Shut up.

I can't be bothered to online date anymore. I kind of hate it, although I have been emailing with a Plenty of Fish guy this week. He's a big Giants, Mets, comic book, and Guinness fan. Check please!

I haven't been on POF in over a year, so I'm not really sure what made me even check my email. It's probably MD. I miss him. Of course I miss him. I didn't break it off because I'm not interested, I broke it off because I knew it wasn't going anywhere right now. Blerg.

My profile is apparently on the top of the recent user list because I'm getting a lot more ridiculous emails: "how u doin qt?", "Do you date black men?" from what looks like a white guy, and my favorite of the week "Shut up. : )"

Shut up? That's it? That's all you're going to write? I might write back "Kill yourself."

Fanboy gave me his number, so I'm going to call him this weekend. He also said we should be Facebook friends, but I don't like this idea. I hate the whole awkward when-do-I-delete-you dance. Who knows, maybe I won't need to but I'm not adding you until the ring's on my finger thankyouverymuch.

My, how things change.

I finally heard from MD Friday night at 12:30am. I didn't get his text until the next morning since I passed out around 11pm after drinking too much vodka at a strip club. (My life is awesome.)

The text read, "I've been out of town all week, what are you up to tonight?". I screamed out, "NOOOOOO!" I'm not sure why I did that. I guess I had already made up my mind I was done with him. If you haven't noticed, once my mind is made up it is really, really hard for me to change it. I'd say I'm stubborn, but there are so few times when I absolutely positively know how I feel about something that when it happens I need to hold onto it.

Oh. Right. That's the definition of stubborn. Crap.

I wasn't going to write him back for a couple of days to sort things out, but I did Saturday night as I was leaving Svenica's wedding. The wedding was so fun and filled with love (Congrats guys! Thanks for inviting me!) that I decided I was going to give MD another chance.

MD met me at Crazy Ass after I got back from the Giants game on Sunday. (My life is awesome.) It wasn't the same when I saw him again. I was so friggin miserable after not hearing from him that it just ruined everything. I can't blame him for my reactions and insecurity, but I do blame him for not making the effort to call. It turns out he was sent to a work conference in Vegas last minute. He apologized for not calling and for texting me so late Friday night. He said he didn't mean to be rude.

It was nice to get an explanation, but it didn't make me feel better. I spent the rest of the night trying to make conversation. I had nothing to say. When we left the bar I was going to head home then decided fuck it, literally. I went back to his place for a couple of hours. BEST KISSER OF ALL TIME. We are very sexually compatible, but that's just not enough for me. I want more.

I saw him in a completely different light. All of a sudden there were red flags everywhere. I won't go into specifics, but all signs were pointing to one thing: while he might be single, he definitely isn't available. I left feeling good about getting laid, but bad about the fact he isn't the guy for me.

I decided to break it off. I want love, I want passion, and I want someone I can trust. I know these things can build over time, but if he already let me down after six weeks I don't see it getting any better.

I womaned up and called him a couple of hours ago. He was really, really nice about it. I can't remember what I said exactly, but it was along the lines of "I had a lot of fun hanging out with you, but I'm looking for something serious and I get the feeling you want something casual right now." He agreed saying he just got out of a long-term relationship (one of the red flags) and wasn't looking to jump right into a new one. I told him I think he's awesome and said I'm really grateful we met when we did since I went through some shit this summer that he really helped me get over. I didn't go into it of course, but I really wanted to thank him. He ended up thanking me for calling and letting him know. I said I'm sure I'll see you around the neighborhood, so I thought it was best to be honest. It's good dating karma, people!!

PHEW! All of that in less than three minutes. Best break-up-with-someone-I'm-not-actually-committed-to EVER!

I hung up the phone and cried. It was good tears. I know I did the right thing. I want to create space for someone who goes out of his way to make sure I feel good about us and myself. MD wasn't the guy. I'm excited to find the one who is.

Good-bye best kisser SO FAR!

A Letter to MD

Well I'm at work and can't stop thinking about you again. It sucks. I'm not sure what I did wrong. Am I fat? Did I leave too long of a message? Did I not contact you enough? Did I call you the wrong name? (I'm burnt.) WHAT DID I DO?

Everyone keeps saying it's not me, it's you. We all know that's not true though. Obviously I'm not the person you want due to some defect of mine. If I was the one for you it wouldn't matter that you just got out of a relationship. It wouldn't matter that I'm chunky or pale or bald or whatever. You'd like me and you'd call. You'd need to see me.

And this is why you're not the right guy for me. I want to need to be with someone and I want him to need to be with me. I want the kind of love that he and I would both fight for, whether it's an internal battle or an external one. I want love in all areas of my life - job, home, friends, boyfriend, family, everything. I don't have it all yet, but I will. I thought you were a part of this. I thought you were someone who I could eventually fall in love with and who would love me back just as much. Apparently I was wrong. There were moments that I thought you saw a future too, but that's all they were. Moments.

