Metallic Blue Eyeshadow

The 80’s came up in conversation and to tell you the truth I didn’t care for them much but I took some time to reflect and now I come up with things that I did like.

1. Brooke Shields eyebrows why can’t that be back in, all this tweezing and plucking can make a girl go blind.
2. Feathered hair because I think my arms were in the best shape of their lives, it was one heck of a workout.
3. Leg warmers, they do more than pants do alone.
4. T.V., simpler times what did we have 5-6 channels? Now with 7,214 channels I can’t find a darn thing to watch.(maybe more a late 70’s thing)
5. I seemed to have more money…Oh that’s because I lived with my mom.
6. Boones Farm cost around a buck now it’s like $3, inflation is killing my buzz.
7. Video games were so much easier…Pac-man, centipede, Mario

The biggest thing I miss is that I didn’t realize how fit I was (without trying) and if I could go back I would wear a bikini 24-7. To school, shopping, work, whatever I would not care…you know I really hope I’m not afflicted with dementia and I think I’m 17 again and I think I used to wear a bikini all the time and I think well I think you can see where this is going…scary….

Wheatgrass tofu burger please.

I’m writing out questions for the doctors’ appointment tomorrow when it hits me, my big fear. She will tell me that I need to change my diet and exercise (M&M’s and comfy chair, I love you so)… I am having a stress attack just thinking about it, spinach shakes and jogging…Oh my lord. I call my sister and tell her my fear she’s like, no treats?...no pop? ...no fast food?...Exercise? Like what will you do?... That’s when I lay it on her…She will be doing it with me if this is the case…she’s like, no treats?...no pop?...no fast food?... and Exercise? You can almost hear her heart through the phone, but I feel so much better now because I’m not the only one panicking. Crazy, Cuckoo, and Committed all C words…

Creative Clarity?

Pre-pre cancer still has the word cancer in it and it bugs me just enough. I don’t have cancer so I’m non cancer, sans cancer, cancer-less, but all still have that dreaded word. Other C words I don’t care for much are conjunctivitis, colonoscopy, Chupacabra (goat sucker, scary right), constipation, camping… anyway all yucky but cancer still the top. Favorite C words candy, chocolate, cash, cotton, comfy, children, clean, caramel, cheeseburgers, …more than the bad so that’s good. See I’m working through this. In the future you will go to the doctor, they do a blood test and you’ll get results like, your second child will be more likely to have acid reflux, your third child’s second child will have erectile dysfunction, unfortunately she will be a girl, you will be lactose tolerant unlike your spouse who will be intolerant, this may cause some marital discord, and so on. So I guess being pre-pre is the way of the future. And aren’t we all pre something anyway pre-old, pre-hungry, pre-dead, so pre is in, I’m trendy without trying that is so me.

Final Pathological Diagnosis

So today I got to see my surgeon. The news was... different. First it was the largest Intraductal papilloma (I know its all Korean) that shes ever taken out. Cool? Actually I'm not sure what that means. Secondly the lump, bump, thingy has atypical hyperplasia which as she put it is pre-pre cancerous. Not cancer but my risk is increased. OK follow me so far because I barely get it. So I will be watched more closely. Another turn is that now I have to go see an oncologist and she may put me on a medicine that they use to reduce the risk of breast cancer. It may though, I'm not jumping to quickly(yea right), put me in menopause. I have barely wrapped my head around this 30+10 thing (yes you know what I mean). All I picture in my head is that Maxine character from all the Hallmark cards the cranky old (really Old) lady. The mayo clinic lists these items as symptoms of menopause:
* Irregular periods
* Decreased fertility
* Vaginal dryness
* Hot flashes
* Sleep disturbances
* Mood swings
* Increased abdominal fat
* Thinning hair
* Loss of breast fullness
Um, uh, I am freaked. Not cancer... Not cancer... Not cancer... but iNcReAsed AbdOminaL Fat? tears* Not cancer... Not cancer... but ThINninG Hair? Not cancer... Not cancer...I'm not even touching that other stuff... ok, ok, thank god I just received a box of M&M's in the mail (completely true) some use drugs others candy...

