It's Bump Day at Baskin Robbins

Dearest Baskin Robbins,

Today I see that you are honoring the bump babes. The ladies with big bellies. The expectant mommies.

 

How very nice of you.

 

Please excuse me if I am way off base here, but I suppose you are trying to target the hormonal and hungry? Am I right? Did a bunch of people meet in a room one day for a brainstorm session to bring traffic into your stores? And someone had the brilliant idea to plaster that adorable cartoon pregnant lady all over the Internets in the hope that the pregnant ladies would see it and think, "OH MY GOD MY BABY NEEDS BASKIN ROBBINS NOW! NOW! NOW!" And then maybe once she has your ice cream for free, she will continue to have cravings and spend $3 a day on delectable globs of your new soft serve?

 

Well, I'm no marketing mogul or anything like that. I didn't go to Harvard, but to a state school, and everyone knows that state schools will take most anyone with a pulse and cold hard cash, right? I have a business degree but if we're being honest with each other, Baskin Robbins, I don't know all that much about mass marketing.

 

However.

 

If you're targeting the hormonal and hungry? You are missing a HUGE section of the "Hormonal and Hungry" market. The Infertiles. We are the perfect target market for your sales schemery – we're not only hormonal and hungry – we're neurotic and emotional! Emotional EATERS! See where I'm going with this?

 

I'm not really sure how you would verify the whole infertile part. I mean, you could ask to see our horns and tails, or maybe require us to inject our meds at the counter before we get our free soft serve. Or maybe you could just tell by the smell of desperation when we walk in the door? I don't know, you can work out the details.

 

I look forward to Infertility Tuesday really soon. In the interim, I will be getting my ice cream from Dairy Queen, Coldstone, or from the freezer aisle at the grocery store. Or maybe I'll eat cookies. You can never tell. I'm unpredictable like that.

 

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. And if you'd like to pay me for this fantastic idea? I wouldn't object.

 

Best,

Jennepper

 

p.s. – I do have some ideas for the Infertility Tuesday Free Soft Serve campaign. Have your people call my people.

p.p.s – I don't have people. Call me directly.

p.p.p.s. – I have lots of other ideas. Preview: Menopausal Monday. (Call me.)

It's Business Time

Yes, this is old-ish, but we were listening to it last night, and I was all: WOW. Bret and Jermaine totally get infertility treatments.

Because I can make anything into something about infertility. Try me.

It's work safe, and funny. Watch it or else we're not friends.

List of the Mistakes I Made Today.

#1: I woke up.

Clearly, this was a mistake. I should have stayed in bed, put the covers over my head, and maybe taken a couple of my leftover Percocet from the laparoscopic surgery I had in October. Because the Percocet high? Would've easily been the highlight of my day.

 

#2: I popped a zit.

Because really, who doesn't love to pop a zit? It's satisfying – admit it.

I've had a gremlin growing under my skin all week – it was an invisible bump, it was itchy, it hurt like a bitch. It did not, however, have a big white head until today. Apparently. I am not sure. Because today was when Mark said, "Oh, you got a popper there." So who knows? Maybe it had a big head yesterday and neither of us noticed, because I've been quite the adolescent boy in the face department lately.

After I finished feeling incredibly vixenish and supremely sexy, I went to pop it.

MISTAKE! SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED AND NOT POPPED ZIT!

Now have giant red mark and scab! Am disgusting and look diseased!

 

#3: Went to Panera. At Noon. On a Sunday.

Any normal person knows better. But I was wild and crazy last night, and stayed up until 11:30 (the time of night when only hookers and thieves are awake). And then I slept in until 8:30. Which was stupid, because I have finals on Monday and Tuesday and have managed yet again to put off studying until the day before, and needed to be at Panera at 7 when they opened. Instead, I got there at noon, after I dicked around on the Internet for a few hours.

The problem with getting anywhere at noon on Sunday is the church crowd. Church people always go to lunch afterward, and apparently Panera is THE SPOT for post-church lunch. I would not know, because I don't go to church. Which is why we don't have kids – god hates us.

