Category Archives: You’re killing me…

Michael Vick was making $35,000 a year as a shop mechanic before serving a prison term after he was found guilty for torturing dogs. After serving his time, another mechanic’s shop hired him.

No one in the community, much less the nation, batted an eyelash. Not so True story.

So is everyone in a tizzy over his reinstatement into the NFL because instead of only making $35K, Vick stands to make $1.6 million? Or is it because we are under some false impression that pro-athletes need to be pillars of inspiration to the community and its children?

I’m usually the first to throw any nutless, animal abusing, asshole under the bus, but I’m not sure why – out of the obscene number of wife-beaters, drunk-drivers and petty-larceners – anyone is depleting their reserves of indignant anger on this inhuman waste of space.


I would like to officially thank Nadya Suleman and her “doctor” for giving reproductive endocrinology, and all associated artificial reproductive therapies, a bad name. Or should I say, an even worse name.

Rest assured that her actions and decisions, and the actions and decisions made by her “doctor”, will significantly impact ART in the immediate future for all state-side REs, and unfortunately, their patients who are probably all just a tad less psychotic. Yes, I do think Nadya is psychologically deficient.



Big time.


Sorry, none here, but I can’t help but wonder….WHAT. THE. FARK?

Aren’t search terms fun? This is just one that stood out today. The list is seemingly endless.

Tell me one of your most memorable search terms that you’ve used (if you dare to share) or that you’ve had show up on your blog?

Today marks Day 3 of 7 for National Delurking Week. Delurk!


Thank You!

Mr. DD called me and said a package had been delivered to the house to “Baby Murdock”. It took him a while to figure out who the hell that was since we don’t actually refer to Murdock as Murdock in real life. It’s just usually an equal usage of “he” or “she”.

The package was from Summer at Worrier/Warrior who is just now teetering into her second trimester through donor egg, and I couldn’t be more pleased with her progress. Thank you, Summer, so much for the sterilizer. I learned the first time that cleaning bottles with brushes and dishwashers was a real pain in the ass.

Also, my friend Mel from Minnesota deserves a public thank you as well for loaning me her playmat, boppy and jumper-thingy. In just six short years jumpers have evolved from the door jam hangers to saucer-like contraptions that require nothing more than three square feet of space. Genius!

I would also like to thank Shanna at Shinny Laboo for the gender-neutral newborn items she sent me a few weeks ago. When the box showed up, its size belied how many tiny things can actually be stuffed inside and it seemed I’d never reach the bottom!

That concludes the “Thank You” portion of this post. Now onto the “Bad Night”:

Bad Night(s)

It seems as if I’ve been stuck in a nightmarish loop of “just three more weeks” for the past six. Groundhog Day for the Pregnant Woman, perhaps? And that’s just three more weeks before my c-section. It’s actually four until my due date. It didn’t help that while out and about doing an errand last night, an acquaintance I hadn’t seen for some time asked if we were having twins.

I must be delusional as I thought most of my hugeness was originating out of my ankles. Want proof?

I have sharpei legs!! AAAiiieeeeeee!

Sleeping is still a much dreaded ordeal. I’ve become such a hormonal and whiny, crabby mess that when I wake by the fourth time each night, usually at 3:00 a.m., I’m literally in tears from the pain in my wrists and exhaustion. I never thought I would be such a blubbering mess at this point. At the same time, I wonder where I get the energy to answer the question, “How are you feeling?” with “Great!” when obviously, I’m not.

The Other Stuff

I did finally get someone scheduled to clean the  house. They will come for the first time July 11th. I went to that website to get my gift certificate for the service only to find that the GC is no longer available. You snooze, you lose.

Obviously nothing new to see here, move along. More interesting is the new reality show, The Baby Borrowers. I don’t know what is more insane: teenagers hoping to show they are ready to start a family now; or couples handing over their baby to clueless teenagers (of which there are one or two girls I’d love to slap across the face with a poop-filled diaper, especially the one who got so frustrated trying to feed the baby she ground out, “Fine, you can starve!” I’m looking at you, Alicea.).

