Painting Chef - Cheaper Than Therapy

It’s official. You knew it would happen, that it was only a matter of time but it has finally fulfilled its destiny.

“Dancing with the Stars” is the new “The Real World.” (Does MTV still film “The Real World”? Are they now filming like “The Real World: Bucksnort, TN” or did they just give up and replace it with Jersey Shore and The Hills? You know… since THOSE people are SO real…)

But I digress. “Dancing with the Stars” is the new “Real World”. They are no longer looking for people who are just a few slightly has-been celebs or daytime stars. Oh no. They are now casting for… DRAMA. I’m sure of it.

Why? Brenda. Walsh. You do not invite Brenda Walsh to a party unless you want drama. She has been cast as the troublemaker. Which, let’s be honest, is going to piss off Kate Gosselin AND her hamster hair extensions. (It troubles me to no end that Microsoft Word recognized Gosselin as a word.)

Jake the Bachelor? Doesn’t he have enough on his plate right now? Didn’t he just get engaged or dumped or married or divorced or something? To some girl named Sausage? Or like… a Disney princess? Erin Andrews looks an awful lot like those girls, hope he doesn’t get confused… that would be awkward for everyone.

And Evan Lysacek? Did I even spell that right? Must we really fall so far so fast my dear? You just won a gold medal. Go to Disneyworld or something. Make a Wheaties box. Isn’t there another pretty important competition right after the Olympics? But for the love of god man, whatever you do, stop slicking back that hair. It’s NOT a good look for you.

At least between Evan (with NON slicked back hair) and Aiden who plays a guy named Aiden on a soap opera, there will be plenty of eye candy. Those two will get arrested for bar fighting by the third episode. That’s what the cute boys do on reality shows, right?

Add to that mix Pamela Anderson and a guy who LEGALLY changed his name to “OchoCinco” because he has the mental capacity of a highlighter. I predict those two will be married and divorced before the show ends. The Pussycat Doll will be VERY jealous and between the antics of her and Pammy A, the show will no longer be broadcast live to allow for ample time to blur wardrobe malfunctions.

Buzz Aldrin and Niecy Nash? Archie and his adorable new haircut think you are too good for this shit…

Can we talk about curling? And how it is just drunken frozen horseshoes with some shuffleboard thrown in for good measure?

Then can we talk about how RIVETED I’ve been by curling? And how I can now play curling on the Wii?

And after we’ve talked about that can we talk about how it is the BEST Olympic sport because you can get all dolled up with earrings and lipstick and still be an OLYMPIC ATHLETE? (Although when the summer games roll around, be forewarned that I will reserve the right to point out how much faster those girls would run without the giant earrings and necklaces weighing them down).

Now can we talk about how I can picture the origin of very few sports but that curling is TOTALLY one of them? The other? Skeleton sledding. And I believe that both of these sports originated from large quantities of alcohol. We’re only a few years away from a US Beer Pong team, aren’t we?

USA! USA! USA!

Patrick has suggested that perhaps I need a project over the next couple of months. A distraction of some kind. Something that will dial down The Crazy a little while I sit a twiddle my thumbs waiting for the green light to take more fertility drugs. I have a few of said projects in mind.

First, I’m planning our garden. I want to have an actual garden this year instead of just a few random pots of tomatoes and basil that I sometimes remember to water. I have an urge to put my hands in the dirt and grow things. And no. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. But I want to grow fennel, cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, asparagus, lettuce, peppers, beans and broccoli. I want to grocery shop in my backyard. I want a herb garden overflowing with dill, basil, rosemary and thyme. And… I have NO IDEA how to do this. Do I use seeds or plants? All I know is that its going to be a raised garden because I kind of hate to crawl around on the ground.

Also? Painting. Remember when I used to paint? Like… on canvases? I think my art therapy is long overdue and I’m going to fight my way through the seventeen random chairs in our spare bedroom (known only as “The Purple Room” because we can’t figure out how to arrange it or use it at all other than a storage room and a good place to accidentally lock the cat) and work shit out.

