just so moronic.  I almost wish I had a more “patriotic” bent (I guess nationalistic would be a better word) so I could somehow focus on that instead of my own selfish flashback to four years ago.  I didn’t even start this blog until November of 2006, but what I experienced on 9/11/06 was the real impetus.  So here’s a repost from December 2006, when I finally got brave enough to say outside my own home what was breaking my heart.

I don’t want to ride this rollercoaster again in June, so fuck it. How to lose two months and seven pounds without even trying: 9/9: Get really excited about having real sushi and sake for the first time, even if it is with the people that get on your nerves with their ‘we have so much more money than you so we must be so much better than you’ attitude. Think, ‘hmmm….maybe I should take a pregnancy test, just in case, before I go eating raw fish and pounding sake.’ Do so. Do not believe your eyes. Feel like you’re 14. Sit down, start shaking. Realize that last weekend you sat around a fire drinking four beers and smoking cigarettes. Feel sick. Get dressed, go to dinner. Try not to give yourself away by sticking your pinky finger in PM’s sake and ordering only cooked items. Fail miserably. Be informed that you’re fooling nobody by not smoking, not drinking, and oh, we’re being ‘too nice’ to each other. That one’s my favorite. Sleep fitfully. Freak out about work. Try not to think that this just isn’t going to work out well. Try to have faith. Try not to get too excited. Try way too fucking hard to function. 9/11: Wake up bleeding. Take another test. Be really confused. Call off, call the doctor, try to put up your feet and relax, but realize there’s nothing on TV but 9/11 tributes, so cry all day. 9/12: Go to the doctor, give blood. Go to work, tell boss. Vaguely hear something about PPE and try not to throw up. Google ‘hcg’ repeatedly despite knowing damn well it’s not a party trick and I can’t MAKE the number double. 9/14: Give more blood. Get bad news. Go home and proceed directly to totally but very uncomfortably numb. *********************************************************************************** Feel much better after writing this.

Redundant much? Much.

Also, with the drama.  Some silly, some serious.  Meh.  Regardless, and having already thought out and explained this once at the butt crack of dawn today, here we go again.  I have really good people.  Long, long ago I realized (yes, high school was a long, long time ago) that I mostly end up attracted to and attracting a….type, if you will.  I have super good taste, if I do say so myself, but most other people seem to think it’s an acquired taste when they see their own or a similar typeness in or painted onto another person.  Much like how I cannot seem to get along with my brother in law – it’s because we’re deep down quite similar people.  However, I try pretty hard not to be cruel, at least purposefully.  I can be when I try, for sure, and I’m also quite sure I can be cruel without trying – but some things are too much.  Like, say, knowing I JUST had a miscarriage and looking me dead in the eye at dinner and Christian side-hugging your wife (who you were unspeakably cruel to all weekend prior to this mess) and saying, “That’s okay.  WE’LL have a baby,” when that wasn’t even the subject matter to begin with.  I mean.  Ew.  We’re done here.  Assholery of epic proportions.  Wait, what was I saying?

Yes.  Avoidance of cruelty.  Seeking pleasure while avoiding pain.  Sounds easy enough.  But even predictable people can be unpredictable, especially if they’re feeling cruel.  Which happens.  I mean, meh, and all.  I’m sure I’ve done it myself from time to time to a million times, if you ask the right people.  There must be people out there who hate me with the fiery passion of a billion burning suns, but at that point wherein I figure this out, I tend to back away slowly, especially if I know them to be a cruel person to begin with.  If I can figure that it’s not real cruelty…shit, I’m sorry, but I’m going to end up calling you out and learning something if I can.  Which I have. Kind of.  Mostly that I tend to expect a bit too much of most people.  And that if I don’t spell out what I expect, there’s little possibility for modifying my own expectations in time to avoid a silly little meltdown.  ‘saright.  Catharsis can be good, in it’s proper time and placement.  That’s what friends are for.  I do appreciate it.  What I expect is to be called out in turn for my own shortcomings.  And I think my type might just enjoy that.  If the spokes of my friendship wheel (the deal I seem to have struck in which most of my people don’t really like-like each other enough to want to form their own relationships with one another) want to not intersect, it’s fine.  Honestly.  Not in that FINE way, but really and truly fine.  I’m very used to that type of dynamic.  It’s definitely more fun for ME when they don’t mind being in the same place at the same time, but the fact that it’s been that way for many, many years with many, many different people is something I don’t need to adapt to now; it’s a very old familiar pattern.  Relationships change, but people adapt.  Some grow closer and more distant in cycles.  Some are right there all along and more willing than others to roll eyes and poke gentle fun and make it an I’m-not-your-friend-but-we’re-her-friends truce.  It’s obviously LESS fun for me when I can tell I’ve ruined someone else’s fun by forcing someone on someone else.  So, I don’t – usually.  Things like a wedding, or a birthday, or a crisis of faith or love or hope are suitable occasions in my book to request the presence of multiple cogs in a support system simultaneously.  Like, our wedding party had to be one of the most hilarious gatherings of people I’ve ever seen.  People I’ve loved for YEARS but hated each other all along smiled for pictures, were happy for me and Mike, and partied their asses off together.  A couple/few even LEFT together raising many eyebrows but of course only went elsewhere to continue drinking and making fun of one another.  Carpool slash semi-designated-driver hilarity.  Absolute hilarity.  Makes for good stories.  Let’s write more.