If you’re not into picking up ONE. MORE. REALITY. SHOW! then I would also like to recommend that you stop and see Jessie over at Life As I Knew It Has Changed, who had a D&C as a follow-up to a biopsy that came back as pre-cancerous. A little stroking never did anyone harm, and she especially likes it…you dirty, dirty girl, you.


I just don’t get PETA. I try to remain empathetic to these people and appreciate how difficult society treats them, but sometimes their focus is out of whack, aka – they’re a little overzealous.

People for the Ethical  Treatment of Animals.

So how is sending marksmen to shoot pest-carrying (and highly overpopulated) pigeons not ethical? It’s not like the powers-that-be of Wimbledon were letting the tennis players beat the proverbial shit out of them with rackets or capturing them to be stuffed down one of the ball shooters to then be fired out over the property.

Marksmen. Hired gun-slingers. It’s a good thing they didn’t call on me with my pellet gun and questionable shooting skills. It took me shooting a bat the size of a field mouse three times with a BB before I killed it. Shhh. Don’t tell. Not like anyone can do anything about it since I wasn’t necessarily discharging a firearm within city limits. OK, yes I was, but I was also inside my house.

Instead of PETA getting all up into the grill of Wimbledon’s administration, why not brainstorm a solution to the problem? Sure they were all fine with the specially trained hawks, but that makes PETA a bit prejudiced for not getting upset about those hawks being treated as nothing more than arial body guards without compensation than they were about a bunch of nasty, shit-dropping pigeons.

I can’t think of one positive purpose pigeons serve and I can assure you that pigeons are not good eatin’. Who would have thunk considering that they are about the same size as dove, which can be quite tasty.


Another sleepless early morning thanks to the carpal tunnel. Yes, it’s that  bad. Bad enough that I get up and cry a little in the bathroom and then go back to lay down – just so I don’t wake up Mr. DD. I’d give my left hand (literally) to just go back to charlie horses and sciatica.

But just when I was feeling about as crappy as I think I could, someone took advantage of my delicate and sensitive state of mind and sent me this:

Thank you, Mollywogger. This gave me my first real smile of the day.

someecards? Some of the best stuff online, bar none.

no. 671 – Dump

I am appalled at what some people will dump in the ditches outside of town along the gravel roads. A couple years ago, two blue recliners were left in a culvert down the road from us. Last year, a TV found its way not far from there. Lord knows what other crap gets left in the middle of the night.

But what makes me absolutely livid are those people who go through the trouble of bagging their lawn clippings and then drive a couple miles outside of town to dump those clippings, bag and all, in a ditch.

How seriously lazy and egomaniacal are these people? Yard nazis who don't realize first of all how healthy it is to mulch their grass, and then can't simply open the bags and just dump the grass out. Hell, my husband and I are always willing to take our town-living friends' clippings to help improve our sandy soil.

God help any asshole I find dumping their shit in our ditches. And it WILL happen. And it WILL NOT be pretty. Fuckers.

no. 653 – Spork You

I was asked recently by one of Mr. DD’s relatives, "How’s project number two coming along?" I can’t begin to explain how torn I was between scooping out his testicles with a spork or replying, "Glad to know that four of those other pesky non-pregnancies don’t count towards my list of ‘projects’." And yes, I would have been as equally annoyed if he had asked about "project number six"…

A co-worker asked about my due date, with which I replied sometime in July. They persisted and wanted to know beginning, middle or end of July? I said that I was shooting for the middle, depending on when we could schedule my c-section…."Oh, YOU’RE the reason the cost of healthcare continues to skyrocket!" Again, the thought of spork-mutilation crossed my mind as I smiled thinly in reply and thought, "Fuck you sideways, asshole, as I think my insurance can cover that little, minor detail of a surgical delivery considering I’ve hemorrhaged thousands of dollars (not to mention a little blood here and there) these past few years just to get to this point."

