What's love got to do (got to do) with it?

Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

Oh Tina, how wrong you were.

I often here people say to the young brides (you know, the ones on MTV's Engaged and Underage...now there's some quality television for you. It's like the prequel to Divorce Court. Or Maury "I am 1,000,0000,000% sure He my baby daddy" Povich) "Love isn't enough". What isn't love enough for? I think love really is enough to make a relationship work. Ok, if you're married to a gambling addicted boozehound who's only hobbies are sleeping with strangers and knocking over liquor stores....well, Ok, love probably isn't enough. But, why, oh why would you love that asshat in the first place? If you're going to love someone, you need to love yourself first. And hi, if you're married to that guy, I'm going out on limb with this: you probably don't love yourself very much. So let's just start with the assumption that when you wake up in the morning, you think for the most part you're an OK person. Yes, yes, we all have days where we think Amy Winehouse has it more together than we do. Hi, she's a Grammy winner. The only awards I've ever won were coloring contests. Oh, and I once got honorable mention for a poem I wrote in 2nd grade. (It was about butterflies, I think. Or rainbows. Or maybe Unicorns. I was in 2nd grade. Cut me some slack)


But I'm still pretty sure I've got it more together than Amy. Sure, on Friday I had a breakdown on the phone to the HG about how everyone in the world hates me and I'm like the "biggest loser ever" (Said in my best Gossip Girl voice--and no, I don't watch that show. I have, like, standards.). I was just not feeling the love. From anyone. The HG, though, being the sweet guy he is, just let me vent. He never says stupid things when I'm upset. Mainly because he rarely says anything when I'm upset. This bugs the bejesus out of me. But I think he's probably right. I mean, he can't win by trying to help. All he's going to do is give me something else to rant about. Best to keep quiet. And then send flowers. He figured that one out early in our relationship. What can I say? I married me a smart man.

And that's why I can say things like love is totally enough. Because it is. Because I love the HG, when I go upstairs and see that there are three coke cans laying randomly on the coffee table, desk, and chair (I don't ask anymore. What could the answer to that one possibly be that would make me feel better?), I just shake my head and bring them downstairs. Does it matter that he knows this bugs me? Doest it matter that I asked that the loft not become a shithole? Does it matter that one was empty, one has 1/2 full, and the other wasn't even opened (again, I don't ask....)? No. It really doesn't matter. Because I have 2 choices. I can get all worked up over it, tear downstairs and start slamming doors till he wakes up so I can pretend not to be mad at him (hi, he should totally know why I'm pissed. He's not only a nice guy who loves me, he's also a psychic).. OR I can just bring the cans downstairs and put them in trash (ok, geeze, FINE, I recycled them. And put the full one in the fridge. Happy now? Call off the envirocops). Cuz really, really, is my marriage worth a few coke cans? I could stay happily married or get all worked up over stupid stuff like coke cans and be miserable. Hmmm...let me think...

Now, I know, I know there is someone out there thinking "But if HE really loved YOU, he wouldn't leave the coke cans out in the first place." Riiight. Cuz we're all perfect to our spouses all the time. Well, I am. But I am perfection. (No for realsies. The HG just loves my random bouts of anger at the world. Just ask him.) The point isn't that you're not allowed to ever be upset with your own husband guy or boyfriend or girlfriend or wife or whomever the equivalent HG in your world is. I'm not stupid. Crazy. But not stupid. (See ma, I call myself crazy.all.the.time.) But pick your battles. Battling over cocaine? Ok. Battling over coke cans? Not ok. See my point? And if the guy you're dating suddenly starts taking drugs or sleeping around, love yourself enough to GTFO (get the fuck out). And for crying out loud DON'T MARRY HIM.

I'm hardly suggesting love will solve all the problems in the world. But if you pick right in the first place, it's certainly enough to keep you going. According to my girl Tina, Love is a sweet old fashioned notion. And I'm all kinds of old fashioned.

I'm not even sure what sparked that little foray into the hearts and minds of (wo)men. I guess I'm just sort of feeling all kinds of love for the HG today. He puts up with just so much. He really does. I can't possibly be easy to live with. Yes, I do all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. I make him coffee in the morning. I iron his clothes. I bring him yummy treats from S&S Deli (best.pickles.on.earth) and Cold Stone when I come home (hmmmm...why do we need a diet. Why...what could it be? Certainly not our eating habits. Silly.). Come to think of it, I'm like super easy to live with. What's not to love? I'm so the best wife ever. Especially if you ignore the mood swings that Mel Gibson look stable. Not that that's a problem. What are a few antisemitic slurs and drunk driving raps among friends? (for the record, I've never made, nor would I ever make, any antisemitic remarks. I plead the 5th on mug shots. You can't prove what you can't find....hey, did you know they don't let you smile during mug shots. Who knew? Well, now you do.) But sometimes my frustrations get the better of me and I start beating the paparazzi with umbrellas. No wait, that wasn't me.

But because I am stable (for real. In real life, I'm like the very picture of stability) I sometimes do things I don't want to have to do. Like this diet. I don't wanna do it. I'm scared. What if I can't do it? What if I pull a Kristie Alley? (No, i wouldn't start rocking the moo-moo.) But what happens if I'm a miserable failure? I don't know. I'm not good at failure. Wait, scratch that, I rock at failure. My college transcripts (that community college gig) will attest to that. Apparently you're supposed to do more than just pay for the class--they have this hang up about going to them, too. I had, like, better things to do (same Gossip Girl voice). Like spend my student loan money.

But if people didn't do things, like fall in love, because something bad might happen, we'd never do anything. If you want a job, you have to apply for a job. But what if you don't' get it? OMG. Worst.tragedy.ever. And shopping. Should you not shop because the jeans you've had your heart set on might not be on sale or, even worse, they are on sale but they store is sold out of your size? (Let's be honest, that's just down-right depressing.) And should you never try to lose weight because you might not? Um. Maybe.

But this whole fertility thing is like one big episode in failure. I think it just highlights the other failures in my life. It's not really failure so much as lack of success. Or I suppose more to the point, a lack of outward success. I am not ungrateful for my life. But of the big 4, I have 1. Big 4: boy, house, baby, dog. I guess I have 1 and a half. Two cats totally equal one dog, right? And they certainly cost as much as any baby. My goodness, those 2 have spent more time in surgery than Michael Jackson. And they have better noses. Probably because they still have noses. But I digress. I'm 33. I just want say 2 of the big 4. At this rate I'll be 63 when I get the other one. Imagine how scary that would be. Me at 63 shoving a bowling ball out of my crotch. I gotta get better at this.