Okay, I’m extremely hyperfocused at the moment–focused completely on waiting for my damn cellphone to ring. A week ago today my gynecologist took a great whopping chunk out of my cervix in the lovely shape of a cone. That particular joyous event is called a ‘cold cone biopsy’. No, they don’t do anything fancy or freezy–they just don’t use any heat to stop the bleeding. If they use cauterization they call that a LEEP–same shit, different tools. I don’t get to have sex for 6 weeks (5 now bitches *wink*) and I get to look forward to ‘passing’ stitches (seriously? my dog gets dissolving stitches and we haven’t figured that shit out for humans yet?).

Yesterday I called the office because I had to know…were there any results? Yep, there were and they are still right there and I can’t have a copy because the doctor hasn’t looked at them yet….well, hell. Luckily they thought I was being funny when I told them that Dr. T was acting too needy. But give me my fucking results you useless asshats. *deep breath* they are doing their jobs etc. etc. etc. but I want to know….how far has the cancer spread?

It’s a fair goddamned question, no?

You all know I have spent more time than should be legally allowed searching all possible results–at this point I could probably interpret anyone’s cervical biopsy.

Wanna know what else I keep thinking about? huh? do ya? My mother, not the good one, the one less-than-lovingly known as Lurleen’s Mom (long story–involved white trash party names and lots of hilarious chats with friends) asked me if I lost weight because of the cancer.

well, fuck. I don’t think so. But hell–maybe?

So, I am a wee bit wound up today. Feel like an overstretched rubber band!

May I have my results please?

And good evening to everyone, I was tired when I got into bed but alas sleep remained an elusive bitch so I thought I would write. I don’t know what I am going to write; but here I go with the writing:  A thought occurred to me this evening that maybe can explain to those who have always wondered why I live here when there are so many ‘challenges’ to living here compared to living stateside. There are many amazing things in the states; not the least of which include taco bell, dunkin donuts, fast service, being able to ignore strangers, food delivery, flower delivery, mail delivered right to your house! There are a billion other great things about living stateside but the reason I prefer to live here is because I really appreciate them when I visit. 

To say I am a consumer is an understatement. I am exactly the type of person advertising folks love–is it new? is it shiny? Then I need it! The unfortunate reality is when I lived in the states I used things to try to feel better about my life–and forgive me for stating the obvious but that doesn’t work. 

So, I now live in a place where I have the opportunity to shop at KMart, OfficeMax, and the newest big chain store on-island–Home Depot. There are obviously other small stores but in regards to big chain stores that is about it. Please don’t get me wrong, those places are fine and everyone here uses them; but I (thankfully) do not have a million options of where to shop and where to eat and I like it that way. So, when I go stateside to visit or for a training seminar I get an amazing rush of OH. MY. GAWD. Look at it all! that it is almost like a roller coaster and I excitedly go up and down aisles with a huge grin on my face. And then I notice the other shoppers completely unaware and uncaring about how incredible it is that they have access to all of it, all of the time; or worse complaining loudly because the starbucks in the target food area is out of whipped cream and how could that have happened and that lack of whipped cream on their caramel whatsit has ruined EVERYTHING. I always want to walk up to these people and shake them and try to wake them up to have some damn joy. 

So, why do I live here? So I do not turn back into that incredibly joyless person accumulating crap because it felt good and expecting everything to be perfect all of the time. Shit does happen. You plan, you prepare, and if something goes wrong you work with it. 

If everyone could do me a favor? Next time you are shopping stop for just a second and look around. Think about how incredible it is that there are places you can go and purchase just about anything you want at just about any time that you want. Remember that the people working there are people with lives and dramas and joys of their very own and then smile like a fool and zip your butt up and down the aisles and embrace some damn joy. 

And if the damn place is out of something you wanted–suck it up, buttercup; you will be okay. 

Hi y’all,

I know it has been a very long time since I shared a story. The only way to overcome the writer’s block I have been mired in for a while now is to just start typing–so here are today’s thoughts:

Ever put a picture on facebook which you don’t think is that great and everyone goes bat-crap crazy about how great(!), hot(!), and thin(!) you look? Yeah, I never did either until yesterday. I went out yesterday and interacted with other humans–it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t that great either. I had a friend take a few pictures of me because I was hoping to get one I could start using as a profile picture without utilizing the classic, “chunky-girl face-tilt” pose. The pictures were okay–not great, but okay. I thought I looked kind of stressed out and a wee bit haggard.

Here is the deal–I descend from women who were very strong, but not really ‘delicate flower’-types. You know, the ‘my people were supposed to be able to carry the cow in from the field’ kind of people. In addition to my solid muscular frame I carried a large amount of, well, fat. I was lush, zaftig, a bbw….whatever–I was me. For that matter I am *still* me.