In an unbelievable moment of stupidity, I thought I would try to spray paint something for a school project last night while still in my work clothes. When the can sputtered and shot BLACK paint all over my arm, in a panic I did a quick personal pat-down to make sure it only hit my skin. I almost breathed a sigh of relief until I spied my shoes. Right on the toe of my fairly new Sofft skimmers, a black drop of paint. If the tines of my spork were still intact, I would gouge out my own brain as punishment for its uselessness.

no. 633 – A Senior at Heart

Remember the senior pictures from yesteryear?

Mallbangs_2Pinchroll_2 Bangs up to heaven and the bottom of your jeans were pinch-rolled? I guess I should clarify: if you were graduating from high-school in the 80’s. You younger bitches just didn’t have style, I’m telling you.

Your poses, if you had pictures taken in a independent studio, were pretty basic: head shot where you sat with your body turned three-quarters and facing the camera (chin down…we don’t want to see up your nostrils!) Maybe you had one where you rested your chin on your fist, which always looked as if someone was giving you an uppercut; and for those with truly daring photographers, a full-body pose outside wearing a denim mini-skirt, scrunch boots, a big ole’ hip belt and pink bandanna. (Oh, yes. I did. It was my first realization that while I may have been a size nothin’ at the time, my thighs were like crystal balls into my future of cellulite).

The world changes, but as I get older, the more I start muttering about today’s youth like the crazy cat lady who refuses to buy groceries from any area of the grocery store but the pet aisle.

Senior pictures today look like either head-shots for a remake of Showgirls; or a cover shot of a Christian songs CD. Examples?

Showgirl_2  This one’s pretty tame picture considering some I’ve seen. Others have girls posed in a way where it looks like they aren’t wearing a top/bra. Moms: you must be so proud! 

Girls aren’t the only ones who find themselves lured by the potential myspace avatar’s siren: guys are just as guilty. In fact, the inspiration for this post came from a senior portrait displayed proudly in our local mall. Before I show you that one, here’s one I really don’t get…

Hatsilo Really? This is a senior picture??

Is it wrong that for as much as I love artistic photos, I hate this? Therein lies how old I’ve become. What will senior portraits be like when XBoy or Murdock reaches that age? CT scans of their brains, colorized?

If nothing else, I can guarantee that every one of these kids will look back on their pictures in 20 years and wonder what the fuck were they thinking. Don’t you?

Here’s the picture that was being used to advertise a local photographer’s studio. Sorry about my reflection in the glass and the quality – still using my phone because our good laptop is still in ICU (after being sent three sets of HP start-up discs where the first two sets were defective…I’m hating on HP).

Seniorsword Are your eyes deceiving you, you ask?

Oh, no…it’s really a kid wearing a polo and wielding a sword.

I can’t explain why I feel the uncontrollable desire to kick this kid’s ass.

no. 629 – A Heavy Post About Lightening Up

I remember when I first saw the previews for the movie Juno. I really wanted to see it because it looked funny. My only worry (and certainly not a “real” one) was sitting in a theater watching some pregnant girl and trying not to involuntarily throw popcorn at the screen and think “lucky bitch”.

I never got to see the movie. The hype that started surrounding the whole adoption issue irked me, to say the least. I didn’t expect a movie to expand my opinion or educate me on birth-mothers and adoption processes, but that’s what it turned into for just about everyone in blogging who has been touched, whether negatively or positively, by adoption.

My desire to see the movie was based on my wish to be entertained. I had hoped that my husband, who probably considered the movie a “chick flick”, would come with me and we would get a babysitter for XBoy and we would eat stale, salty popcorn iced in fake butter, eat Mike & Ike’s and drink enough soda to send us to the bathroom at least twice. Ahhhh, Paradise.

That didn’t come to pass because I had been inundated with the controversy. How could I sit and watch that movie passively?

