If only IKEA sold sperm...

The next step in our baby making process is choosing sperm. We thought this was going to be an overwhelming process. I have to admit that I was disappointed when the fertility doctor handed us an 8x10 sheet of paper containing all of 4 sperm banks that they recommended. Conformity bothers me. I like the cutting edge, the underground, the obscure. Anything but the ordinary, please! So as soon as we got home from the doctor that day I immediately began looking for other options. If only IKEA sold sperm!

What do you know, I think IKEA does sell sperm...

All donors are Scandinavian, and all have lovely little names like Lars, Nils and Jorn. They are even known for their special packaging method, just like IKEA. We've found our sperm bank!

the twins vs. the stairs

Over the weekend, the six pack got together to have some drinks prior to going to a 40th birthday party, when we began to reminice over the last party we had all been to together. It was a committment ceremony reception for a gay couple friend of ours. I had been looking forward to this party ever since me and my girlfriend had gone to the bachelor, or should I say bachelorette, party.

This occassion calls for a new shirt! So, a new shirt I got. The fashion gods were looking over me that day, allowing me to not only find a shirt that made my boobs look great but to find a shirt that made my boobs look great and that cost only $14.99.

Gay men are obessed with boobs. I knew this going into the party and therefore was a little unsure of my cleavage. Sure enough, like hungry little babies in need of breastfeeding, my boobs became the center of attention. Just about every conversation had the obligatory comment "those are nice... I got something I'd like to slide up in there..." Realizing now, that cleavage, especially after a few drinks, greatly resembles a piece of ass, I decide to go talk to the lesbian in the polo shirt and cargo pants. I needed a break. Who am I kidding? The attention was great! So great, in fact, that we now believe my girlfriend purposefully threw herself down the stairs only to land with her legs in the air and her dress around her waist just to steal my thunder.

God is evil...

This Billboard is located on I-459

baby steps

We took the first official step towards becoming parents. It is time. We're not your average married couple whose finally decided to begin the baby making process. First, we aren't married. Secondly, we can't make babies. We are lesbians. Worse, we're lesbians living in the south. We had an appointment at a fertility clinic on Wednesday. The doctor reminded me of a straight Tim Gunn from Project Runway. I also felt like I was caught up in the middle of a John Irving novel. It was a weird mix between "Cider House Rules" and "The World According to Garp" It basically boiled down to... here's who we are... we can get you pregnant... here's what you need to do... At which we were handed a list of sperm banks and a list of the 6 simple steps to insemination.

1. Purchase ovulation predicition kit
2. Contact sperm bank the day you begin your period to make arrangements to have it sent
3. On cycle day 10, call the nurse to confirm the receipt of your sperm
4. On day 10, begin urine tests between 11am and 2pm
5. Day of surge , call the nurse by 2pm to schedule insemination for the following day
6. When the sample is ready, you pay $324 and they let them loose

Of course, this is assuming that you have already picked out and purchased sperm!

Wish us luck... It took us 3 months to pick out a refridgerator and painting the bathroom 5 different colors only to go with an off-white.

never take for granted the power of birthday cake!

Yesterday was my Birthday... 31

Here's a little story of mine about families and birthdays...

About 5 years ago, my girlfriend and I were in Ohio visiting my family. It was September when we were there so they wanted to get me a birthday cake. Everyone got together, sang happy birthday and ate cake. It was lovely. The next day, we're all sitting around the kitchen table eating lunch. I come from a family that believes desert is served after every meal including breakfast. So, out comes the birthday cake. So we're eating left over birthday cake... me, my girlfriend and my grandfather. My girlfriend who hates silence feels the need to start some small talk with my very old, almost deaf grandfather. It was a simple question, really..."How's the birthday cake?" she asks practically having to yell. There was a long pause... we were all unsure if he had understood what she had just asked. He looked up at no one in particular and very loudly stated, "Tastes like pussy".

For him, I hope it did, ironically he passed away a year later on my birthday.

spongebob smokes

Here's what Mantua had to offer me....

1. Relief...
- That, I made it "in time" (if you know what I mean)... while my grandmother may be old she is definitely not feeble!
- That my grandmother had a hairdryer.

2. Fear...
- That I would have to deal with my drunk uncle who lives at home with my grandmother.
- That I had permanently lost my sense of direction.
- That everytime my 5 year old cousin drew a pictures of Spongebob Squarepants he was smoking.

3. Confusion...
- That, my 18 month old cousin is still breastfeeding.
- That my cousin who never finished high school is home schooling his 7 year old.
- That my 27 year old cousin has not had sex, yet! This is either because of "god" or the fact that she's probably a lesbian.

3. Nausea...
- From all the cigarette smoke that constantly filled the house... The yellow color-washed effect on the walls was not a
faux finish rather 50 years of smoke stains.
- From the large amounts of Maxwell House instant coffee I consumed.
- From a few of the pain killers I chose to take that made me forget about all of the above.

4. Happiness....
- That this trip opened my eyes to a prism of different perspectives.
- That this is only a place I visit and not a place where I am rooted.

Mantua or Bust!

Off to Mantua, Ohio we go, to see my side of the family. It's been almost 4 years since we were there last. It feels more like 10 and the mere thought of going gives me an instant and intense case of anxiety. I admit that I planned our trip around the county fair, however, it is mostly out of obligation that we are going. "Grandma is getting old" my mom tells me everytime I talk to her, which is everyday, "you need to go see her". So we are. It's not that I don't want to go... It's just that... thanks to my mom, the words "your grandma's getting old" are now engraved in my head, so much so, that I have developed what I can only describe as the resistance and inability to cope with the aging process. Feeble, old people make me nervous.