So, the me that is medicated properly is a me which is about 60-70lbs lighter than where I used to be–but people? Please know this–removal of fat does not automatic happiness make. I know! I was shocked as well! Based solely on seeing pictures of my mother looking creepily skeletal in her teens in my humble opinion she was incredibly anorexic during her youth. As a mother she became very “concerned about my health” and supported me starting on a diet–I was 7. Because being thin was being beautiful and being thin was happiness. So, now at 35, for the first time in my whole life I look “normal-sized” and guess what? there has been no extra happy.

I remember as a child laying in my bed at night with my hands on my tummy and saying to myself that breathing in made me big but while breathing out I was thinner and I was hoping that my size would be judged while breathing out. As I got closer to puberty I was a voracious reader. I would read books where the main character fought to be thinner and became anorexic and after almost dying finally got better–whenever I finished those books I would pray to become anorexic (please understand; I knew of the dangers but they seemed worth it because thin equaled happy).

So fast forward almost 3 decades from my first diet to see how my world has changed–I post pictures of myself and more than 75% of those who have commented are referencing my weight loss. Wanting to know how much was lost and/or how I did it.

Wanna know how I did it? Wanna know my “secret”? Ready?

I. Was. A. Diabetic. And. Wasn’t. Fucking. Diagnosed. For. Most. Of. My. Life.

Yep. Food is stupid. So now that my body is no longer sending my brain these shitty “we are starving, bitch!” messages I wasn’t nearly as hungry as I used to be. In fact, I understand what ‘full’ means now. So, my big ol’ secret? I removed all the self-imposed restrictions and if I want it; I eat it. If I don’t want it; I don’t eat it. So, between the medical crap and the mental crap from being restricted regarding food most of my life (as soon as I said I couldn’t eat something that was all I wanted) it turns out that getting thinner was not nearly as hard for me as it always was….but getting happier is a goddamn BITCH.

So, my suggestion for attempting to make this a better damn world for everyone? Don’t give a fuck about what someone look’s like; find out if they are happy. Happiness is beauty. I do not care what size I am–I want to be happy.

Okay, so I have been all intimidated to get back to writing ye ole’ blog here because there is so very much to say. So I think the only way to get over the writers block of doomery is to stop thinking of it as a giant project and just start writing shit. A little bit every day and the story unfolds. Not that there are any great reveals to be shared—I am still me, still (mostly) alone, still living on a tropical island, still figuring out my place in the world. Writing every day helps me; so why did I stop? Because I have been healing and I am getting better. <smiles>

I figured something out last night. Benadryl is *not* my friend. In my past Benadryl was always the crappy cousin to Zyrtec; I would take it and it would work but it made me so sleepy that it ruined the day or conked me out at night with a sleepy dozy hangover in the morning. So, when I ran out of money and couldn’t afford any more Zyrtec I dug out the old bottle of generic Benadryl and started taking one or two per night due to cat allergies. It did not occur to me that Benadryl could be the reason that I kept waking up and feeling like there were skittery ants crawling on the inside of my skin about an hour after bedtime. Then I came down with Dengue Fever. No, I am not kidding. I sincerely thought I was dying and to be perfectly honest I am still quite drained from it. During my epic ($150) trip to the pharmacy (that would be *with* insurance by the way) I purchased me some generic Zyrtec. Last night I realized I left my ‘med kit’ in my office and I dug out the last two generic Benadryl to stop the cat-induced sneezing and about an hour later I was all SKITTERY. It was horrible. I turned my computer and began with the search ‘benadryl makes me feel weird’ and there are apparently entire groups of people deliberately causing these sensations with the use of Benadryl. Now, I knew about people attempting to trip using dxm (and actively causing brain damage) but Benadryl? For realzies? The magic of the interwebs taught me much last night as I stayed awake until 3AM (ugh!) reading ‘trip reports’. Yes, there are people who actively take the time to write about their trips to educate the less adventurous on what it is like. May all the Gods bless them for their reports. My favorite one likened his Benadryl trip as being the scariest thing that had ever happened to him and that he was definitely going to do it again, however he warned anyone who didn’t really love horror movies to never try it. Alrighty then, count me out. I need the ability to turn the movie off a’thankyouverymuch. For the record the guy was taking 10 times the dosage I was; but I fear the “old” in my bottle of Benadryl did the thing where instead of decreasing in potency with age it became stronger. Regardless, I think I am done with Benadryl for a long while.

I have an infection that is kicking my ass, no, seriously. I’m feverish, shaking, praying for death, spent 6 hours on the floor of a “free” clinic because that was my best shot of getting antibiotics-sick.
Oh, and Herbert was SURE he was supposed to be with me because I smelled sick so he went too and it was so cold in there we held each other for warmth.
So I was the weird feverish lady with a dog.
Ugh.
Ok. Back to bed.
+kisses+

Morning luvvies!

So, I haven’t been writing because…well, I suck. Okay, so that was the short answer; the long answer is something like I have been learning and doing a new job as well as healing. Yes, healing. After the January 18, 2012 announcement that my job was going to be gone and that the life I had carved out for myself was going to be very different very soon I sort of swirled down the drain of emotional stability. Yep, lost my shit. Too much all at once and while I still ‘ain’t right’; I’m s.l.o.w.l.y. getting better. Did I mention it was slow?

