Out, damned egg! Out I say!

Peet's is Looking Better and Better

First it was Oprah and her general insensitivity to us infertiles. Yesterday it was Liana telling us about Amazon's adoption-unfriendly baby registry. Now it's coming at us when we're just trying to get caffeinated enough to face our days.

I was all set to write a post lambasting Starbucks and their poor choice for #208 in The Way I See It Marketing Ploy.

But Julie wrote a brilliant post so I'm just gonna link to hers. It's hilarious. If you haven't read it go read it now. Seriously.

What were those Starbucks suits thinking? Is there something in the air in Seattle these days?

So I'll be sticking to my lovely local Peet's for a bit.

~~~~~~
And now for a little housekeeping. The movie I quoted the other day (Do you concur?... Why didn't I concur?) was Catch Me if You Can starring the easy on the eyes Leo D.

The check the mister will be getting from his parents? I'm pretty sure I didn't use any adjectives because I was trying not to be about the money. But it won't be 'big' or 'substantial'. Hell, it won't come close to paying for our discount rental car when we go East much less  airfare or anything else.

Of course I'm relieved I won't have to see these lovely people in the next few weeks but I know the mister is a bit sad. Even sadder, he's used to being disappointed by his family and honestly will have a better time without them present.

Remember our chiro? We just found out two weeks ago that she was pregnant. Well, yesterday we got the awful news that she's suffered a loss. I'm gonna make her some brownies and just drop them off at her house.

The plot thickens...

Could our least favorite over-achiever be pregnant with twins again? Apparently she's been spending tons of money buying two of everything.

If she is it will make it a lot harder to brush off those ARTy rumors. Maybe she'll even come clean?

I think a more likely explanation is outfitting nurseries in multiple homes. Two changing tables? Two gliders? I can see two cribs but the others aren't making much sense.

I'm still trying to decide which is better, twins or singleton. Oh, wait. Either way it still sucks.

Soooooo Not What I Needed to Hear

I'm sure this is old news for most of you. I just couldn't let it go by without commenting. I'm wrapping up my long holiday and trying to make some plans to get a ride home from the airport on January 1 when what do I see on my (normally nice) Yahoo Entertainment News?

The 'over-achiever' is at it again. Yup, this is just the way I wanted to end my year. Lapped by an over-achiever. Guess that corny NY clinic really is that good. Anyone else wondering fresh or frozen? Or is it just me?

Still trying to be good here

I knew y'all would get it. You'd understand why that ambush was so hurtful. Why she should know better. I do tend to Bonnie's point of view and I hope we can be friends again one day. Just not too soon, for my own mental health.

I realized my last post did a fairly good job of setting up the situation. And I adequately expressed my hurt and dismay. However,I left out the anger part. 

I talked to another member of our little group today. She's the only one so far to respond to the evite. She reminded the mom-to-be-again that the brunch in on her daughter's first birthday.

I know I should just ignore the evite. Or choose "NO" without saying anything. It's a bit sickening to look at the responses that are currently there. I think it's high time for a little reality.

Miss Millie regrets that she can not attend your lovely brunch because she will be too busy packing for her glorious trip to Thailand, which is only possible because she's still barren. She will raise a glass to your second daughter and she hopes you will toast her recently departed fallopian tube  and  remember had she not the worst luck in the word, she would be giving birth a few days hence.

Ah, wouldn't it be fun to see that along with the smarmy replies?

Next up: Taking Thalia's cookbook challenge and talking about the conference. For reals.

Fool me once...you know the rest

This is the post I haven't wanted to write for a few months now. I realized it's been eating away at me and I want to get it off my chest so that I can move forward. It's about the (hopefully temporary) loss of a friendship.

