Yeah, yeah, yeah… Shut the Hell Up

As a writer, I’ve always been a lover of words. Some of my favorites are superfluous, behoove, persistent, sardonic, milieu and for whatever reason, pajamas. Growing up, I would often look through the dictionary just to look at all the different words available to me and I remember particularly appreciating that my parents spoke to my sister and I as grown-ups. I don’t mean that they confided in us about their sex life or anything. It was more that they used words that adults would use in their sentences such as “That was a rhetorical question.” or “You’re exhausting my patience.” or “Please don’t annihilate each other in the kitchen.” or “Go to sleep or someone may have to be euthanized.” Ah, childhood…

So it’s sort of shocking to me that for someone who has an interest in expressing myself to the fullest and a passion for vocabulary that the only phrase I can use to express myself today is, “Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up.”

People magazine says Jodie Sweeten is pregnant?

Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up.

A friend emails me ‘It’s always darkest before the dawn.’

Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up.

My doctor calls and tells me my second blood test is negative.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up.

Words, shmurds… “Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up” pretty much covers how I feel right now.

With the second blood test confirming that I’m once again not pregnant, I planned to celebrate as any woman would: By taking a scalding hot bubble bath while drinking a bottle of tequila and eating a bucket of mercury laden fish. I know, it’s so cliché but I’m a sucker for going all out when I know Aunt Flo is on her way to visit!

In keeping with my good luck streak however, the taking a bath thing did not work out whatsoever. I’m currently staying at my parents house on Long Island for the weekend. They are away and I thought I could use their house as both an escape from the city and from the unwelcome mouse that has taken up residence in my Brooklyn apartment and that I’m in the process of murdering.

My parents just had their bathroom redone and it’s super state of the art, top of the line everything. So much so, that I don’t understand how the hell to turn on the shower or what I’m supposed to do to get the tub running or what the hell the knob on the side of wall does. What ever happened to one way for hot and the other way for cold? Seriously. I’m a pissed off officially premenstrual woman. I don’t need a complicated bathing experience. What I need is water. Now.

After Sam came in and solved the “How-the-f*ck-do-you-turn-the-tub-on-mystery”, I lovingly poured in Epsom salt and some tangerine scented bubble bath. I pinned up my hair, looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Enjoy this. Relax and just let this disappointment go.” I then proceeded to get in the tub. It took approximately three seconds for me to realize that the water wasn’t hot. It was bone-chillingly cold.

Sam thoughtfully came in to help. Perhaps it was my screaming that tipped him off that he might want to check on me. Despite our best efforts, neither of us could figure out why there was no hot water. What was meant to be a respite was instead a tub filled with Titanic-freezing water. My anger grew. I suggested Sam leave the room as I began to fear for his life.

I sat there for a few minutes as I felt like somehow, I was being served a punishment that I needed to accept. You can only ignore the universe for so long before you start to wonder if it’s trying to tell you something. Something along the lines of, “You suck and we hate you.” Seriously, let’s review, shall we? Infertility, hormone injections, progesterone pills, thousands of dollars lost, medical procedures, retrievals, transfers, bed rest, fights with my insurance company, the bastard mouse, the upcoming and abnormally long visit of my mother-in-law and now, an unexplained cold bath. It would not shock me in the least if I was soon diagnosed with testicular cancer.

I decided to get up, let the tub run out and just take a cold shower instead. Screw it. There will be no relaxing. There will only be the underlining of my misfortune.

And so I sit here and type with my hair looking quite a bit like icicles. I accept that this is currently what I’m being given. Really, what other choice do I have? I did the best I could, I listened to the doctor, I went to acupuncture, I took all the medications as instructed, and I gave it my all and it didn’t work. There’s nothing I can do to change that. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. Unfortunately, every time I think of such comforting words, that wonderful phrase pops back up in my head, “Yeah, yeah, yeah… shut the hell up.” I can’t be too disappointed though. It is really fun to say.