Finding Zen

State of our Union

I've not written much lately, because if I did, this would become one of those 'Fertility blogs'.  And I've not wanted that for Finding Zen.  I've worried I would lose some of you.  I've worried I would bore you.  And as a result, this place is getting dusty.  And boring.  And lacking in...CONTENT.

Then it occurred to me that Finding Zen IS whatever and wherever I happen to be in my life.  Which will constantly change, and evolve - and you will either like it or not, and I've decided I can't be bothered by the outcome.  And if you think this all sounds like a bit of a 'personal issue' -  like, Why the hell is she dragging me into this, I didn't say shit? - its because YOU'RE RIGHT!  I had contemplated starting a new blog - where I'd discuss all these fertility things...these now-relevant things, but then I realized how totally lame that would be. 

So guess what?  Notanewsflash: I'm trying to get pregnant. And guess what else?  This may even turn in to one of those 'Mommy blogs' some day.  It may then become a 'Mid-life Crisis blog', and then a 'I Wear Elastic Pants blog'.  Either way, its just me.  The girl who calls herself Stella, whose trying to find her zen.

You may consider yourself warned.  I'm about to get all FERTILITY on you.  Until one day...I'll get pregnant - and I'll spend at least 2 months trying to figure a way I can lie to you all...so that I may for once in my life prove to myself and my spouse, that I am in-fact capable of keeping my wordhole shut.  Just because. 

So here is your update.  Not Pregnant: Since February 2008!  We tried the whole 'Lets just relax, not think about it...see what happens' route for about 3 months with no success.  Some may refer to this as the 'Gods Hands' method.  That method SUCKS.  I have been charting my cycles since June.  This month is our 8th month trying to conceive.  The acronym people call this 'TTC'.  Get it?  Take notes, or you will get schooled up in here.

In fact, here are a few I'm going to go ahead and tell you now - because they are the building blocks of being able to get and receive information in 'TTC' land.  If you don't know at least these, you might as well forget about trying to get pregnant.   And if you are already wearing elastic pants, just pretend you want to play along. 

BD- Baby Dance.  Because 'sex' is too sleazy?  Too textbook?  I don't' know.  I prefer to think that this is actually code for penis.  Big Dick.  Baby Dance is just a little too...Fantasia for me.  I'm 30, I've growed up.

POAS- Pee on a Stick.  This is (hopefully) self explanatory.  Not to be confused with POS (Piece of Shit).  However you may feel the urge to cuss at your POS stick, once you get a BFN.  See below.

BFP - Big Fat Positive.  The holy grail of P'ingOAS.

BFN- The opposite of BFP.  It means = Bunk Egg.  Try Again.  Happy Hour.

TCOYF- Taking Control of Your Fertility.  The TTC Holy Bible.  The book that gives you step-by-step instructions on how to become a total psychopath.  Right down to the 80 various classifications you can assign the color, smell, and consistency of your cervical fluid.  Mmmm...whats for dinner?

OMGB - You may know this one already.  Oh. Mah. God. Becky.  Except I added the Becky part.  A new twist on an 'oldy but goody'.  ie:  'OMGB, I got a BFP!' 

Thats enough for today.  Baby steps. 

Obama For My Other Mama

Recently, a fellow Zen reader reached out to me - requesting that I might impress (or distress) upon you - my political views on this coming presidential election.  This person acknowledged that I don't typically discuss things of this nature around here, but that perhaps I could be persuaded to engage in this great conversation for the sake of...well, you know, it being REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT.  And like bigger than any 'I have 3 holes?', 'Why the hell can't I conceive?', 'My dogs' farts are really bad', and all the other topics of pointless drivel often filling these pages. 

My response was....that I won't 'go there' (because I'm afraid some Republican will come over here and chew me up and spit me out like a wad of Big League Chew)- but boy do I know someone who will!  It gives me great pleasure, to have this as an excuse, to have Finding Zens first ever GUEST POSTER - and for that person to be the one and only...VERN OF BLOG FAME.  My sharp shootin, get 'er done, whipper snapper of a mother-in-law - Vern.  One of the smartest, most articulate, level-headed, generous, diplomatic, women I know.  She has been an inspiration to me in the five short years we've shared, and I have a tremendous amount of respect for her opinion.  So without further adieu...I give you...The Vernster.  My response would be (and not because I'm not a free-thinking articulate individual myself....but because she just knows this shit better)...YEAH!  WHAT SHE SAID!  Go Obama!