I had the pleasure of sitting beside three church people. An older couple, who I assume were a pastor (or whatever term you like) and his wife, and a younger guy who was interviewing for a position at their church. While I was trying my best to learn about auditing, all I could hear was this interview, and it was DRIVING ME CRAZY. The entire interview reminded me of what I imagine could be an interview for a marketing position: how will you lure people to follow the word? What music will you choose to keep people coming to service? How do you feel about discussing issues like * gasp * divorce and premarital sex, and pornography? How will you effectively manipulate the feeble minds of the masses?

And then they were making fun of the way people dressed. Because apparently, is bad to worship the lord in flip flops. Just stay home, for Christ's sake, if you are going to wear flip flops to worship.

#4: Was not specific enough about the quantity of beverage I need.

OR: Panera – it's no Saks.

After being there for about two hours, I was hungry and thirsty, so I decided to transition from loiterer to bona-fide customer and purchase a cup of broccoli cheddar soup and a beverage.

The typical, annoyed high school girl waited on me, and was sufficiently annoyed with my very existence and my sheer will to ruin her life by ordering food. At the restaurant where she comes to get paid to hang out. She gave me my total, and I didn't really pay attention to what she said and just handed over the debit card. But then, I looked up at the register screen and noticed my total: $23.98.

$23.98…for a cup of soup and a pop.

So I say, "Why is my total so much."

And she shoves my receipt in my face and says, "check your receipt." Translation: shut up and pay, you cheap asshole.

Now, I'm no accountant or anything. I don't work for NASA. And I'm no economist. I'm not a doctor. I don't belong to MENSA. So you'll forgive me for being smug when I ask why I am paying $23 for a cup of fucking soup and a drink. I mean, this girl is clearly from the well-to-do town where Panera is located, so she must routinely eat soup made of goddamned gold and unicorn piss, right?

And I have to point out to annoyed teenager that, while I am annoying, SHE CHARGED ME FOR 14 POPS! 14 sodas, if you prefer.

So I say, "Well, you charged me for 14 pops." And I offer the receipt as proof, since I am a lowlife and am probably lying and should just pay $23 and get out of her life forever, right?

Was she sorry, you ask? Did she apologize?

No.

She yanked the receipt out of my hand and walked to the back. A few seconds later, she's saying "She paid for 14 pops but only wanted one, I guess."

Stop the presses. Slow the bus down. Shut the fuck up.

This girl has the balls to act like this is my fault? Like it was perfectly plausible that I, alone in this Panera Bread, would order 14 carbonated beverage cups? All for my little self?

I laughed. Out loud. It wasn't really an I'm-a-jerk-and-am-pissed laugh. It was more of an I'm-nice-it's-no-biggie laugh.

The manager, who must have been a year older than the annoyed teenager and who was not finding my humor in the situation, comes out to the counter and says, "Give me your card." No: sorry, no let me credit you for the 13 extra pops, no: I'm sorry that I'm dissatisfied with my life but I will still be nice to you.

He credited my card and walked away, and annoyed teenager handed me my card and new receipt, saying "Here."

    And I said, thank you so much for being so very helpful. Because that's how you talk to assholes, right?

#5: Am not smart enough to use a bathroom stall lock.

After drinking my 14 pops, I had to pee. Natch.

So I go to the restroom and hover, like normal, because do you think that dissatisfied manager makes annoyed teenager clean the bathroom? I don't think so, either, so I don't sit on the seat because hell. I already have infertility, I don't want to catch poor, or ugly, or fat from the toilet seat. I already caught infertility that one time I sat on the toilet at a turnpike McDonalds.

About half way through a perfectly satisfying pee, the stall door flies open! AHHHHHHHH!

And who else is there, but the pastor's wife, who makes fun of people who wear flip flops when praising Jesus. Of course. The look of shock (and maybe terror) on her face was priceless. It almost made me wish that I had my iPhone at the ready while hovering just in case this very situation came up. (Maybe next time)

So I guess I didn't push the latch over all the way, and of course I had to spend the remainder of my studying time sitting by the lady who saw my cooter, because I am a high-hoverer.

It was awesome.

Did you seriously just say that?

What NOT to say to someone who is trying to get pregnant.
These are all things that people have said to me. For realsies.