There are few people in real life that I've told about this blog. Most are friends who've also dealt with or are dealing with infertility. I want to keep this a place where I can write about whatever it is that I need to, and not worry about the repercussions. I didn't want to feel the need to watch what I said or worry about who might be reading. That's one of the reasons that I don't use my real name. I'm sure if someone is motivated and intelligent and really wanted to find this blog, it wouldn't be difficult. I wrote a fairytale a while back for someone I know read this blog occasionally. I had foolishly told my friend he couldn't find my blog, knowing full well he could if he wanted. And I didn't want him to feel bad. I gave him full permission to read it but he hadn't been back (until late last week when I sent him the link above). As I've written before, the mister and I were in a RESOLVE support group and really close to the other group members. I only told one of them about the blog. I suppose I need a nickname for her, I think I'll call her The Shopper. She read it for a while but stopped many months past.

In some ways, she became one of my closest friends. I'm close to everyone in the group but she and I had a lot in common. We also had very similar schedules until I went back to work. We talked on the phone a lot. We got coffee, lunch, walked our dogs. She and her mister had us over to dinner repeatedly during our kitchen renovations. They also had the mister over a couple of times when I was in Cape Town by myself. They were among our biggest cheerleaders.

They'd experienced a lot of loss before we met them. Then they got lucky. They were the second couple in the group to have a successful pregnancy. She found out just before my cycle at Garden State, two years ago. We were thrilled for them. In fact, her baby shower is the last one I was able to attend.

Anyway, just as I was going back to work and dealing with ectopic #2, they started trying again. She would talk about it some but obviously it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. Well, maybe not so obvious because we'd talked about it so much before. And I was still trying. I found myself withdrawing from her a bit. It just hurt too much, ya know?

I talked to a couple of the other group members and they got it. These folks have always 'gotten' it from the first night we met.

The mister and I wanted to have The Shopper and her man over for dinner for a long time. The date that finally worked was the first Friday in June. The first Friday I was to work at my new job. No big deal, right?

Oh, wait. There was that whole "ectopic pregnancy ruptures even though I had an incredibly low beta on the first day of my new job." Remember that one? Well, I decided at the time that cooking a really nice dinner would be a great way for me to deal with some of what I was feeling. You know, in between crying jags and all. And that having a couple of good friends over would be a great comfort.

You know where this is going, right? Actually it's probably better than any of you can even imagine.

The Shopper shows up on time (not something she's known for). Her man was to follow a bit behind. She comes in the door and ambushes us. I swear. Worst. Ambush. Ever.

She had just POAS. After two freakin' months of trying, she was pregnant again. I'd had to listen to her horrible time trying to find a sitter for the RE and did I think it would be ok just once to take her toddler (HELL TO THE NO). She thought she was having an anovulatory cycle but figured she should rule out the obvious. Two freaking months.

She couldn't reach her husband to tell him. So she pulled out the stick to show it to us. The mister and I just looked at each other.

The mister had always said one of the only things he couldn't bear was to be lapped by someone in our support group. We'd accepted we were going to be the last to become parents. We'd given up the genetic link-the only ones in the group to do that. He just didn't want to be lapped. Was that really just too much to ask? Apparently it was.

By the time The Shopper's husband showed up, it was all the mister and I could do to serve dinner and drink wine. We drank a lot of wine.  A LOT. I was grateful for the vicodin that I mixed along with it. The Shopper suddenly developed food aversions. The Shopper's husband was completely clueless. Dinner was long and awkward. They finally left. I suppose she shared her good news in the car. I don't really know.

She realized right away that she'd been incredibly insensitive. I'm sure she hated herself for it. In fact, I know she did. She called the other group members to ask what she should do. They gave her hell. She wrote an email to me that I couldn't answer for a very long time. I knew they were going out of town but I just couldn't deal with it yet. It just hurt way too much. It wasn't the being lapped so much as how she handled it.

I wish I could just suck it up but I can't. I have emailed her back (though the first one took a couple of months) and our relationship is now an email here and there. I was just getting close to the point where I thought I could see her again.