I dreamed I was looking for a job last night and I couldn't find one anywhere. I really needed one to pay my bills. Everyone I knew, that would be a sure bet to help me out, told me the same thing.  They were looking, too, and having no luck.  Odd dream.  I retired this past June and have (seemingly) no financial worries.  We won't be diverted by the fact that I woke up this morning to hear that Lehman had failed and that my dream had occurred on what was now being called "Black Sunday."   It did lead me to wonder how these times feel to younger people. Just out of college, just married, just entering the job market, changing jobs, trying to stay home and raise children.  Having been through a number of "downturns" in the market, a very foreign notion to folks just trying to pay their bills, but one that impacts them even if at a distance, I can tell you that these are worrisome times.

 

My mind wandered to that old commercial. They dress this really cool guy up and put him in a convertible Oldsmobile and say "This is not your father's Oldsmobile."  REALLY?  Looks just like it to me...but who's the dude driving. Now THAT is new.  I would say they were trying to put "lipstick on a pig" but I think that has been causing trouble lately so I will avoid that old saying.  No real change, just the same old car.  Well folks, this is not your father's election.  At no time in my life have I felt that who we elect has such grave consequences for us as a nation.  After eight years of a president that many chose because they thought he would be a  great guy "to have a beer with," I can tell you that I wish I had offered to pay for them to drink with him so he would have stayed out of the White House.  It is truly a time for a changing of the guard..not that they have guarded much but the price of oil and THEIR right to privacy.  It is more than that. It is time for the next generation to take over. From MY generation.  Odd feeling....but true.  We are out of touch with technology, "might" no longer makes "right" (if it ever did) and going to war no longer solves anything (if it ever did.) 

 

Since last September I have had three Obama workers living in my basement....consecutively....not all together.  They have been bright, hard working and informed.  I have not met Obama, but if those are the people of his choosing...I am ready to turn it over to him. He has paid school loans, he has lived in a family that could barely make ends meet.  He has worked in communities that are homes to some of our most disadvantaged citizens.  But in the end, the most important thing a president can do is choose smart people to surround him, and then listen to their counsel.  I am terrified of the old ways. They don't work anymore and we are mired in a war that has lasted almost twice as long as the Second World War.  The economy is in the tank folks. It is going to effect everyone's job before long.  We desperately need new leadership and the way we have always changed our system is by voting. 

 

I am sick of the details. I don't care who babysits for Sarah Palin.  I care that the majority of her experience is as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska with a budget of $6 million dollars and 53 employees, and that her foreign policy experience is that "I [she] can see Russia from my house."  I visited Russia last year for two weeks and I can tell you folks, you do not want me for your next VP. 

 

I am sorry that McCain was held hostage in Hanoi. But that does not mean that I want a 74 year old man, wit recurring Melanoma, who has NEVER, read: not one single time, held a job that was not funded by the government.  In fact, he has never lived in a family headed by anyone who was not on the government payroll (unless he considers his wife, Cindy, the head of his household.)  Her car tags read "Miss Bud" as she has inherited a beer distributorship.  He does not know what it felt like to be in my dream and looking everywhere for a job to pay my bills!  When he graduated from the Naval Academy he was given a red Corvette and sent to Florida. 

 

All the polls show that we select our president by emotions.  How in the HELL can we be more emotional about who we drink a flippin' beer with than who will be in charge of jobs, gas prices, wars that take the lives of our young men and women?  HELLO...is anyone out there???

 

-Vern

For The Love of Jesus

I live my life, for the most part, for the love of me.  After-all...I am a 'Blogger'.  I don't go to church.  I don't pray.  I don't subscribe to any one religion.  If 'creationism' is ever taught in schools as Science, I will sure as shit move my ass to France before you can say au revoir.  I'm not a hater.  I'm not in denial.  I just like for things to make sense.  Which is why I am most drawn to the philosophy of Buddhism and the freeing nature of its practice.  It is a way of life that challenges the human spirit to realize itself from the inside out, without ego, as part of a much greater system.   The best part?  If you don't suceed - and you probably won't because its like impossible- there is no threat (verbal or otherwise) that you will spend eternity in a fiery pit called Hell reigned by a red devil with a pitchfork called Satan.  Who likes to eat sinners for dessert.  You may however, find yourself a Horny Toad reincarnated.  Who knows?  With that said if The Lord Jesus Christ himself ever comes to visit, I will be the first in line for communion.