Now there’s another movie coming out: Baby Mama, about surrogacy. I love Tina Fey. I love Amy Poehler. Both brilliant comediennes. But already it has started. You may have seen the Newsweek article on surrogacy that was recently on MSN’s home page. I actually came away after reading it without the icky taste in my mouth I normally get when news articles try to discuss topics of infertility. The article on donor eggs made my skin crawl in comparison.

In the former article, it does reference briefly the stereotyping that surrounds surrogacy and how the movie, Baby Mama, caricatures that with the casting: “She hires a working-class gal (Amy Poehler) to be her surrogate. The client is a savvy, smart and well-to-do health-store-chain exec while Poehler is an unemployed, deceitful wild child who wants easy money.”

To me, this is pure Hollywood razzlematazzle to exploit how many people think. If the film industry wants to provide more reality, then they would promote a documentary. Those interested in a more accurate portrayal would then go see said documentary. If you want fact, don’t spend your hard-earned money and see a movie that happens to be categorized as a “comedy”, e.g. Juno.

If I really thought I could get an education and opinions from the entertainment industry then I would find myself believing that ancient Romans spoke English; that a form of martial arts would allow me to fly; and that hobbits walk the face of the Earth.

I would never expect Hollywood to provide me anything but a bang for my buck. Education isn’t their responsibility and to blame them or have higher expectations from the entertainment industry is like pointing a finger: when you do, there are always three pointing back at you. Simple reminders as to who is really responsible for knowing the difference between fact and fiction.

We should welcome a laugh whenever possible and we deserve to have simple joys, even if that means giggling at the joke that no one else gets. Infertility is a fucked-up joke, and you can’t tell me that while you are reading through your list of blogs that someone along the way doesn’t make you smile, or even guffaw outright, while describing something infertility-related.

Reality can be too painful as it is. Enjoy the improbable and the ludicrous. Take a break from that reality once in a while and eat some overpriced and crappy popcorn.

no. 618 – Going To Hell

I happened to be doing some "research" (I use the term loosely since I have no intent of suddenly writing a dissertation) on the Catholic’s view of IVF. Shall I just cut to the chase and give you the actual summary of their view?

"In summary, the Catholic Church condemns as gravely evil acts, both IVF in and of itself, and stem cell research performed on IVF embryos. "

Gravely Evil, people. Gravely.

LolembryosWhile they did actually include some researched data from the science of Human Embryology, it was this statement that had my grey matter firing in confusion and anger:

     "IVF violates the rights of the child: it deprives him of his filial relationship with his parental origins and can hinder the maturing of his personality. It objectively deprives conjugal fruitfulness of its unity and integrity, it brings about and manifests a rupture between genetic parenthood, gestational parenthood, and responsibility for upbringing. This threat to the unity and stability of the family is a source of dissension, disorder, and injustice in the whole of social life."

I bet the person who wrote out that little tidbit of double-talk was once an attorney (no offense to those of you in the legal field…you’re already going to hell, too).

Now the statement doesn’t even take into consideration us hellions here on earth who have pursued third-party (donor/surrogacy) reproduction. Let’s just say we are also going straight to hell; do not pass GO; and don’t even think about Purgatory.

During my aforementioned research, I stumbled upon an infertility blog being written through the eyes of a Catholic – assumed devout – woman. An RE was out of the question for her and her husband because of the Catholic church’s stand. She also mentioned that one of the few places she could go for treatment of any kind was right here in Nebraska! Pope Paul VI Institute!

While I found myself a bit chuffed that her description of the institute and their goal was to actually find a cause for her infertility as opposed to all those hell-bound REs who just are trying to gloss over the causes, the clincher in the blogger’s life was that her recent updates include the fact that she and her husband are divorcing.