In all seriousness I have been blessed with a warning and many never get that chance.

Famous Duos for $2000

Yesterday I was allowed to remove the bulky bandage and take a real shower. This would have been more pleasant if I was knocked out, because the amount of tape used and the way it had fused to my skin was dreadful. I sounded like a Pomeranian that saw a squirrel, yipping and yelping. Finally after removal I got to see the boo-boo up close and all I could think was ow. The area that was cut is around an inch and in an area that that all I can think of telling you is ow. Also my boob was flat from the pressure of the Chinese torture bandage, like those Chinese finger cuffs where all you have to do is relax and they will come right off but you freak pulling and tugging like Lou Ferrigno and your kid who just got them out of some prize box is losing it because you're going to break their reward and when you finally get them off your fingers they're blue and have the woven indentation (sorry got carried away). I was horrified trying to fluff it (painful), and I even blew into my thumb hoping that would inflate the area. Neither worked but luckily after my shower it was coming around. I have to say the best thing was after all was said and done the girls were neighbors again. Laverne and Shirley were bunking side by side. Wonder twins can now activate their powers. Thelma is now driving with Louise right next to her…All right I’m done that could go on forever.

"Could we get some more bread?"

So yesterday was B-Day (boobies, breasts, bazoombas, whatever). I arrived at the hospital pretty relaxed ready to get it over with; yank the sucker out was my mantra. The surgical area was full and I think this is going to take awhile. I walk up to the counter and try and give the receptionist my frequent flier mileage card along with insurance card; I figure this thing could take me to Italy and back maybe a couple of times. They unfortunately do not accept that. But she makes sure I sign all my rights over, it’s not their fault if they mess up or some surgical tool goes missing or etc. At this point she hands me a “call you when we are ready Outback Steakhouse beeper”, huh? Are they trying to torture me since they know I have not eaten since yesterday and now I swear I can smell garlic mashed potatoes? “When this goes off please come back up to the desk”… and my table will be ready? No smile, but I only had to wait 10 minutes or so and then I got to try my joke again on a new person, no luck, tough audience. As I round the corner to head to my next space I run into someone I know. Most people do this at the grocery store I wait until I’m at a hospital go figure. She is someone I’ve known for around 23 years (yes since I was three) and it’s good she’s there because now she demands the staff that they laugh at my jokes and instantly I know this will a better day (I’m pitiful I know). So next my nurse tells me to strip off everything, put everything in the marked bags, put on gown and hospital appointed socks. I immediately asked about the undies, must I remove them since there no reason anyone should be down that way anyway and blah blah. “Sure you can wear them but sometimes people pee a little when the come out of the anesthetic and I wouldn’t want to wear wet panties home” all saying this as she walks out the door… crap crap crap. I suddenly have to pee and all I think about is wetting myself, this thought is now greater then scalpels, boob removal, or death. I am one messed up thinker. Ok, after peeing 3 or four times the anesthesiologist comes in and we decide that I don’t have any vices except for the crazy biting of the nails( what can I say I’m a party animal). At this point he also states the doctor may take pictures … for scrap booking, the internet, to laugh at at parties, I’m stressing a little now with the whole peeing myself and I may be on someone’s My Space page. My girlfriend comes back in and we chat then she asks who’s doing the surgery. I tell her and her reply is “She’s a bitch but she great with boobs”, crap… incontinence, youtube, and now I’m afraid to ask any questions because the doc may attack me. Of course when the doctor finally comes in I keep moving out of her way like a bobble head, if she comes on my right I lean all the way to the left and back and forth. She wants to examine the lump again and at this point she may think she has bad breath because of the distance I’m keeping. While poking at my bump she mentions that unfortunately its “inconveniently located”, at this point I want to be a smart ass but I’m afraid of her and the wrath she could bring so I ask how can I help her (wimp). She states that it’s in the cleavage area, I nod like I know what she’s talking about then puzzled I say “cleavage?” The only cleavage I ever have is unintentional or accidental, maybe this is what I been missing out on in life? No she doesn’t want me to have a scar there and because where she is going to cut I may have some more bruising (lets just say where she wants to cut I won’t ever get to show my scar without the possibility of arrest.) I say whatever you need to do… she’s the one with the carving knife remember. And then drug guy shoots me up and I don’t remember anything. Although looking at my naked self I do wonder who slathered on the butt load of oompa loompa orange but gave up a quarter of the way through because of boredom and who casted my boob up so it was nowhere near the other one, now they look like Marty Feldman’s eyes (Google him) and god knows what else occurred… Today I’m pretty sure someone threw a bowling ball at me and I didn’t catch it… I’m must have my narcotics... Oh and doctor’s appointment Friday cross your fingers I’m in the clear…