But this past weekend.  I did something...for The Love of Jesus.  Actually, more like, for the love of my very first (and possibly last) Godchild.  But its all the same, right?  You, me, Jesus, we're all brethren!  Only one of us is invisible!

My Godchild, Quinn, was having his baptism and I got word that part of the 'deal' was that I had to show up for the service (so much work!) - in Florida.  Which meant that in order to get there, I had to drive through the SPAWN OF GUSTAV Friday night.  Okay, so maybe I wasn't the one driving, but I was in the equally life-threatening position of 'passenger'.  When you have Category 5 Panic Disorder, triggered by such things as the spawn of Category 5 Hurricanes, it equals = Stellataneous Combustion.  Let me explain.

Gustav, which was actually chillin on the other side of the Gulf had had a FOOD BABY earlier that afternoon - and it somehow floated its way over to Lake City Florida right about the time Zack and I argued over the awesomeness of the 'heat' lighting.  Because he knew it wasn't heat lighting.  And all the sudden the hurricane hit our little space of I-75, rendering us completely unable to see through the highest speed of windshield wipeage, as Zack insisted on staying in the middle lane so we wouldn't wreck into the 50 semis doing 90 around us.   And in that moment.  The longest fucking stretch of interstate between two exits in all of the Continental U.S., I shat internally.  In my brain, in my stomach, in my face, tiny implosions, toxins melting vital organs - all over the seat.  I had forgotten my Xanex - the one and only thing in this world that could possibly save me from experiencing the anxiety of my impending death.

We finally pulled over (the tidal wave just carried us off the interstate) and I called god-baby mamma. I asked as politely and un-anxiously as possible for her to quickly find weather.com and give me a full report, so I could decide if I needed to start walking to Tampa.  An hour later after 62 questions about what links to click the rain has stopped.  She says 'ahhhhh...yes!....SHAWAN' (her extremely annoying pet-name for me - which is only extremely annoying in this moment that I'm not interested in things sweet and silly...and any and all attitudes that aren't validating my panic), 'there is a bit of red.  Are you in LAKE CITY?  Yes.  Lake City is VERY BAD.  And ohh....how funny...SHAWAN...its the ONLY bit of red in the entire state of Florida RIGHT NOW!'

And it took every bit of strength in me to not reach behind me in the back seat and pull out, row by row, the precious hand-knitted baby blanket for her baby I'd lost 4 fingertips to over the last 6 months.

Penis. Penis. Penis.

Are you still with me?

After my near-death experience, comes Jesus.  How very apropos?  When my dear friend, who makes me knit perfection for all the babies she keeps ACCIDENTALLY having, asked me to CO-god Parent with our other good friend (also a chick...yes, I can only imagine what the congregation was thinking about that one), I thought it meant we would just be responsible for the kids wellbeing and stuff should they and their entire immediate family (because who are we kidding) be entirely wiped off the face of Florida by a tornado.  Or Gustavs Food Baby.  But oh contraire.

Not only did I have to sign my name on a piece of church paper - I had to make all sorts of pLomises!  Out loud!  Confirming the use, renunciation, affirmation, and intent of words like...Kingdom, spirit, evil, sin, and prayer!  HUH?  I kept waiting for Zack to interrupt the whole thing by standing up all Princess Bride'-like yelling...'LIARRRRRRR! LIARRRRRRRRR!'- and then everyone would throw stones, and Zack would go off and email the Dalai Lama about my treason.

But all is well.  My little god-baby may not learn about Baby Jesus and Crew from me - but he will know how to be nice to girls, he will know that I'll bail him out of jail ONCE, he will always have plenty of condoms, and he will know that GOOD BEER can never be bought for $2 dollars.  Most of all, he will know that there will always be room in our family if his parents turn lame.  For a small fee.

*Fine-print.  If you managed to get through this post and all you can think of is how you might convince me to feel otherwise about paragraph #1, please let me just say the following.  I am surrounded by family and friends of the Christian faith.  I believe everyone is entitled to their own opinion about religion, and so please remember, it is just that.  My opinion.  And perhaps you need to have more sex....because 'penis penis penis' was the real moral of this story. 

**Behold The Masterpiece II.  Second only to The Masterpiece I:

 

Fixin' To

Nie would want me to get over myself by now.  So I'm fixin' to post today.  Stay tuned.  All 5 of you left still checking in.