Lately, I've been thinking about elective surgery and romantic relationships. This may not be the most pleasant reading for many of you--I'm going to talk medical as well as romantic history.
People have asked me about Ex-Boy's getting angry at me because I miscarried, and exactly how I came to have an Ex-Boy if I met L'Ailee when we were in our late teens.
I'm going to keep it very simple. For a while there, L'Ailee and I had an open relationship. We were scared of commitment and had started adult lives in different cities, far away from each other. She slept with a few other women in NYC. I met this gorgeous bi redneck boy in Orlando and meant to have a fling with him. The "fling" lasted nearly six years. I became polyamorous simply because I'm not the flinging type. I don't intend to do that again. It was a matter of loving both L'Ailee and Ex-Boy, not of wanting a multiple relationship. It was difficult, to say the least.
The condom broke or slipped three times. The first time, I knew I was pregnant. Being that I was chubby and apple-shaped, nobody could tell, even at two months. I was about to tell everyone--I had already told Ex-Boy and L'Ailee, of course, and we were making plans. Then I lost the baby. I blamed myself--I kept wondering if it was dancing or drinking sodas or just not having enough "want-to." I was 23 years old. The second and third times, I suspected that I was pregnant, but superstitiously refused to test. I had the exact same feelings both times, only the miscarriages occurred within a matter of one month. I told nobody about these pregnancies or miscarriages until the day I hemorrhaged with my period, got taken to the ER by my brother, had five pints of blood transfused in me, and was told I had extremely advanced uterine fibroids. I learned that the fibroids were the reason for the miscarriages.
I hadn't seen the gynecologist in over a year. The good one went to California, and his replacement was an insensitive bitch who acted disgusted about my having been with a woman. Stupidly, I let that stop me until I went to the ER. I told Ex-Boy, and he started being very cold towards me. Suddenly nothing I did was good enough, I was stupid to clip coupons, he always had to work when I wanted to go out with him, etc. In early 2004, L'Ailee told me that she regretted letting me open the relationship to include Ex-Boy and that she wanted me all to herself. I then learned from Ex-Boy's best friend that he was angry about my miscarriages and didn't know how to say it. I confronted him on it, and he admitted the truth of it. We said ugly things to each other. We lost the friendship we'd had before our relationship turned sexual.
L'Ailee, meanwhile, comforted me, came down to Orlando for my myomectomy (which cuts the fibroids out of one's uterus), and reminded me that we have the same blood type if it comes to that. I knew I had made the right decision.
So. I'm probably going to have an elective partial hysterectomy--retaining my ovaries for hormones--at the beginning of next year. I should have had it earlier, but I couldn't cope with the idea then. My gynecologist thinks it's a good idea, and so does my insurance company. I am now completely infertile. (Before, that wasn't the technical term for my condition--I could make babies; I just couldn't keep them.) I believe same-sex couples should adopt anyway if they want kids, and it was L'Ailee who talked me into that belief. All my uterus gives me is wicked cramps. Thirty-two is young for it, but I'm at peace with the idea now. I feel stupid for not being at peace then. At the same time, I don't have a time machine, you know?
Today I remembered something colossally idiotic that Ex-Boy said: "I think that Long Island Ice Tea was spiked." That made me feel better. So did getting members of the Yahoo! Answers community to share their own Stupid Ex Tricks.
L'Ailee caught herself saying "Hell no" once this week and "Hell yeah" twice, in true redneck style. It was very cute, especially when she clapped her hands over her mouth. I told her resistance was futile.
Also, something funny happened last night. L'Ailee has a cell phone number that is so similar to a local pizzeria's, that some people call her ordering pizza. Most people understand when she tells them they got the wrong number. A woman last night didn't.
As I've said, L'Ailee is Russian, and has a Russian accent. The woman on the phone demanded to "talk to someone there who speaks English." "What do you think I've been speaking?" she shouted.
So I, with my all-American voice, said, "I'll take the order, it's okay" and winked.
And then I "took it."
L'Ailee turned off her phone immediately afterwards. There were 12 instances of the "f-word" in her voice mail this morning!
I'll resume talking about the other, more fun kind of genital activity later.
Oh, and I have links.
The NYC Health Department wants to ban trans-fats in restaurants! I mostly avoid them anyway, but I am PISSED.
Wal-Mart's becoming an ally to the LGBT community, and the American Family Association can't stand it! Awesome!
The Human Rights Campaign is raising funds with an adorable penguin ornament.
Conservatives' cries of "treason" at the New York Times get the mockery they deserve.
Time for someone to say it: FCCFU!
The George Allen Insult Generator, complete with dubious explanations.
Finally, a campaign many of us can get behind: Reduce Idiocy! They've got e-cards and everything!