Then came the second punch. I'm afraid this one might be the knock-out one. The day after I got a nice chatty email from her (I'd invited all the gals in the group to a girls night out in December), I got an evite. To a brunch for her second daughter. It's true that I would have been super pissed not to be invited (I know any fertiles reading this will not understand or find it hypocritical) but she KNEW the evite was going out (hell, she sent it--not exactly tops on etiquette if you ask me) and it would have been nice to have warned me in the email the day prior. You know just a "I'm sure you'll be too busy planning your trip and I know it would probably be too hard for you. I don't expect you to say yes but I didn't want to hurt you buy not inviting you."

And the shower brunch? That's right: four days before my would-have-been-due date. With her 9 months pregnant sister in attendance. You know, unless she's giving birth then herself. Um, I think I'll be busy packing for the trip I planned to help me forget about that date and the holidays.

So here I sit. Missing one of my best friends. Still hurting from all the events of the summer. Still shocked and surprised that one of the most sensitive inferitles could be so insensitive. And hating myself because I can't seem to get pass this one.

Sandy, why-y-y-y,oh Sandy

Give 'em hell, Sandy! Let's hear it for my current favorite spunky actress, Ms Congeniality herself. The press might feel differently today but I totally love her. When someone asked her at a premiere of Infamous, for probably the thousandth time in recent history, if she was expecting she gave them a piece of her mind.

She got right into the reporter's face, pointed and said: “Oh my god that is just a disgusting question. And you know what? What if I couldn't have kids? You know what? That’s the way you make women feel when you ask them that question."

We're with you, sister. We might boycott that other Southern actress who says she's just 'an overachiever' and 'twins run' in her family. But I will pay money to see every movie you are in from now until the end of time. Even if Keanu has a speaking role.

 

Why Can't I Have All the Power?

I should warn y'all I'm in a pretty pissy mood today. Please don't take it personally. It's not mean for you, unless you are a stoopid infertile.

Now, I'll fully admit I have a problem with stoopid people. In fact, I got into trouble for saying just that a few weeks ago at a board of directors training. I know. Can you believe they let me be on the board of directors for a non-profit? What were they thinking. I know I have issues. I know I need to work on it. But I just have no patience for stoopid people. Bitter people? Hell yes. Stoopid people? Not so much.

And like I wrote last year, it really pisses me off when infertiles are stoopid. At least this time it's not someone I know IRL it's just the stoopid infertiles on the internets. And they don't have blogs. So if you have a blog I couldn't possibly be talking about you, ok?

Now another thing I have a problem with is stoopid Americans. I know there are millions of us. I hope that I'm not one very often. I know I am one sometimes and I hate myself when I find I'm acting like a stoopid American.

Combine the two and you get a powder-keg and a very pissed off Millie.

If I ever act like a stoopid American infertile then just shoot me, ok? Please put me (and the rest of you) out of my misery.

So why this rant? Now I'm as interested in my own medical care as the next infertile, and I research things all to hell. BUT when I chose a great doctor in a good clinic halfway around the world, I trusted him. Actually, I trusted all my REs when I cycled with them. I did things their way. I figured I had my chance during the discovery phase to see if it would work. And then I gave myself over to them. Zen infertile that I am.

I'm only human so I might have questioned a thing or two. But I hope I didn't demand a bunch of extra stuff just to make me feel better. I didn't demand a level of attention that certain clinics here in the great US of A offer, along with a really high price tag. I didn't demand a cell phone number. And I sure as hell didn't advise other people to be that demanding in the future.

I did have doubts. And I was told to trust in the man and the process. They do do things differently. They have great success. You know what you are getting into when you choose a clinic such as that and I think it's really part of the package. Because some REs are just really nice folks, trying to make their patients happy. Like say, my lovely Dr. Champagne. He sure as hell doesn't need to deal with demanding patients.

And when you do get pregnant, even if you are a stoopid infertile, please realize that you ARE pregnant. There are plenty of people you can talk to, another whole pink world is out there all shiny and new and just waiting for you. So talk to them. Because those of us that aren't pregnant really don't want to hear too much about it. Show some sensitivity, people. It's really not that hard. How can you forget that in a matter of days?