I'm going to the bar where we met after work today. I know I won't see you. I probably won't run into you for a long time. I'm afraid that when I do you'll be with someone else. Someone I'm not, like a petite brunette. She won't be as cool as I am (that's a given), but I guess I'm not as hot as she would be. Isn't this sad? The one thing I'm harping on is the one thing I have control over fixing. Maybe that's why I met you now, right after The Boob Saga. My body "failed" me as a teen, but it's "normal" now. There's nothing holding me back from being as healthy, fit, and hot as I want to be. Not that there really was anything holding me back, but now I definitely don't have to hide who I am anymore. I have nothing to protect myself from. I've faced it all.

I will say I'm still in shock a bit. The way you talked, the way you looked at me, the way you held me. It's funny how classy and mature I thought you were just based on your suit-wearing, high-paying job and nice apartment. I guess it really does matter who we are on the inside, not the out. I hate breaking up with people, too but at least I woman up and do it. The worst part of dating is not knowing where you stand, so I make sure to be honest if it's not working out.

Sometimes it's hard to believe I will end up with someone after 33 years of heartache. 33 years...that's a long time to be alone. Granted I haven't been dating since birth, but the dance is the same. I wanted my mother's love and approval and she was unable to give it to me. It's sad to admit this is my life story. I've tried to get the love I need from the wrong people. When will I ever learn?

It's been nine days since I last saw you, six days since I left the message. It doesn't sound like a long time, but my realtionship with time itself is drastically different now. A week feels like a year. A month feels like two years. I might be part dog.

I'm writing this in my gmail, but I'm considering posting it on Thighs. I don't know what the response will be. I can't tell if I'm being pathetic or honest. Maybe both. Hmmm...can you be pathetic without being honest?

I keep thinking about that movie Serendipity when Jeremy Piven's character says to John Cusask, "You are a jackass." Cusack was willing to be foolish and stupid for love. Maybe sharing this will make me look like an ass (donkey), but maybe it will also be the cleansing purge I need to move on. I refuse to let myself drag this out, especially after how crazy I made myself with Mick. If only I could be more black and white when it comes to guys. I'm not sure if that's possible, though. I am very gray, except when it comes to seafood and beer.

I guess there's not much more to say. I can't waste my time wondering what you're thinking anymore. All I can do is take a deep breath and get back out there. In a couple weeks time you'll be a distant memory, as are most of the other guys I've dated in the past. Maybe that's the really sad part about it. I'm already the queen of fleeting relationships (boys, friends, work) and for the first time in my life I don't want to be. Hmmm...wait....

Nice!!! THAT'S the reason I haven't left Minnow yet! I'm sick of bouncing around! I want to be committed to something (I should be committed)!! HURRAH!

Wow. I feel so much better now that I've written all of this. In fact, it makes sense. I didn't think this would end on a high note, but I gotta say...THANK YOU. You came (heh) at the exact time I needed you. I'm over Mick, I'm over The Boob Saga, and I now know I am truly, truly ready for love and to settle down.

::deep breath:: Time to get back out there.

The Girls and That Shit

Today was my final post-surgery checkup. The doctor said I'm healing nicely, I'm slightly uneven, and he's finished with me. That last part is verbatim. I hope I never see him again.

I am quite happy with the girls. I really am. I'm happy with the way this all turned out, yet I can't help but wonder what the fucking point was to any of it. The only thing I know for sure is that I'll never know. It was just my path.

I haven't really allowed myself to reflect on my experience for a few weeks now. August was a painful blur. September was a drunken blur. October? I haven't decided yet. I think I'm ready to sit with this again.

I have moments when I'm looking at myself topless in the mirror and start laughing. I laugh because I'm enlightened. I laugh because I faced this thing head on and won. And I laugh because it's fucking funny. Seriously, lopsided breasts? A popped implant? You can't write this shit. Okay, well maybe I am writing it now, but still. This is a ridiculous story and it's all mine.

Am I different? Yep. I don't feel broken. I don't feel deformed. I don't feel this thing sitting in my chest anymore. The implant was in me for so long that I didn't even realize I was feeling it. When it first came out I felt like there was a hole in my chest. The hole is closing now and for the first time in my life I feel well, whole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I haven't written about therapy because I shut down after my visit a couple of weeks ago. I told Cee everything I have buried deep inside. It took a lot out of me. This is the big stuff, That Shit if you will, I am afraid to conquer. The weird thing is I'm not afraid to talk about them. I'm afraid what will happen if I do. I'm afraid of letting go.

I know now is the time for me to go back and do this. Sharing my breast and 9/11 stories were huge steps in the right direction, but I still have a lot of work to do.