So, back to topic: I just read two news articles on slate (*heart* them). The first one was why aren’t women “lifestyle” bloggers writing about sex. The answer is…cause that is up to sex bloggers. We shall file that one into the ‘yep, knew that’ category. But the second one (I’m bouncing in my chair here, btw) made me say “YES!” loudly. It answered the question of why Rhianna’s interview with GQ was so darn depressing. Why? Because in her interview she indicates that she is getting back together with you know who because she is submissive. The article goes on to clearly state that submission is NOT being with an abusive person (YAY!); but having a celebrity state the opposite just sucks (true, it does suck). Feel free to read on your own: http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2012/11/14/gq_s_rihanna_interview_chris_brown_submission_and_a_whole_lot_of_yuck.html?wpisrc=obinsite

Anywhoodle, I know this isn’t much. I can’t promise to write more…but I will on occasion probably write a few of the long list of post ideas I have been accumulating.

Love y’all.

-H

I don’t know what to say…I have been losing hope lately. I know, I know…I haven’t written in a very (VERY!) long time; and the only reason I can give you all is that I fear I am intrinsically broken. 

No, seriously. I was watching a show called Scandal…it isn’t the best show ever written but it isn’t that bad either…anyway, I was watching the show and there was a bit where the lovable psycho ex-spy dude was on a date with his very first love interest and ERMAHGERD! he is so broken that one of his favorite things to do is watch (stalk) this normal family. He spoke of their pizza night and leftover night…and all I could think was…shit. I feel like that sometimes. How do you explain to people how you come from this big ball of fuckedupedness and while you sometimes deeply long for healthy normal interactions in the form of a family you know deep down you don’t have one and you are not sure how to make one work? There really isn’t a way to explain it. 

And telling people your current plans on Thanksgiving (the worst holiday EVER if you come from my broken fucked up family – one year I was forced to eat 3 dinners at 3 different locations while, no shit, each family told me I was overweight) involve watching crap on the internet and eating ramen noodle is fucking depressing. 

Okay, enough self-pity. 

*shakes it off*

I have a bunch of funny shit to write; just haven’t gotten there yet. 

loves ya.

miss ya. 

-me.

I have many many things to share; yet I cannot seem to make any of them “go” into written word. Perhaps I could do you an interpretive dance? Kidding—I wouldn’t do that to you; at least not today. Let’s see. I’m blonde. Which is even sort of my natural color; when I was a little sproglet I had white-blonde hair and many sunburns. I distinctly remember sitting in the back of the classroom in first grade and while the class watched a movie I just kept peeling off my extra skin seeing how big of a piece I could get. I then rolled all the pieces into a (*vomit*) skin ball before throwing it away. I don’t remember the movie—but I do remember getting some seriously large pieces of skin.

Seriously? I go free-form writing and I come out with the term skinball? I really don’t know which of the many things wrong with me has caused this joyous post but on the off chance it gets worse—I am sorry.

So, yeah—I bleached the ever living hell out of my hair and now I am blonde and holy crap did I feel NAKED. Did any of you know I was hiding behind my dark hair? No? That’s okay, I didn’t know either. That said, bleach is NOT friendly to yon hair and let’s just call me conditioner’s bitch. I need to grow this all out and then play nice to my hair for a while. Well, niceISH anyway.

I posted the bleaching FUN on facebook and received mixed comments and reviews and located in my messages I received the following words:

you have the eyes and smile that can be framed with any hair color. You allways look amazing no matter how you paint your pallet. Just sayin’.

Well, hell. This made me all fidgety and uncomfortable the way any nice comment does when suddenly I blushed. Yep, a full face bright red experience. There was a human in the world who thinks I am pretty; in fact there are a few people out there who think I am quite lovely….do I?

Lately I have been scrawnifying. I have never wanted to be a delicate flower (I have always wanted to be exotic) in fact, due to my upbringing where thinness equated value I have actively fought against the thought that my happiness was dependant upon my size. As a child I remember feeling guilty every time I saw the tone soap commercial—yes, I felt *guilty* that I didn’t have a hard muscled thin body at 8 or 9 years old. So, anyway back to this decade (why am I going back to my childhood in this post?)—I’m thinner. Most of that has to do with getting my diabetes under control and other medication side effects which cause me to eat very little. I’m doing okay. Today I rode my bike to work for the first time (yes, I got a bike, and it is flipping amazing), but holy shit that was not easy. I had to stop and walk it a few times. So, yes—I am skinnier, but am I woefully out of shape. ~sigh~

Tonight I have to ride back home (there is no magical teleportation device) and it just started raining! LOL I don’t mind rain I just thought it was funny that as soon as I typed that it was CUE DOWNPOUR.
So, there was a wee little update on me. Nothing to drastic – still diabetic, still poor, still have animals, and now I have a bike. YAY!

Kisses.