Now it's time for me to be really honest. These stoopid infertiles wouldn't be bugging me so much right now if I had the power. You know, if I had the power I'd use it wisely. I'd be a benevolent giver to the very deserving, and then the stoopid ones could have their turns too. The blog voices that I miss the most would still be missed, but for very different reasons: they'd be too busy with their babes.

Oh, I can give lip service to 'everyone deserves success' but I think deep down I don't really believe that. It breaks my heart when stoopid people get their stoopid success and the people I love get failure. Two of my friends are really hurting today. Too much bad news for my friends lately. And I don't have any power. Not even a tiny bit. All I can do is cry for them. And rant about the stoopid ones.

 

(extra) bitter

I'm not sure I want to get into the 'who's more bitter' game. But I'm pretty sure I'd win it. I have a friend up north who foolishly thinks she's more bitter. Trust me, she's not.

There's a new inductee into the Great Hall of Bitter. She's learning all too quickly what it means to be truly, deeply, madly bitter. All it takes is one failed donor cycle. Or an ectopic pregnancy, preferably donor. But, I've had both so that really makes me Queen of the Bitter. And I've got the tiara to prove it.

Don't get me wrong, I've been bitter for a while. I thought when I had failed cycles I was bitter. I thought when my evil SIL triumphed and hit the IVF lotto I was bitter. In January, and again in April, I found new depths to my bitterness. It's much more complex flavor with a bit more earthiness and no sweetness whatsovever. Most people would say that it's too tanic and won't age well. Only a few people can handle 99% bitter.

Good news for us extra bitters: we can now proclaim it to the world. And reconize each other much more easily, don't ya think?

did you ever think that 50% of all doctors graduate in the bottom half of their class?

I had ambitious plans of posting many witty observations of my recent emergency room experiences.

That's not going to happen anytime soon, thanks to the lovely little pills I take every four hours. They do let me stay nice and fuzzy headed. I feel witty and charming, at least in my own head.

Instead I'll just pose a simple question: why do so many doctors not get ivf?

The youngish doc who treated me in the ER until a real doc (read ob gyn surgeon) could arrive kept talking about what day we IMPLANTED the embryo on and how pregnant was I. He was really lucky that he was the keeper of the morphine because I was nicer than I probably would have been. And the morphine kept me fuzzier and friendlier than I was actually feeling at the time.

I told him we TRANSFERRED the embryo on March 27. He continued to say IMPLANTED and I kept saying TRANSFERRED. I wish they'd implanted the stupid embryo. Then there wouldn't have been an ectopic.

He's a freaking DOCTOR. Don't they cover this stuff? I expect that kind of crap from civilians but, geesh, he should know better.

He did get quite an earful when he asked for details. I think he was a bit relieved because he was worried he was going to have to tell us we were having an ectopic pregnancy. He kept asking how far along I was in the pregnancy and I kept talking about doses of methotrexate.

And I recited every beta level I'd had over the last couple of months. He said I knew enough to be an OB/GYN. I told him that was an insult and I should at least be an RE.

He thought I was joking. I let him think that so I could have continued access to the morphine.

Is it just me? Or is this really stupid?

I'm trying to figure out whether our nifty new infertility insurance coverage will actually cover anything meaningful for the mister and I. It's not so clear.

Here are two excerpts from the website (just the revelant parts for y'all):

Covered Health Services for infertility services and   associated expenses including:

·  Embryo transport.

·  Donor ovum and semen and related costs, including collection and preparation. (my bolding)

And then directly below that section is this one:

 

Coverage excludes: (THEIR bolding, which might count more)

  ·  Donor cycles;

Hmmm, pretty confusing. I feel like I'm in the movie Chinatown. It's coverd/It's not covered/It's covered.

So I called up my oh-so-friendly insurance company yesterday to ask what was covered. The phone dude said he couldn't actually answer any questions about coverage on the phone. But he'd have someone call me in a day or two.

Great.

This morning Nurse Grandma called and tried to answer my questions. She didn't do such a good job. She's the one that is supposed to know things but I guess she doesn't get asked too many hard questions.