I decided it would be best for me to wait until January. Financially, it makes sense with the holidays. Personally and emotionally, well there are things I resolved to take care of before the new year. Sexy, Simba, Something. I haven't forgotten nor given up. Simba's out of the picture now with the short 'do, but Sexy and Something still have a good 10 weeks to come to fruition. I want to make sure I come back to therapy ready to tackle the big issues instead of getting caught up in the less important ones. Working out and proactively looking for a new job will give me the boost I need to get That Shit out.

2010, it ain't over.

Thanks Tron

"It takes class, humility, honor, and strength. And you have them all."

I want to hole up in my hole.

Do not read this if you are in the mood to be happy...it will be whiny and grumpy.

Waaaahhh...I'm tired, I'm at work when everyone else has off, and I'm PMSy. I might be coming down with a cold. I can't tell yet. My back is achy and my eyes are heavy. All I wanted to do was sleep in today. I should have called out.

Why the fuck is the office open? Most people's badges aren't working at the turnstile this morning. Know why? The security system has today programmed as a holiday, so it doesn't think people should be getting in. HELLOOOO??? If Jarvis or Mother or whatever the fuck our system is called believes we should be closed, then we should be closed. Bah.

It's like the eight summer Fridays I got didn't even matter.

I am such an ingrate.

SLEEP. I feel like I can't get enough. I took a nap during the third quarter of the Giants game yesterday. I always seem to take third quarter naps. I'm pretty sure I slept for eight hours last night and it was still so hard to get out of bed this morning. I'm surprised I did!

Yesterday was balls, but Friday and Saturday were a lot of fun. I went to comic con, then Doll's (usual Friday night pub needed a nickname). Saturday I worked at a smaller publisher's booth in exchange for a free weekend pass, went out to dinner with the Faces and others (yay!), went to Chewie's annual convention party, and then another pub for a quick drink with the Doll's crew. Hmmm...maybe that's why I'm so tired. I didn't drink too much either night, but I was up until 1am and 3:30am respectively. Yeah, that's probably it.

Peppermint Patties are making me feel better. Stupid pdiddy and your chocolate cravings. The pizza I had for lunch made me feel better, too. I am uber healthy today.

It's beautiful out and the last thing I want to do is deal with people. I got my lunch and ran back into the office. I want to hole up in my hole and be left alone.

So MD. We didn't have definite plans for yesterday, so I called him Saturday to confirm. He never called back. Maybe I'm overreacting (shocker), but I am pretty disappointed. I spent most of the weekend thinking about him and a good hour before the game picking out something to wear. Stupid. That was one of the great things about Tat. He never made me feel insecure or worried about where I stood...

Okay, now that I'm writing about this I feel like I am overreacting. After years of dating, it's so easy to think I know the warning signs of a doomed relationship and jump to conclusions that it's over. Except for Mick of course. My head was up my ass all summer.

This isn't the first time MD didn't immediately respond to a text or call, so why am I getting worked up about it?

Oh. Right. I like him. Duh.

And it's Sunday

No word. I seriously, seriously, seriously fucking hate being single. No wait, I hate trying to NOT be single.

Today is on the brink of sucking, but I'm trying to fight it. On the bright side: the Giants won, I ate two tacos, and I don't need an implant anymore.

So up yours, dating.

I can't take it anymore...

I'M IN LIKE! I'M IN LIKE! I'M IN LIKE!

MD and I had another date on Wednesday. It was great. He's great.

All I want to do is hang out with him. He might come over on Sunday to eat ribs and watch the Giants game with me. I WISH IT WAS SUNDAY.

I am trying my absolute hardest not to freak out or cry or contact him too much or think about the future or all of the other crazy shit I do to make myself crazier.

I'm forcing myself to be positive by taking deep breaths and enjoying the good feelings. MD is sweet, funny, kind, generous, thoughtful, smart, mature...really the whole package. And he loves football, beer, Family Guy, seafood, and nookie just as much as I do. Siiiigghhh...

I'M IN LIKE! I'M IN LIKE! I'M IN LIKE!

Everybody must get Stoned

Half of my Sunday. And this wasn't even the best half. Holla!


Bakes and I split the following:

1. 13th Anniversary Ale (I tried to get the Stone Bourbon Barrel Aged 12th Anniversary Ale, but the waitress messed up the order. One of the sales reps tasted it and thought I got the 2006 Double Bastard Ale. My receipt confirms I got the 13th Anniversary, which on the board is one below the bourbon. This is the most work I've put into explaining why I got a specific beer without actually describing or giving my opinion of said beer.)
2. 070707 Red Wine Aged Vertical Epic
3. 080808 Vertical Epic
4. Imperial Russian Stout 10th Anniversary GK Mad Man Mix
5. El Camino (collaboration with 21st Amendment)
6. Double Dry Hop 14th Anniversary Ale
7. Vanilla Smoked Porter

I am not a tasting notes type of drinker, so I'll just say all of them were excellent. The standouts for me were the DDH, 08 Vertical Epic, and of course the Vanilla Smoked Porter which I fell in love with back in March when Blind Tiger had their Stone event.