  1. Good people
  2. Good booze
  3. Not needing a D&C.  Woohoo, partay!
  4. The weekend being young yet
  5. Knowing how to properly (or improperly) nurse a slightly broken heart.  Mkay, not broken.  Bruised.  Definitely bruised.  
  6. Arrrrrrnica.  And saying it like a pirate.
  7. The foresight to try and enjoy this long weekend in which everything regarding the mysterious crap surrounding #3 is still all unknown and out there, sitting in some file folder in some doctor’s office…probably as of yet even unreviewed, unpondered, unanalyzed, NOT IMPORTANT.
  8. Independence
  9. Bikinis
  10. SPF
  11. A big floppy hat and movie star sunglasses
  12. Grow-your-own flowers.  Everywhere.
  13. Horoscope hilarity

With the luxury of that eff key all in its place, I kind of feel the need to quantify some of this nonsense.  From what I can figure…yeah.  I’m as usual incredibly worked up over minuscule matters.  This is so over.  I didn’t miss much.  I wouldn’t have even been actually LATE until FRIDAY.  THIS COMING FRIDAY.  Fricking ridiculous.  How am I always the last one to get the joke (unless it’s really funny), but still somehow manage to…?  Yeah.  So, over.  There are a million tiny stories that could be told about this whole three day whirlwind I called a “weekend,” but I don’t think I’m ready to chitchat about details yet.  Ish.  You know.  Word vomit.  None of the other kind.  And after tomorrow I should be done being a pincushion for quite some time.  Yay to that, if nothing else.

No, there are more yays in here.  To do my repetitious compare contrast thing YET again, the difference is quite clear so far.  Insanity nearly ensued after the first, because I was basically living out of town.  Had no people about.  Too…something.  Dependent.  Meh, that’s close enough for the moment.  The second I was literally working out of town, clueless.  Nothing really ensued after the second because it was right before Christmas, so I was annoyed with too many other things and never really did any of the follow up stuff that would have been advisable, to some extent, by some people, anyway.  The third time I had people I could TELL.  Who weren’t all 45 minutes away minimum.  So as much as I cringed all day when I’d get three supportive texts in whatever random five minute interval had allowed me to forget for a minute, I can’t say I’m not a big puddle of mushy appreciation for friends that get it even if they don’t GET IT get it.  Good people, plenty of them, I really can’t bitch too much here.

But apparently the third is also somehow a big effing deal.  I think that’s part of my PTSD type reactions here…I’m usually alarmed enough for a group of people, so…to have someone else show genuine alarm-type concern for ME is…alarming.  To say the least.  Yuck.  So riddle me this:  why would I go spend a metric fuckton of money when I don’t even have a quarter of said fuckton of money to find out whether I can do something I want to do in a way that I’m not sure is all that necessary to the process?  Hmmmm?  Why…why would I do that?  I mean…ew.  Out of all the disgusting things that go along with this little joyride, my own stupidity regarding the SCIENCE, the geekery, the fascination I seem to have with understanding the whole problem is…annoying me already.  I gotta let it go.  Just, no.  Just say no.  I WANNA QUIT THE GYM.

Dammit.  The videos are all unembeddable.  OH YES, THAT’S A WORD NOW.