She said Donor Cycles weren't covered until it involved me. Um, how does it not involve me? So I asked if icsi was covered for a donor cycle. She didn't know. What about a frozen embryo transfer? She wasn't sure. What about a fet after a de cycle? Didn't know. What about a donor embryo cycle? Didn't know. What about drugs for any of this? Didn't know. What about my monitoring for a donor cycle? No idea.

She wasn't very happy when I pointed out that I could spend a lot of money on a very low probability cycle (my eggs) but couldn't seem to spend money on something that might actually work. Wouldn't that be better?

She also couldn't answer my questions very well about their 'Centers of Excellence'. To get ANYTHING covered you have to go to one of their CoE. And you guessed it. NONE of my clinics are on the list. Ok, technically one is on the list but I hate, hate, HATE them and wild horses would not drag me back there. I asked why the two university based clinics with many accolades weren't on the list. No idea.

I think I got Nurse Grandma both mad at me and more than a little afraid of me. She's supposed to call back with more information in a day or two. I bet she's hoping to get my voice mail.

it's the end of the world as I know it

So what exactly does it mean that Katie Holmes* and Brooke Shields both gave birth today? On the 100th anniversary of the San Francisco Quake?

Oh, Chris...you must have something to say about this. Right?

*And Suri for a name. WTH?

You Do the Math

I was all set to blog about the front page cover story that threw me for a loop on USA Today as I was headed into the city to color my grey hairs. I was feeling a bit old and wanting to prepare for my trip. That story got me thinking. But before I could collect my thoughts and start typing away I read a post that really irked  me in my guiltiest pleasure, Celebrity Baby Blog.

Now, I'm as celebrity obsessed as the next gal and love to try to figure out the whole 'has she had work done?' or 'did they use donor eggs?'

I love the Hollywood power couple that recently had twins via surrogate. Truly, I do.

But please, people, or People as the case might be, you can't seriously expect me to believe that these twins are the biological twins of both parents? This is what that couple is claiming in the latest issue of that magazine.

Soooo, let's do the math, shall we?

She's now 47. So she was either 46 or 47 when said boy/girl twins were conceived. The latest stats from the CDC are for 2003 but I really think that these haven't changed much, if at all, for the last couple of years.

From looking at Figure 38 , aka Percentage of ART cycles using Donor Eggs by ART Patient's Age 2003, we see that at age 46, there is at 76.6% chance of DE, at 47 it increases to 80.8% and over 47 it's 89.9%. Now, that's not even live birth rates, just cycle percent rates.

So what about the live birth rates for 46 and 47 year olds? The next figure shows that at 46 there's a 4.6% chance of live birth with own eggs vs 45.7% chance with donor eggs and at 47 there's a 4.2% chance of live birth with own eggs vs 44.6% with donor eggs, again that's cycles started.

So what does this really boil down to? There were 364 ART cycles started for women over 45. There were 12 pregnancies. And only 7 live births. Out of these, 5 were singletons. So there were two sets of multiples.  Of course they could have been triplets.

So there is a chance that this couple is super-duper lucky. They could have totally won the baby jackpot. Two couples/women did, after all. I'm sure they have the money and resources to pursue a number of cycles.

I know this is a whole lot of boring numbers. I also totally respect this couple not wanting to say they used donor eggs (if they did), but I really, really, really don't like what they said here.

See, what I hate most is the apparent take home message is that biology and genetics are the most important factors in being a parent. This couple could have said that they wanted to be parents more than anything and moved heaven and earth to make that happen. They could have said they got incredibly lucky but realized the most important thing was just they now had the opportunity to parent. But they didn't.

 

The One Where Millie Admits Her True Colors

Ok, it's time for me to come out. I'm a snob.

There, I've said it. I'm not a total snob but I am a snob when it comes to certain things. I like to think of myself as 'particular' or 'choosy' but it's really just snobbiness.

You want a couple of examples?*

I didn't drink coffee for about 35 years or so. Couldn't stand the stuff. Didn't see the point. Did like coffee ice cream though.