I love getting Stoned.

Unsuck!

MD texted me Saturday. WOOT! He met me and the girls out that night and again last night, too. I AM CHEESIFIED.

I'm feeling really good about him now. I think I needed to get my crazy out last week, so that I can enjoy the weeks to come.

Huh.

That last bit typed itself...I guess I do see a future with him! Fingers crossed, people!

Suck

Well, that's that. It's officially "end of the week" in my mind, so I guess I'm not hearing from MD. Ugh...this is hitting me hard, probably because I take my hook-ups more seriously nowadays.

Suck.

Q4 Outlook

I’m taking a nap at work. A non-sleeping nap. A nap with my eyes open. A nap that includes writing this post in Word before copying and pasting it into blogger. I refuse to make sense today.

I went to a Stone event at a local pub last night as a pre-game to the bigger Stone event at Rattle-n-Hum on Sunday. I had three beers: San Diego County Session Ale, Saison De BUFF, and Oaked Arrogant Bastard. The Session and Oaked are my favorites. It was a fun night because I got to meet two of the reps and a brewer. Oh and I also got to know this one bartender better, which is always good for DR (drinker relations). I was home by 9pm, so I’m not sure why I’m so freakin’ tired. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Maybe my liver exploded. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe I’m just tired.

I came into work and immediately got pulled into a conference call to hear my boss get reamed out and for us both be blamed for not knowing something we never had to deal with before. It’s been a great morning.

So, now I’m writing. And sleeping while awake.

I hate my hair. It’s so fucking short. I’m never cutting it again. I decided since this will be the last time I have a pixie I might as well be a short-haired character for Halloween. I’m thinking Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby. I’ll Netflix it and see what’s up. Not sure if I want to be preggers as a costume, though. Creepy. If I was skinny I’d be Twiggy, but since I’m not, I won’t attempt to pull it off. The only costume worse than a fat Twiggy is a fat Rollergirl.

I had a Starbucks iced coffee this morning instead of my usual local deli one. Maybe it’s fucking with me.

Q4 Outlook. I might hibernate in between special events for the next three months. I have NYCC, Svenica’s wedding, a possible Giants game, Halloween, Pee-Wee on Broadway, possibly a weekend trip to Boston (please!), a Jets game, a long overdue visit to M & J’s (I suck!), and of course, the holidays. It would be wise to stay indoors and not spend money on anything else.

Jesus Mr. J! I cannot believe you just texted me! Every time we plan to hang out I never hear from him until like 9pm that night, which by then I already gave up and made other plans. He always says come to Brooklyn and I say no, come to Queens and we fight about how he always comes to Queens and then I ignore his last text and we don’t hang out. This has been going on since April. UGH. If he wasn’t a ginger I’d punch him in the face.

I haven’t heard from MD yet. On Sunday he said he’d call by the end of this week, so I really shouldn’t have been impatiently waiting until now. TRIPODS, if you like a girl don’t make her wait! Even if you say you’ll call on Thursday at exactly 8:13pm we will fucking count the seconds until then. Or at least I will. I hate waiting! It brings out the crazy!!

HA! Microsoft word has a squiggly green line under “fucking” in the above sentence.

DOUBLE HA! It suggested “fuck.”



4.5 hours to go. Boring. I wonder if it’s raining. Juniper has free tickets to tonight’s Mets game. It would be fun to go one more time this season, even if they blow. They always blow.

The 10th inning of Ken Burns’ Baseball was on the past two nights. I didn’t like it as much as the previous innings, probably because I’ve lived through this one. The heavy focus on Bonds and steroid use was depressing, too. Oh well. I might watch his Jazz docuseries next.

I FINALLY got the rest of Dexter Season 4 in the mail. I received the first disc a few weeks ago then kept getting bumped for the remaining three. The funny thing is MD was watching them last week and the minute he mailed them back, I got them. It must be love.

Ah crap, I forgot I was going to write about therapy. I don’t want to today. I don’t want to do anything today besides fake napping.
What else can I write about?

I bought stamps! First time in 2010. I swear to Shizza I am the grubbiest of grubs. Bella, you no longer need to be my stamp pusher.

I bought bedroom curtains! Only took seven years.

The recruiter I’m working with emailed me about a financial analyst position, but I declined. The job description included excel P&Ls…been there done that. I want a junior project manager or IT liaison position. I’ve had enough of being a data analyst, unless of course MeLBa or NeFLa were looking for one. That would rock.

I’m bored with this post now. The end.

Thighs Guyde

Apparently I meet a lot of guys, so I've been asked to make a reference guide for their nicknames and pertinent info.