Soooo….it’s OK for this couple to seek divorce, but not reproductive assistance? Now I understand that obviously if they had actually went against the church originally and sought an RE that it wouldn’t have saved the marriage. I just find a certain irony to that whole thing since it’s  encouraged for the couples to believe that their infertility is something they should accept, but a crappy marriage? Pfffftt! Nothing a little "annulment" can’t fix so that the Church will welcome them both back into the fold, while at the same time don’t you dare go about IVF so you can raise your child to be a threat to the unity and stability of the family as a source of dissension, disorder, and injustice in the whole of social life.

That would just be wrong.

Now where’s my handbasket . . .

no. 588 – Hot, Cross, Buns

Yesterday, after work, I went to the grocery store. While waiting in the check-out line, I perused the magazines and picked out In Style to take home with me.

The current issue has Halle Barry in the cliche Madonna pose where she has a hand under her gestating abdomen. The checker looked over the cover while I was preparing my payment and she said, "Oh! Do you have a bun in the oven?"

I physically froze while in my head, I was saying What. The. Fuck!

"Haha! Me? No!" I answered.

What kind of question is that for a complete stranger to ask another person, a customer, based on the cover of a magazine? Sure, I’m probably overreacting to it (as some in the "fertile" community believe we do, but screw them because I am not only entitled to my bitterness, I fucking earned it!), but it really bothered me.

Even worse, what if this had happened to me six months ago, just after my last miscarriage? Or in my two-week wait, or shit! any other time for any one of us?!

Here’s the cover, by the way. I should mention as I was reading through her article that the writer noted that she was about to "give birth any minute!" when in fact, she’s not due until March. Yep. That’s any minute now. Idiot.


no. 586 – The Feast

You know how some things just tickle your funny bone, probably more than they should?

This snickers commercial isn’t necessarily hysterical on its own, but when I think about it later and imagine the toga guy waving his hands over the "feast" and exclaiming how it’s ruined, I giggle.

I will soooo be using that line the next time we are out to eat and XBoy and Mr. DD get into a mental tug-o-war.

no. 576 – It’s Not Free If It Will Cost You Your Sanity

One of the things I’ve always wanted to do through this blog is a PSA that warn others about filling out those promotional cards that you get from the doctor’s office and maternity/baby stores. Yesterday’s post triggered a reminder.

The first time I filled them out I was pregnant with XBoy. A tra-la-la-ing I went into my pregnancy with nary a concern. I was tickled to receive free diapers, formula, magazines, etc. It was free! Who doesn’t love FREE, even if it’s crap.

Then came Vivienne. I made it through the first trimester, but I really didn’t think anything about the hurdle except I was hoping I wouldn’t feel so shitty all the time. I went to The Metro to get myself some new maternity clothes. Stopped in at Satan’s Lair Mimi Maternity and when I went to pay for my purchase (a soft pink cardigan set – I remember it as if it were yesterday), they asked me some demographic data as well as my due date. Again, tra-la-fucking-la…

A week later I encountered the spotting. Vivienne was dead and probably had been as I was doling out her due date to a stranger who couldn’t care less. After my D&C, I was horrified when promotional items showed up in the mail. Not just that, but I had signed up on a website for weekly pregnancy updates and every time I sat down to the computer, I would get a "Your baby is now 17 weeks old!" "Your baby is now 18 weeks old!"

I don’t remember when I finally unsubscribed, but when I did, I was hit in the face yet again. By unsubscribing, they ask why, including, "Was there a miscarriage?" I clicked Yes and was sent automatically to those horrible chat boards ("Even though I was told to wait two cycles before trying again, I got pregnant right after my miscarriage!" "Sending you baby dust!" "They told me my baby had died but at a final ultrasound before the D&C, they found the heart beating again!").

I knew that those boards were not for me (The cynicism is strong in this one!). I never heard of a blog until we started fertility treatments six months later.

A really shitty lesson, trust me. So that’s why I don’t fill out the promo cards and I never will. Maybe my friends think I’m cuckoo for telling them to avoid them as well, but I do and I’ve told them why. I don’t care if they think I’m overly paranoid or borderline nuts. I’m happy to report that I’ve never had to say, "I told you so." Not that I would. I’m just sayin’…