Then I went to Costa Rica. Turns out the coffee there is GREAT. We stayed on a coffee plantation. We drank the most amazing coffee everywhere. I was hooked.

When we got back we went straight from non-drinkers to totaly coffee snobs. We had to have specific beans. And a burr grinder. A thermal caraffe with a gold filter. I kid you not.

When I started ttc I thought about switching to decaf. Of course I'd only drink water processed decaf. See? I can't help it. I just would rather do without than have something substandard.

The same goes for yoga. I'm a total yoga snob.

The mister and I first tried the ancient art of yoga when we lived in Heaven...I mean, Santa Barbara. Our gym offered a few classes and we went.

We were not terribly impressed. Ok, we really didn't like it and didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Then I moved to Oaktown. And I found a little yoga studio that totally rocked. It turns out the owner is super famous and is on the cover of lots of dvds. He's also known a bit for sleeping with his students. (I've never been lucky enough to have him for a class much less get propositioned).

The studios are awesome. The teachers totally rock. They're very, very good. I did an introductory series with my friend, Initial Girl. She liked it as well and added a line item to her budget to cover the cost. I'll admit I was the teacher's pet. I never thought that would happen but apparently these hips are made for certain yoga poses.

I tried to coax the mister back to yoga. He wouldn't have any of it. All he thought of was our gym time in Heaven. I forced him to go. He LOVED it. We both loved it.

Then we found out his company gym had free yoga. And it was GOOD yoga. He went twice a week. I sometimes made the hour long drive down because it was good. We couldn't really afford the nice studio near us so it made sense. The only thing he liked about his long commute for that long year was the yoga.

Last week in our efforts to work out/relax/take care of ourselves we revisited yoga. I figured we could do the gym yoga because it was free. And our gym here is the same folks as his company gym. How bad could it be, right?

Before I answer that I should have a warning. This isn't going to be like Getupgrrl's meditaion class with competitive boy. Man, I miss reading about that. I wish I could write with 1/1ooth of her ability. I miss her.

Ok. Anyway. Back to the gym.

First up: Aging  Yuppie Yogi
Aging Yuppie Yogi is like a middle-aged frat boy who took some yoga. He's a pretty good teacher but doesn't make a lot of accomodations to people dropping in to class the first time or two. His regulars know the routine and seem to like it. He doesn't have a mat of his own and spends the whole time walking around class. In his sandals. He never shows anything and doesn't really tell you how to do anything, just the names of the poses. It's a tough workout. Not the style you're used to but that's cool. More of a flow type which is different but cool. The mister doesn't realize class is 90 min and nearly freaks out at the end.

Next up: Beginning Yoga with the White Boy Yogi Wanna Be
You know the type: some waspy white boy who's studied in India or somewhere and changed his name to somthing like Swami so it doesn't fit him at all. Maybe he joined a cult, who knows. He's all about breathing and chanting but no one knows the chants and he doesn't really bother teaching anyway. It's Sunday morning and he's talking about making a sacred space and worshipping and you're thinking I come here INSTEAD of church for a reason and it's likely I'm not the only one here who doesn't want to be in church and I don't want anyone preaching to me. Especially some white boy named The chanting is finally over and he puts on some Indian music and it's soooooo loud you can't hear him. Not that he explains anything. In direct contrast to Aging Yuppie Dude he never gets up from his mat and doesn't give any one any direction. He calls out the asanas and you'd better know them. He keeps class 15 minutes over (which doesn't get the mister any happier than the other dude). All you can think is What the Hell? I thought this was a freakin' beginners class and no wonder those 4 folks left.

Then the realization hits: I'm a total yoga snob. This doesn't mean I'm any good at yoga or know much about it. I just don't have time for bad yoga. I've got to find some way to get back to the lovely studio with the fantastic teachers. Where one day, if I'm really lucky, the famous yogi will proposition me.  Man, how I need a job.

*It probably goes without saying but I'm also a total chocolate snob but that is another long story. Since you've asked, I'll devote a post or two in the coming days to my chocolate biases.