I figured the best way to do it is create a "guyde" (I'm so clever) label* for this post and add to it whenever I meet a new one that matters. Guys that have mattered thus far:

MD/MDLL (2010 - present) - On again, off again something or other. We've been "hanging out" since Labor Day 2010. Update (05/11) - the past couple of months have been alriiiight.

Nickname origin: I met him at the donkey bar Bacon and I frequent, so in my phone he was Matt Donkey (MD) for a while. MD made me upset a lot, so after one of our "break ups" I decided MD is gone and he is now LL for [Lastname] Lover. Once we got back together he became MDLL.

Update (11/11) - I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

Bacon (2001 - death) - Not a guy, but since she's my heterosexual life partner I figured I'd include her.

Nickname origin: Circa 2002, a marathon drinkfest led us to Johnny Rockets in Hoboken and in her drunken stupor Bakes ordered a double bacon cheeseburger and requested bacon be put on our cheesefries. It was the funniest shit I ever heard and feckin delicious.

Tat BBQ (2009 - 2010) - My first real boyfriend since college. A really great guy, but something wasn't right so I broke up with him. It was the hardest decision I've ever made.

Nickname origin: He has a lot of tattoos. Also, whenever I enter a guy's number into my phone I put their first name and then a clue as to where I met him. Example: Mike Pool because I met him playing pool.

Donovan (2006 - 2008) - I worked with him at Company. I'm starting with him because he's the reason why I decided to write Thighs (crazy, right?). I was head over heels for him and he didn't like me. Blerg.

Nickname origin: He is an Eagles fan so I named him after Donovan McNabb.

Fish (2007) - My first attempt at a long distance relationship, second time I travelled to find love. We met at comic-con and I went to Chicago to visit him a couple of months later. We had sex, a big fight, he was never going to come to NY, and now we're Facebook friends.

Nickname origin: It's his last name. For realz.

Ohio John (2003 - 2004) - My first long distance email crush. Met him through Friendster. I went to Ohio to visit him, had sex, he was never going to come to NY, now he's married, and we're Facebook friends.

Nickname origin: Pretty straight forward.

Softball Pat (2002) - The first guy I liked after college. Not much to say at this point.

Nickname origin: Met him playing softball. I guess I didn't think I needed to be creative for the old ones since they'll never read my blog.

PJ (1999) - My first real love was in college. My shit was a bit fucked for years after the break-up, which is why I've been a commitmentphobe for so long. Or was one anyways (hurrah!). That's his real name.

Psycho Joe (1998) - My first boyfriend. He was a bit of a psycho. Not to me, just in general.

The following guys were never boyfriends, but they did have an impact. Some good, some bad:

The Gentleman (2011) - I met him on New Year's day. MDLL were on one of our breaks. Super nice guy (hence the nickname), but never made me laugh. MDLL and I got back together a few weeks later.

Mick (2010) - Juniper's roommate. Bad decision. Nickname origin: He's a Mc.

Banana (2010) - A friend of a friend I really liked and hoped was "The One," but he ended up being a fuckwad. Bad decision. Nickname origin: Fruit Logic post.

Mr. J (2009, 2010, 2011) - A repeat offender. Not such a bad decision as he's a nice guy. We just aren't meant to be, despite randomly running into each other once a year.

Krull (2008) - Hot redhead. Nuff said.

FB for Famous Blogger (2007) - I liked him, slept with him on our first date, never heard back, and now we're Facebook friends. Not the worst decision ever, but I would have liked to be real friends. Or writing partners.

Hmmm...I guess that's it for now. Random one night stands not included.

*I never thought to label my posts before, but OH MY WORD. The idea of having a "Poop" label is making me extremely happy!

A Word of Advice

I am not one to judge (except if you're a racist, religious fanatic, or litterer). You can talk to me about anything, anytime, anywhere, BUT a word of advice - know your audience. If you are going to ask me if:

you should sleep with a really hot guy, I will say yes.

you should drink your buyback even if you really don't need it, I will say yes.

it was wrong that you didn't tell the cashier they gave you too much change, I will say yes.

you should try ecstasy for the first time at age 35 I will say no, then ask you to buy a couple pills for a friend.

it was okay you didn't give up your seat for a woman who looked pregnant because you couldn't tell if she was knocked-up or just fat, I will say yes on days I am bloated and insecure, no on days I'm not.

you should go on Tatsu, I will say no.

Ummm...I think that's all of my stock answers. No gray, people!

Heeheeheeheehee...

Date with MD went MUCH better. I am a giggly schoolgirl. BEST KISSER OF ALL TIME.

Heeheeheeheehee...

What a night.

I should be taking a disco nap right now, but I can't sleep. I was out until 4am and woke up at 9am. My body is TIRED. I sure hope I feel better soon as I'm meeting up with MD in a few hours. Sweet.