Disclaimer: this story was written under the influence.

Denim

Someone called me “in shape”, I laugh and say its good genes and good jeans. So first I’ll thank my parents Gene and Genie (just joshing), but for real on the jeans part. The wrong ones can make the equator three dimensional; you know the bike tire, muffin top, Saturn’s rings and all. But the right ones can manipulate the milky ways and snickers into an appropriate area and “bam” you’re sweet. So for me I’ll thank Levi Strauss for working overtime especially after a late night binge of milk duds and cheese popcorn. So “in shape” is an illusion so no one challenge me to anything exerciseial (I made that up, cool huh?) because my arms tire if I put a ponytail in.

Medical...mysteries

So in preparation for left breast mass removal ’09 I had to speak with a nurse on the phone for about 35-45 minutes. It was difficult because they want to go through all (even your dreaded teenage years) history. I would pause at certain questions; I don’t share this stuff with the counselor. Isn’t there a rule that after 15-20 years you get to start over? I mean really doesn’t getting older provide you with some sort of immunity from your past? You turn 18 years old you can vote, 21 you can drink, 25 your car insurance goes down…then what nothing, nada, zip, so I call immunity. She thought this was amusing but what does tearing into my boob have anything to do with…well I don’t have to tell you I called immunity. Then questions came like “would you be winded after walking three blocks?” In 103 degree weather, did I just eat a huge cheeseburger, am I wearing a backpack, have I slept, am I on my period, why don’t I take a car, was I exercising beforehand (ha-ha), is it at a mall, am I being chased, I mean really this question. Well she says like what would happen if you went up three flights of stairs? Stairs? Who do I think I am... Rocky, who lives up there,what happened to the elevator...In retrospect maybe this is why the phone call took so long? Nah…

Is that Yogi and Boo-boo?

Good news and so-so news, I passed my tests, benign but the complex cyst did not go away so I have to have surgery to get it out. I’m sure it will be fine but I have apprehension about being put under and knowing you have to be naked in a cold room on an uncomfortable slab with strangers (that hasn't happened since 1990 and the whole "little green man" thing, you know E.T., Mork from Ork, creatures from outer space). Who knows what’s going on ya know? It’s an ideal situation for a sharpie marker and a Polaroid camera. I’m also getting advice to take time off to take it easy. I’ve told all that I’m fairly talented but I have yet to perfect answering the phone, lifting items, typing, or many other tasks with my breast. And anytime I try to shake someone’s hand with it, it just brings on distressing stares. I also haven’t chest pounded since the last time I played scrabble and I haven’t done that in awhile since no one will play with me since I chest pound. So that’s that. I’m sure it will hurt but all that means is I’ll have more bear stories to share.

Don't fight Mother Nature

I‘ve been trying to work on my daughters list for Christmas. I finally found the Snow Miser’s phone number to get more snow. Unfortunately getting through all the computer prompts is murder, press 22 for Cantonese, press 38 for Hungarian, and so forth. It’s not in alphabetical order or anything and it’s actually gone to Elfish twice (don’t they have an “in” with the big guy in red?). Next you are on hold listening to “He’s Mister White Christmas, he Mister Snow”. When I thought I finally got through it was a like a public service announcement against the Heat Miser (sibling rivalry). Then more choices on snow, an inch or two, fluffy, packable, time specifics, and etc, I think this one was just too tough to do. I’m a failure…