Now I really understand why people go postal

I was really hoping I could just come post about how great our Barren Bitch Cronefest was last Sunday. I knew I'd wait too long (can I blame too much red wine? and several glasses of a lovely pinot grigio--that's my story). Everyone  else  has already beaten me to the punch, of course. And written much more eloquently about it (so go read what they had to say).. I was going to get all schmaltzy but instead I'll just go back to freaked out and cynical, if you don't mind.*

So why might I be going postal? Our lovely US Postal Service.

he's just a little plaything

Are you sick of all the gloating your fertile friends and family are throwing your way regarding their precious offspring? Tired of hearing all about perfect little babes? Feeling a tad bit cycnical and snarky?

Then have I ever got the perfect site for you.

Check out this little baby: Baby Review: The Infant Assessment Journal.It's very, very funny when you're feeling a bit snarky.*

*This is a parody site, people. Be warned. It's from the fabulous Chickenhead.

every sperm is sacred

You've got to be freakin' kidding me. I just saw this over on Yahoo News.

Star Sperm for Sale

Britney Spears considered parting with her bra. Corey Haim tried to peddle a tooth. But no star appears willing to give of himself more than Vincent Gallo.

The indie film auteur apparently has offered to sell his sperm. For a Dr. Evil-esque $1 million.

"Price includes all costs related to attempt at an in vitro fertilization," the listing on the merchandise wing on Gallo's official Website says.

Fertilization by Gallo the old-fashioned way will run the buyer an additional $500,000, the site says, unless the star thinks said buyer is smoking hot in which case the additional fee is waived. (We paraphrase.)

Naming rights are not included in the purchase--i.e., any baby produced from Gallo sperm may not be called a Gallo, the site says.

An email and phone call to the acting, writing, directing multihyphenate were not returned. Unknown, then, is whether the site's serious, whether Gallo has had any takers, and how he's planning to ship the merchandise.

According to Gerry McKiernan, spokesman for the U.S. Postal Service, items such as sperm are indeed, as they say in the trade, "mailable."

"I would be very hesitant to say it happens all the time," McKiernan said Friday. "I would be very hesitant to say it doesn't happen."

In the supposedly anything-goes celebrity world, sperm sales are rare. Or at least they're not publicly advertised.

Judging by a post on his Website, Gallo began peddling collectibles--previously worn clothes, signed movie posters, semen--last month. The sperm is listed under "Miscellaneous."

The site vows that the sperm is "100 percent guaranteed" to be of the loins of Gallo, best known for his 1998 art-house hit, Buffalo '66, and that said owner-operator of loins is "drug, alcohol and disease free."

The buyer is informed that Gallo is 5-foot-11, an award-winning athlete and motorcyle racer, a dashing 43 (with "a distinctively full head of hair and...surprisingly few gray hairs"), with no family history of physical deformities. Or, as the site puts it: "No cripples."

Oh, and there's one other thing: An eight-inch-long penis. According to the site, Gallo has one.

"If you have seen Brown Bunny, you know the potential size of the [baby's] genitals if it's a boy," the site says. "I don't know how a well-hung father can enhance the physical makeup of a female baby, but it can't hurt."

If the buyer hasn't seen The Brown Bunny--it received an extremely limited release in 2003--it's now on DVD. Gallo's penis shares a scene with Chlo Sevigny at the end of the movie--the film's climax.

Um, really...

Following The Brown Bunny's disastrous premiere at the 2003 Cannes International Film Festival, critic Roger Ebert declared the movie "the worst...in the history of the festival." Gallo responded by cursing Ebert, and wishing prostate cancer on him. (Ebert was treated for a cancerous tumor of the saliva gland later that year. And a year after that, he awarded a three-star review to a recut Brown Bunny.)

In a 2004 interview with The Onion's A.V. Club, Gallo described his cruel remarks about Ebert as "partly humorous," and offered that he thought the reviewer was a "beautiful, interesting person."

Given that, perhaps the more incendiary sperm-sale copy on Gallo's site should not be taken at face value. Then again, humor does fail some when it comes to race and Nazis.