Last night wasn't so sweet. My date with Pool ended on a blah note. We had a few beers, played some pool, and grabbed a quick bite to eat before I headed to Mick's party. I only stayed at the beer garden for an hour, so I came back to meet Pool again after. He was pretty drunk by then and very touchy-feely. Not in a perverted way or anything, more in a completely affectionate and "I like you, Thighs" way. Unfortunately I wasn't feeling it. It sucks because I really do have fun hanging out with him, I just don't want to take it to the next level. Total bummer. We ended the night with a polite break-up discussion. He started it, probably because he could tell I was holding back. I feel really bad and hope we can try to be friends...

I also feel bad because it was stupid of me to go to Mick's party. No good came of it. First off it was so friggin hot out that I couldn't stop the sweaty red and I was ridiculously self-conscious about it the whole time. Second, all of his friends are awesome and it sucks I can't hang out with them. Third, he and I caught each others eye a few times. It wasn't like a lovingly long gaze, but it was more than casual. While this confirmed we do have a connection, it saddens me that I'm still not sure what that connection is. I don't think I have ever been this ridiculously clueless about a guy before. I haven't known shit since day one with Mick. So dumb.

Last dumb thing of the night was our parting discussion. I went to his table and hugged him good-bye. He stopped me and asked why was I leaving. I said I needed to go and he said that I should stay and hang out, that I don't need to leave. He said this a few times. He was really drunk, so who knows what the hell he was thinking but I did feel like he really wanted me to stay. I just couldn't. Then he said he didn't think I wanted to talk to him anymore since I didn't respond to his Facebook comments or text messages. I said I needed time and that I have to go because this is hard for me. I can't remember his response, but I just hugged him and said, "Happy Birthday. I love you, babe."

AARRGGHH!! I swear to Shizza I did NOT mean it like that AT ALL. It just came flying out of my mouth! (TWSS.) He sort of pulled out of the hug and looked at me, then we both mumbled something and I left. It was such a nice (yet awkward) moment until I said that. I was pretty confused by the whole thing and I couldn't get a hold of anyone so I actually called my work phone and left myself a message. I can't wait to hear that shitstorm on Monday.

So yeah, Pool sort of didn't have a chance after that. Blerg. Hopefully things with MD will go well tonight. Fingers crossed!

Dick Tween, Etc.

I was just made fun of by a tween thug.

I was walking down my block and came upon a group of about fifteen 12 year olds (I don't know for sure how old they were as everyone under 25 look like embryos to me now.). The kid said, "Hey what happened to the rest of your hair?" I was totally in my own head and not paying attention, so I made the mistake of turning to look at him. Then he said something about my pussy smelling like beehives. I was so confused that I turned confused-red, which apparently glows in the dark because he then said "She's turning red!", the three cringe-worthy words that have plagued my mutant-self since birth.

At this point there was nothing to do, but keep walking and laugh at myself for being an old loser. I haven't been made fun of in a long time and I gotta say, for a few seconds it felt just like it did when I was a kid. Goddamn hooligans!

Up until the dick tween run-in I've been having a pretty good week. Wait, have I? Things have annoyed me, but I feel pretty stable and positive inside. This week's rundown:

Friday - Date with Pool, the guy I met a few weeks ago at the old man bar. He is very sweet and interesting. Soulful. I like that. We're going out again tomorrow night.

Saturday - I had therapy in the morning. I'll write about it in a separate post. Later that day Bakes and I drank in the hood. She also watched me turn on my oven and all of my burners. I didn't actually cook anything, but it's a start! I bought a fire extinguisher, too. I'm getting there!

Sunday - I went to Crazy Ass by my lonesome to watch the Jets (awesome) game. MD, the guy I made out with on Labor Day, randomly showed up so I got to make out with him again all through the Giants (sucky) game. He might be the best kisser of all time.

Notice I only said "make out." I'm keeping it in my pants, people. Congratulate me!

Monday - Juniper scored free tickets to a John Hughes Tribute after-party. The room with the DJ was a gymnasium with wooden bleachers and a big movie screen showing clips from all of his movies. It was really fun and random, even more random when we met Anthony Michael Hall. (Okay, maybe it wasn't random because we knew the cast of The Breakfast Club would be there. It was just a random night.) In the two minutes I spoke to him I could tell he was a really nice man-whore. I should have hooked up with him. I would not have kept it in my pants, people.

Tuesday - I didn't get home from the after-party until like 2am, so I was exhausted all day. My friend Baba and I got a quick drink, then I went home to crash and detox. Oh alcohol. I really don't know what to do with you.

I was still pretty tired yesterday, so I didn't do much. I met up with Stevie and JP for a little bit, then came home and watched Hot Tub Time Machine. I love that movie.