Monica: (Picking up a card from Chandler’s wallet.) My God! Is this a gym card?
Chandler: Oh yeah, gym member. I try to go four times a week, but I’ve missed the last 1200 times.
Ross: So why don’t you quit?
Chandler: You don’t think I’ve tried? You think I like having 50 dollars taken out of my bank account every month? No, they make you go all the way down there! Then they use all of these phrases and peppiness to try and confuse you! Then they bring out Maria.
Ross: Who is Maria?
Chandler: Oh Maria. You can’t say no to her, she’s like this lycra spandex covered gym…treat.
Ross: You need me to go down there with you and hold your hand?
Chandler: No!
Ross: So you’re strong enough to face her on your own?
Chandler: Oh no, you’ll have to come.


[Scene: Chandler’s gym, He and Ross are there to cancel his membership.]
Ross: Whoa-whoa-whoa, hey! Now remember what we talked about, you gotta be strong.
Chandler: Yes. (In a stronger voice) Yes!
Ross: One more time, “Hey, don’t you want a washboard stomach and rock hard pecs?”
Chandler: No! I want a flabby gut and saggy man breasts!
Ross: Good! That’s good!
Chandler: Okay. (They go inside) (To the guy at the desk) I wanna quit the gym.
Gym Employee: You wanna quit?
Chandler: I wanna quit the gym.
Gym Employee: You do realize that you won’t have access to our new full service Swedish spa.
Chandler: (He turns to Ross and Ross makes a ‘Be strong’ sound.) I wanna quit the gym.
Gym Employee: Okay, Dave in the membership office, handles quitters. (Both Chandler and Ross start to make their way to the membership office.) Uh, excuse me, (to Ross) are you a member?
Ross: Me? No.
Gym Employee: Sorry, members only.
Chandler: (horrified at the prospect of trying to quit alone and unsure about himself) I wanna quit the gym.
Ross: It’s okay man, be strong. (Chandler goes into the office.)
Gym Employee: (to Ross) So, are you a member of any gym.
Ross: No! And I’m not gonna be, so you can save you little speech.
Gym Employee: Okay, no problem. (To someone out of the picture) Could you come here for a second?
(This gorgeous woman in spandex walks up)
Woman: Hi, I’m Maria.
(Ross is at a loss for words.)

[Scene:  Chandler’s Gym. Chandler is now in Dave’s office trying to quit the gym.]
Chandler: I want to quit the gym!
Dave: Now, can you honestly tell me that your 100% satisfied with your body?
Chandler: Yes! Yes! Most of the time. I mean, sure, I have my bad days, but then I remember what a cute smile I have. (smiles)
Dave: Well, we were voted “Best-equipped Gym in New York” two years running.  Do you really want to give that up?
Chandler: Yes, I hate it here! Everything that you have in here is very heavy!
(Dave’s phone rings.)
Dave: (answers) Yeah. (listens) Really? Okay. (hangs up) You don’t want to make your friend work out alone, do you?
Chandler:  What friend?
Dave: Your friend Ross just joined. (pulls up the blinds in his office to reveal Ross on an exercise bike; he waves. Maria is standing by him and wipes Ross’ face with a towel from the sweat.)
[Scene: Central Perk, Joey is telling Monica and Rachel what he has to do.]
Monica: His dancing partner?!
Joey: Yeah, there’s this superintendent’s dance, the Super Ball. I don’t know, and he wants to impress Marge, this lady super that he’s got a crush on.
Rachel: Well, why doesn’t he practice with a girl?
Joey: Well, he’s too shy, he doesn’t thing he’s good enough to dance with girls yet.
Rachel: Yeah, right, he almost danced me right down that…garbage chute. (Starts to cry)
Monica: Oh, would you let it go already?! You’re fine!
(Chandler and Ross enter)
Chandler: Hey.
Rachel: Hey! So, did you quit?
Chandler: No, I almost did, couldn’t leave Ross there without a spotter!
Monica: Wait, now so you joined the gym?
(Rachel starts to laugh.)
Ross: And that’s funny, why?
Rachel: Oh, umm, I was just y’know working out and umm… Oh, that’s it.
Chandler: We’re doomed. Okay, they’re gonna take 50 bucks out of our accounts for the rest of our lives. What are we gonna do?
Monica: Well, you could actually go to the gym.
(Chandler and Ross both laugh)
Ross: Or! Or, we could go to the bank, close our accounts and cut them off at the source.
Chandler: You’re a genius!
Joey: Aww, man, now we won’t be bank buddies!
Chandler: Now, there’s two reasons.