On the merchandise site, it's stated that Gallo "maintains the right to refuse the sale of his sperm to those of extremely dark complexions."

"Though a fan of Franco Harris, Derek Jeter and Lena Horne," the site says, "Mr. Gallo does not want to be part of that type of integration."

But wait, there's more: The Gallo site offers a $50,000 sperm discount to anyone--well, any female--who can prove she's naturally fair-haired and blue-eyed, and/or related to "any of the German soldiers of the mid-century."

Gallo's reproductive offer, however, does not rule out Jewish buyers, and, in fact, encourages them. It's said that the actor would consider his potential offspring's Jewish heritage a bonus, as this would "guarantee [the child] a better chance at good reviews and maybe even a prize at the Sundance Film Festival."

No word if the $1 million covers shipping and extremely cautious handling.

Any takers?

infertiles gone bad

Remember that post a few days ago about how happy I was for my boss lady? I know

I've come to accept that lots of fertiles 'don't get it.'  How could they, right? I mean, sure, there are some folks that are naturally sympathetic and even a few that are very empathetic. Most often it's the whole you gotta walk a mile in my shoes.

So I don't even expect fertiles to 'get it.' I do, however, have very different expectations of infertiles.

When infertiles don't get it, it hurts a lot more. It just cuts deeper, I guess. It also really pisses me off. Especially when it's infertiles that I've been nice to and showed the ropes, as it were.

Now my first experience with such an infertiles was my stupid sister-in-law. I didn't realize at the time that the stupid sister-in-law was actually a time honored tradition, an accessory that nearly every chic infertile I know adds to her collection sooner or later. I guess mine was just sooner. It amazed me when a women who was 41, had 6 iuis with donor sperm, got pregnant but miscarried on her first ivf, pregnant with twins on her second ivf, casually shrugged off all prenatal testing at 42 said "I'm glad I'm not infertile. That must be hard."  ARRRRGGGGGHHHH. But this evil SIL has always been a loose canon so at second thought I wasn't overly surprised.

But now it's happened again. With someone I thought was truly one of us. Someone who started this whole thing a little after me and was more than a little passive-aggressive in the whole treatment thing. I should have seen it coming. Instead I was blind-sided by an email.

Now, I prefer friends telling me via email that they are pregnant. It gives me a chance to digest the news so I can be truly happy for them. There is nothing worse than the phone call that comes at 8 am on the morning you're hosting a double surprise baby shower for two friends (one of whom had fertility issues and used your RE to get pregnant and you were sooooo excited for her and another friend who is one of the great empathetic fertiles) that delivers a complete sucker punch. That was the evil SIL and BIL.

So the other day, I'm minding my own business checking email when I see one I dread opening. The title was something like "guess what I got for my 40th birthday?"  Oh wait. There was the first !! of many to come.

I opened it. There were many more !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! inside. The only saving grace is there wasn't a hint of fucking baby dust. If there had been I'd probably be writing this post from jail hoping to truly get a jury of my (infertile) peers.

There was also a "I hope you get one of these for your 40th too."  I know she really wants that for us but it's not going to happen. There is just no way in hell that I'll get that for my birthday. And she's so clueless that even though I've shared so much with her over the past couple of years she still doesn't get it.

Oh, wait. There's more. She posted on another site that 'And we did it on our own, which really makes me happy! We were on our way to IVF in a couple of months'.  So this counts more? IVF is only for desperate people? What about those of us (many on that site in fact) where even IVF hasn't worked? Several are now pursuing donor something? We must not count at all.

Once upon a time on this site there was a very wise woman who would swoop down and bash the insensitive infertiles. Ahhh good times indeed. Believe me after a great post no one dared to say anything like "Congrats!!! You so deserve it!!!!"  after a stinging retort by the caped avenger. I loved that.  I guess it's time for me to pick up the cape. I'm sure I'm not the only one hurt by her comments. I just don't have the energy right now. I'm licking my wounds and mourning the loss of a friendship.