Lesbian Dancing After The Show: An Improviser's Non Improvised Life

It Would Be Funnier If This Was Happening To You

"It Would Be Funnier if This Was Happening to Someone Else" was the sign that I noticed on the Nurse Practitioner's wall as she was desperately trying to give me Schwag (Yes. She used to live in L.A and a funtoid fact: Her father was in the same ICU ward and died around the same time as Groucho Marx.)

A complete mangle of the original quote, I thought to myself.

I asked her if I could have a copy of that sign as she is handing me off her first free copy ever of anything being a NP: The Feb. Issue of "The Advocate" with Kathy Griffin pretending to show bush, and a big star over her nads saying Hollywood Issue.

Because you know:  I do comedy and I must like Kathy Griffin.

Headed to the pharmacy to get Ativan (lorazepam) and Doxycycline. You see, these medicines they gave me are for the 20th of February 2008. I must bring a support person: My Husband to take me home. For the next week they are just hoping whatever is left in me just passes naturally without this procedure. But it is doubtful.

I wrote a while back that if I miscarried again, I would take out my husband, and every person who were horrible parents, then the ones who were not horrible parents. This of course did not happen. All I could do was hold myself together for when the barrage of I'm sorry's came.

The one assistant trying to not have me cry in front of the other very happy and healthy pregnant women. The Asian American woman just standing there while I was holding back tears. Me smiling away, dead inside, waiting for her turn on the blood pressure machine to end.

The things you remember when you are in a lot of pain:

You would have made a great mother. Just looking at you, you would have made a great mother. Someone said to me. 

You know what? Yes. I WOULD have. I would have been a fantastic mother.

Being called a martyr around the narcissistic world I reside in is not an uncommon occurrence. They are "Theater Majors" not "People With Helpful Life Degrees."

The selfish, petty little world of comedy. More than once has "martyr" been bantered about as an insult to me trying to be cruel with the insane observation by people who would sell their mother for a chance to appear on Conan O'Brien covered head to toe in fake poo just so they can claim rights to that.

I hate to hip the stupid, but here you are: It is not a Martyr thing. It is a Matron Thing: Treating everyone around me like the child I never had. Giving your all, and expecting nothing in return. Because that in my mind is what good moms and parents are supposed to do. Yes. That is how parenting sort of works.

Shit. In my mind, that is how a good person works sans children. I would have been an amazing mom.

The thoughts of just having the kids at thirty two. Instead of hearing that I would be a great mother at 42. I already knew this. This is 20 years of having strays on my couch, in my fridge and passing out and vomiting in my home and front stoop. I pulled a lot of actor hair back from the toilet and told a lot drunk actor men that they were still good people after acting like numbnuts in public. If that is not a mother. Nothing is.

This Would Be Funnier if This Was Happening to Someone Else was the sign on the wall.

The things you remember when you are in pain.

I just want to tell you that this is not your fault. Says the NP. I smile and shake my head with a numbing yes. But that is not what I'm thinking.

IT IS MY FAULT HONEY!! OH HELLZ TO THE Y YEAH IT IS MY FAULT. Whose fault is it? Some absurd nature god? Some ethereal Science Overlord? Was it written in Sanskrit Haiku for the world to see?

Shaun Landry, listen.
Waiting too long is not bad.
It is not your fault!

Thirty years ago there was nothing wrong with my ovaries. I got pregnant. Hans and I decided not to have that child. Even how I felt during this miscarriage would never make me go screaming to the side of Pro Life, as my life has been rich and the decision that I made was mine and Hans' alone.

Twenty years ago I could have had a child. Nothing wrong with my ovaries. They were just protected with some incredible battle armor. Sponges and pills and other alternative forms of sex. You could not get close to my eggs if you tried. The two of us both having some excuse not to have children quite yet. Finally, at 38 saying we should now try this.

Oh hell to the Y yeah. This is no one's fault but mine. For us being completely self-absorbed, self-centered and self-actualized actors and writers.

It's My Bad.

"This Is Not Your Fault" might work on another not so self-actualized woman who waited too long with no medical health problems. I just look at you and smile weakly and just pretend, NP, that you are absolutely correct.

It's All So Damn Funny if It Was Only Happening to Someone Else. I believe the sign on the wall.

The things you remember when you are in pain.

The NP calling twice when I finally get home. I tell her about the miscarriage Teddy Bears. The bears in the house that Hans has gotten me for the last two miscarriages to make me feel better. I told her I would tell him when he got home as I really did not need another Bad Luck Bear. She advised me to get rid of the other two bears.

Stupid Bad Luck Bears.

The thoughts before Hans got home of Marge Simpson from The Simpson's Movie: Lisa, You are a woman. You can hold on to anger forever.

Snippets of our conversations:

Him: What exactly did they say?
Me: Something along of the lines of my eggs are too old.
Him: They didn't say that!
Me: No. But it would have been funnier if they did.

Him: Baby, we can always adopt.
Me: We can also get someone else's egg and your sperm.
Him: Well, I don't want to do that!
Me: Oh come on. A baby that is not by either of us...or a baby that is at least half ours. The NP said I could ask someone in the family.
Him: WHAT?!? You mean like one of your nieces!
Me: (Long pause then huge laughter) Yeah that would be awkward. "Hey Jennifer, how is everything? That's great. Listen, can your aunt use one of your eggs?"

Me: I should just get an IUD and call this a day until Menopause.
Him: We are going to keep trying if it kills me!
Me: Or kills ME. I'm tired of this. Three is the funny number. It is just not sticking. It is like trying over and over and not doing it right.
Him: Oh baby.
Me: I feel like a political candidate who keeps running and never wins. (Pauses, sadly) I'm the Barry Goldwater of pregnancies!

They put me on bed rest and I wrote this blog that is now part of this book, originally to numb emotional pain. It became a journey of its own.

It should at least be *A Little Funny*

...Because It Didn't Happen to You.

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