Tonight I decided to buy a new shirt for tomorrow. Unfortunately it's not to impress Pool, it's to look good at Mick's 30th birthday party after my date. I haven't mentioned him in a while because there hasn't been anything to say. I'm over him. Honestly, after the Boob Saga, I feel like I can get over anything now. I feel so good! Yes I'm still crazy at times (last week), but something is really changing in me now. My confidence is rising and I'm really starting to believe I'm awesome. I like me, I really like me!

Why am I going to his party? For closure, I guess. It's been almost two months since I've seen him. I ignored his texts and Facebook comments for a couple of weeks, then he got the hint. Well until he invited me to his party. I'm not looking forward to seeing him with the troll, but I am looking forward to seeing him. Wait, am I? Huh. Actually I'm looking forward to seeing him and realizing I don't like him anymore. Yep, that's better.

I'm getting closer and closer to meeting the love of my life. I just know it. I'm more interested in MD than Pool at the moment - a good kisser is hard to come by. Heh. The nice thing is I'm not "in love" with either of them. I'm enjoying getting to know both and I'm enjoying meeting new people.

So yeah, it's been a good week. The only snag was my friend Pose invited me to the Giants game on Sunday and I had to say no for financial reasons. I was so bummed, but it was the responsible thing to do. Therapy is going to be a lot, plus I have two Stone Brewery events, New York Comic Con, and Svenica's wedding all in the next three weeks. Pose said she might have an extra ticket for the 10/17 game against Detroit. If so I AM FUCKING GOING.

What do beehives even smell like? Honey, right?

Fartsichord

I manujaggered another word.

Fartsichord

n. my gassy instrument of choice after a night of drinking

WAH! HA!

I just got a haircut. It is AWFUL. I look like a fucking dude. All I wanted was my goddamn mini-mullet cut off and a trim in the front. A TRIM IS NOT TWO INCHES ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE ONLY DEALING WITH FOUR INCHES YOU CUNT!! (Heh. Inches.)

I'm so fucking annoyed. Granted it's probably not much different from what it looked like in May BUT I WANTED TO START GROWING IT OUT.

AND I HAVE A DATE TOMORROW NIGHT. FUCK YOU FUCKBAG.

I can't get a grip this week and the haircut is throwing me over the edge. I even called my therapist Cee today (pre-haircut) and made an appointment for Saturday morning. It's been over a year now since group therapy. I'm not sure when the last time was I had a one-on-one appointment.

I don't know what I'm fucking doing. I really thought I was handling stuff okay this year, but apparently I'm not. I can feel myself falling apart...

Obviously a haircut or my stove fears or a guy or whatever other stupid thing I choose to harp on is all just a distraction from something bigger. BUT WHAT? What could I possibly be dealing with now?? Wasn't the past six weeks enough fucking drama? Why can't I get a mental fucking break?

Ugh. I'd pull my hair out IF I HAD ANY LEFT.

I decided to play with Photo Booth to document this ridiculous mood I'm in. You know what? It totally snapped me out of my funk. It's hard to take myself seriously when I look like this:



Where the hell did my nose go? And whose hand is that?? (Aren't my nails nice now?)

Aaaannd now I'm laughing. Manic depressive giggler, at your service. : ) :

Rest of the weekend...

I walked around the city for a couple of hours on Saturday. It was so beautiful out. A bit hot in the sun, but the shady side of the street was perfect. I took some pictures of churches and hit up two more taco places, the El Idolo cart on 14th Street and 8th Ave and a Mexican deli right next to Bacon's apartment. Both were okay. The El Idolo beef wasn't as tender as I like, but it had a nice salt and peppery taste. I'm not a big fan of chicken tacos and I made the mistake of getting one at the deli. It smelled delicious, tasted meh. At this point I may need a taco break, although I'm told I should get the barbacoa at Chipotle.

The day continued with a plethora of drinking. And fine drinking at that: year old PBR, Modelo, and MiHiLi. I am so classy. Stevie and I went to my favorite old man bar to play some pool. We stayed out until 5am. Or I did, Stevie stayed out even longer! I love late night outs, but I'm like a vampire. I'm scared to see the sunrise because I'll probably implode.

I made out with another guy, too. I finally realized I have no problems meeting dudes. I talk to everyone! This one is really nice. He asked me to hang out on Friday, so I'm going to meet up with him for a bit before I head down to the usual pub. I like the idea of keeping it short and sweet on our first date because I'm not sure what I think of him. Twelve hours of drinking can do that. He might just be my old man bar boyfriend, not my boyfriend-boyfriend. We shall see. Of course he has the same name as Tat and Donovan. Yes, it's a very common name but sheesh!

Yesterday was a glorious day of football (Giants won! WOOT!), ribs, couching, and diarrhea. My ass was vomiting. The alcoholic that I am refuses to blame the beer, instead I blame the Frank's Red Hot Sauce I poured into my Modelos. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I stopped eating hot sauce almost a year ago now!! DUMB GIRL.