Along the same vein… Patrick got me gift certificates for photography classes for my birthday last year and I haven’t used them yet. That is not going to be the case much longer. I love my Nikon SLR but I have to be honest… I think it does lots more tricks than I know about. And I would LOVE to learn more about them. There are so many dials! And buttons! And I don’t know what ANY of them do!

So that’s kind of the plan right now. Also possibly some dusting off of the gym membership. I’m thinking a little (gasp) exercise couldn’t hurt. My “winter” sloth has gotten the better of me AND my pants and I’m not going to have fertility drugs to blame that on for a few months…

I found this wonderful necklace on Etsy last month and bought it immediately. It was made by someone who has struggled with infertility and the simplicity of the message just struck me. I decided to make this my mantra for this year. And since my Blackberry takes such shitty pictures, I’ll steal the one from Etsy to share this with you. I’ve worn this every day since I got it and I try and feel the word sinking into my heart.

I think that patience is such a difficult thing when you are dealing with infertility. There is this general aura of urgency. GET PREGNANT! Do it NOW! Why isn’t it working yet? Why is it taking so long!?!?

But what I think I, and many infertile women, often forget is that all this work we are doing, all the treatments, the drugs, the injections, the WHATEVER… it doesn’t actually give us a leg up. We do all that just to get ourselves back to zero. It makes us EVEN with everyone else. And while it may, very often, seem like all those “everyone else” people get pregnant so fast and so often and so easily, it’s not the case. In reality, the chance of a perfectly fertile woman with no history of problems getting pregnant on any given cycle is only about 10-12%.

Yet we drive ourselves to the brink every time we get a negative pregnancy test. Why do we do this to ourselves? And I’m the worst of the lot, I’m not preaching here, I’m questioning myself. What’s WRONG with me that I can say these words but not believe them?

And so this is the gift I ask the universe for this year. I ask for patience. I ask that every time I touch this constant reminder around my neck that I feel a wave of patience come over me. I ask that you, universe, remind me that you have a plan and that it’s just not time yet. And universe? When I get twitchy and forget about the patience thing? Can you just pour me a glass of wine?

So. Huh. Well. Oh my. Wasn’t that… intense and possibly a little awkward? Note to self: Blog entries written within 5 minutes of receiving very bad news will probably be better left unpublished thereby not depressing the world or at least the 17 or so people who actually read this.

What’s the next step? Acceptance? Bargaining? Denial? Cake? I went home last Thursday (the day of the Very Bad News) and so desperately wanted to soak in a long hot bubble bath but when I looked at the tub and realized it was going to have to be CLEANED before that happened, I just went straight for the wine instead.

I’m still longing for that bubble bath but the idea of getting down on my hands and knees and getting all the dust and cat hair out of that behemoth of a tub is just overwhelming. Not only that but I fear I’ve lost my sympathy window with Patrick so I think getting him to do it is probably out of the question. (There is a good chance that sympathy window was shortened drastically when I convinced him to have a pedicure with me this past weekend.)

(I feel it necessary to point out here that my tub is NOT dirty with like… human dirt leftover from a bath or a RING or anything. It is dirty in the way than an unused bathtub gets when the people in the house use the shower regularly and the only things crawling in and out of the tub are of the feline persuasion.)

Enough about my tub. Despite my longing for a long soak, I’m doing much better now. I had a good cry and a good long talk with my mom and I’m much better. Yes. I’ve accepted the fact that, although it is only February, I will not be a mother in 2010. I was certain I would be but apparently the universe has other plans. Plans I like to call… “Susannah learns how to take the birth control pill at age 32.” Yes, my doctor has decided that 2 months of birth control pills are the best next step for me. And yes. I did have to ask the pharmacist for instructions on how to take the pill. When to start. When to take it. What to expect. I felt… well, actually I felt like a teenager all over again. Pass the Zima!!