"Just Relax."
Thanks for that gem! So useful and helpful to my situation.
I'll tell you this: the first 6 months, I was SO relaxed. I was Al Bundy, hands down my pants while sippin a brewsky and watching TV, relaxed. Guess what? That didn't make me pregnant! I know, hard to believe, right?!


"Just get really drunk, then do it!"

You're probably right! I bet alcohol really kicks the old reproductive plumbing into gear! I bet all the infertility drug companies are marketing Absolut in pill form as Clomid and charging all us dumbass infertiles triple. Fucking geniuses!

Just because someone you know, or a friend of a friend of a sister's brother in law got pregnant at a massive kegger, doesn't mean that it was the alcohol. It was the fact that she forgot to take her pill and didn't make the guy wear a condom. I know it sounds really OUT THERE, but trust me.

"Just Adopt! As soon as you do, you'll get pregnant!"
Wha wha what?? I really don't see the relation between making the decision to adopt and getting pregnant. If you're thinking it would make me relax, you're wrong (and also, relaxation does not a baby make. See above).
"Try *this* position!"
Really? I've tried top, bottom, top then bottom, bottom then top, froggy style, doggy style, wheel-barrow, reverse cowgirl, from the side, and in the ear. I've been screwed 7ways to Sunday until the cows came home, put on their pajamas and watched Leno. None of them have worked so far, but I bet THAT position will do it!


"Stand on your head after sex."
Hey, I'll try that! I'll also make sure to kick you in the face, after I recover from my very serious
neck injury and my chiropractor says I can kick people in the face again.



"Go on vacation!"
You could be correct. First, I will try relaxing. If that doesn't work, I will spend a ton of money on a vacation. It must be the magical combination of sand crotch and semen and friction. It doesn't even matter when you go - I've heard that you automatically ovulate every day at noon in Cancun. Siesta my ass! They're all making babies!


"Put eggwhites in your vagina"
You're gross. Don't talk to me ever again. Ever. Also, don't ever plan on getting pregnant, because your husband will permenantly lose the ability to create an erection after you suggest this.
"Have more sex!"

Really? Sex makes babies? I TOTALLY wasted that $5000 deposit at Storkbabydelivery.com. I better get a refund! I wonder if they are a BBB member??

"Have fun trying!"

Ok, even I know this is innocent. I know people say this because they are uncomfortable and are trying to be positive. But it's obnoxious. If you say this, stop immediately.

"I wish I could give you some of my fertility, because I. Am. Fertile!"

This could be best shown by example, I think.

What? You lost both of your legs in a tragic sledding accident? Wow! I wish I could share my legs with you, because I have TWO and I am so lazy. I hate walking around. I would sit all the time if I could, but I just have so damn many legs!

*do you see what I did there? rubbed my legs in your stump-ass face?*
Please do not rub your fertility in my face. I think you're an asshole, and I keep that to myself. Also, I think your ass looks fat in those pants, yet I refrain. Please: return the favor.

"When are you going to start a family?"
AKA: When are you going to have kids? When are you going to get pregnant already? Have you started trying for a baby? Why not? Tick tock!
Oh my sweet baby jesus christ! If there was an Emmy for nosiest motherfucker, you would win! Ask once, and if you don't get an answer, then TAKE A HINT!


Here's the bottom line: The only right thing to say is "I'm sorry, that really sucks. I hope it happens for you soon." It also doesn't hurt to just listen.

Trying to Conceive: A month-by-month guide.

Month 1: We're SO going to be that couple that gets pregnant the first month trying.



Month 2: Ah, practice makes perfect! BDing is so much fun!



Month 3: Hmmm...Maybe ED instead of EOD? That'll work for sure.



Month 4: Damn it. I'm going to have so much sex it's CRAZY! I'm getting pregnant this month.



Month 5: Fuck.



Month 6: I still have 6 months before I need to worry. No big deal at all.



Month 7: Fuck.



Month 8: Start Charting!



Month 9: Understand charting, will totally get pregnant now!



Month 10: Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck.



Month 11: *browses covered RE's in the insurance provider book*



Month 12: Head explodes, Ovaries still intact. No visible injuries to the penis. Good to go. Also, can't get an appointment at the RE for 3 months and must maintain a good attitude.



Month 13 - Infinity: FUCK!