[Scene: Monica and Rachel’s, Chandler and Ross are telling Joey, Rachel, and Monica of their bank woes.]
Monica: So you didn’t leave the bank?
Ross: No! And somehow, we ended up with a joint checking account.
Rachel: What are you ever gonna use that for?!
Chandler: To pay for the gym.
(Phoebe enters)
The other storyline in that episode is pretty equally hilarious.  Just can’t work that in tonight.  

Off the table, for now.

I don’t think I can do today.  I really, really, really don’t want to.  Been living on adrenaline and restraint all weekend, for no goddamned good reason.  How am I supposed to muscle through on pure disappointment?  When did I forget to keep expectations at zero?  SHIT.  This blows.  That is all.

I swear to Thor if they keep me sitting in that little exam room for half an hour waiting for dude to read some shit off my chart I’m going to lost my ever loving fried egg mind.  Take an effing hammer to the pictures of babies and moms on the walls.  Dammit dammit dammit.  I just don’t wanna.  I can’t be officially that girl…yet…but…hi.  That’d be my chart, yes.  I don’t think it lies, unfortunately.  Sorry, but this is just the stupidest self-inflicted irony I’ve ever made myself suffer through.  I left that office with hormonal birth control ON MY PERSON on Friday.  I was ready to let this whole thing go for the summer, quit thinking about timing for a while.  Let it go, let it go, let it go.  I was frankly SHOCKED like an idiot that it was even positive.  Oh sex?  Yeah, I’ve heard that can lead to pregnancy.  The whole actual baby thing is just lost on me, though.  Lost.  Not sticky.  DUNZO.  It’s a rare man who can appreciate a good tale of vaginal bleeding so I’ll just gloss right over that whole thing (pretty, huh?) and just say that I’m a super idiot for even thinking for a second that a third time might be more charming than eye-stabbingly futile.  Kill me now.  I don’t wanna deal with this.  I’m pretty sure I can’t afford to deal with this.  I’m going to have to tell my mother and end up trying not to steal my sister’s wedding thunder with stupid non-baby drama.  Kill me again.  I guess if there’s any silver lining here I could still hope that I won’t need a D&C.  Because an abortion that’s not an abortion would just be the tongue-tied stem-knotted booze-soaked cherry on top.  Whatever.  Seriously.  Whatever.  Kill me later, too.

So, what I WILL get out of this are a bunch of numbers.  I may put them here to keep some sort of track of what they may mean, if anything, but I really, really, RILLY don’t want to turn this place into an infertility blog.  Puke.  I didn’t ever even really want this to turn into a mommy blog, but that I word’s even harder to write than I HAD A MISCARRIAGE.  Puke, puke, puke.  I may just.  PUKE.  But hey!  In three days I get to go on “vacation” to see my sibs-in-law again!  That’ll be awesome.  Riiigghttt.  Here’s to fresh starts.  Seriously.  Cheers.

Better than drunken facebooking. Good enough.

Memorable quotes from this accidental long weekend:

Can you come back to the office?
Ummm, no.  Why?

It’s positive.
Whaaaaattt?  Um, okay.  Wow.  Still, no.

Mkay, blood draw on Sunday.
Ummm.  Riiiighttt.  Sure.  I can do that.

Hi.  You are?
Name name name.
Pause.  Wow.  You do not look as old as this paper says.
Riiiight.  Well, thank you, I guess.

Wow.  Where are the bandaids?
Um.  I dunno.
Sorry, I don’t work here but on the weekends.  I know where some other ones are, though.  Be right back.
Uhh, I really don’t care.  Rilly.
Mkay, here we go!
Do you have a preferred place for sticking?
Um.  No.  Wherever the vein looks good.  Or the artery, or whatever.
Mkay, some people say, STICK ME HERE.
Um, yeah.  If you see a good one, go for it.
Oooh, here we go!
Okay, go.
Are you okay?
Yup.  Way too used to this.
Dead silence.

Hi.  Name?
Ja.  Hi.
Sorry.  Let’s do all this other expensive stuff, mkay?