I had the strangest dreams last night. In one dream I went to an open call at a modelling agency. The head recruiter was this really thin brunette with a ton of make-up caked on her but-her-face. She took one look at me and asked her assistant for something. The assistant handed her plastic calipers and she proceeded to grab and examine my upper armfat like it was a new species. Then she told me to drop my pants and I cringed, knowing that the size of my thighs (blog!) would freak her out. It did. She asked, "I'm surprised you don't care to be thin." I responded, "I want to be thin, but I'm afraid." Stuff happened and then I was in a big fight with all of the models and recruiters telling them they are all mean, heartless, vain, evil people, that I may be fat but at least I'm awesome. Then I stabbed the head recruiter in the back with a plastic knife. It didn't go through her, but I wanted it to.

In the next dream I was at another open call to play on a pro baseball team. There was a huge line of people waiting to try out and I couldn't remember if I had cut the line or not. Then the manager asked us what is the role of a coach and I said "to know the strengths and weaknesses of each player" and "to call the plays" or something like that. I was quite proud of my answers. Oh and there was only one other girl trying out and I hoped she wasn't as good a player as I am.

I feel like there was more, but I can't remember now...

I write "but" way too much. Conjunction Junction, what's your function?

Hell yeah Sundays:

Revisiting the Past

While going back to New Jersey for follow-up visits is an expensive pain in the ass, I am very glad I had my surgery at the same office as I did as a teen. My parents said it's decorated exactly the same, but it doesn't really look familiar to me. I believe I recognize it on a subconscious level, though. I also believe it helped speed up my healing process, that by going back to the "scene of the crime" I'm getting closure, everything's come full circle, and I can finally move on. With this in mind I went to Greenwich Street on Saturday and stood where I was on 9/11.

When I first wrote my post I originally thought I had taken the 1 train downtown, which was odd because I always took the A/C/E from Port Authority. On Saturday I realized I did take the usual line and walked down Carmine from the West 4th station. As I was retracing my steps, the strangest thing happened. Six cop cars flew down Varick, just like they did nine years ago. My jaw dropped. Somehow the moment recreated itself. I believe deja vu tells us we are exactly where we are meant to be and while I was reliving part of a terrible day, I was comforted by knowing I was supposed to be reliving it.

I stood behind Penguin for a few minutes. I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I was having an honest moment with myself and my past. For whatever reason, I tend to giggle when I'm enlightened. Maybe the Laughing Buddha was onto something.

This is the first year I am ready to discuss or even think about 9/11. I am so happy and proud that I've finally come to terms with my experience. I hope everyone else affected by that day can eventually do the same.

Happy Friday!

Today was a long one. I was so tired this morning that I had three cups of coffee. I thought I'd snap out of it at some point, so I considered going to the Mets game tonight to enjoy the crisp weather (not the actual team). Yeah, but no. I was half asleep all day.

I did rally enough to get a couple of beers with Rocks right after work. Two Firestone Walker Union Jack IPAs later I was raring to meet my pals at the usual Friday pub when I crashed again. Home it was.

On the train ride to Queens I had a massive taco attack. TACOS! I can't get enough!! I couldn't make up my mind between Tacos Mexico or the Broadway truck so I had THE BEST IDEA OF MY ENTIRE LIFE and got a taco at each. And then the best idea got BESTER when I decided to eat said tacos on my roof. My smile could not get any bigger.

Have I posted pictures from my roof? I can't remember. I have a beautiful view of Manhattan. My roof is one of my favorite places to be.

When I got up there tonight, the 9/11 Tribute of Light lit up the sky. The geek in me thinks of the Batsignal while the spiritual wannabe psychic-buddhist thinks it's the souls of the fallen. I love it.

I felt bad eating my tacos in front of the memorial, so I politely ate them with my back to the city. After I finished eating I stared at the lights for a while...

I am very happy I wrote my 9/11 post. I don't know what my deal is this year, but I gotta say, unloading the heavy shit is so freeing. I highly recommend it. That and the guacamole at Tacos Mexico.

Happy Friday!

The interesting thing is...

I was having an amazing day before Kitchen Nightmare 4. I don't remember when I last felt so happy and free.

On Tuesday I had my two week follow-up with the doctor. I'm healing nicely and the girls look terrific. Yesterday was the first day I haven't been in pain or uncomfortable. I was and am thrilled!!

Things at work are going well. Actually I should say I'm managing things at work well, especially my bosses. I finally learned how to adapt to their needs instead of expecting or trying to will them to change. It's never going to happen, but at least I am able to deal until I find a new job. My boss Tennis has been so supportive with my surgery. Although he doesn't know the specifics, he has been very concerned about how I'm feeling and flexible with my days off. I'm grateful I was still at Minnow when this happened because the added stress of a new job would have made this ten times worse. Also, my insurance might even cover it this time. (They didn't back when I was a kid.)

I had a great holiday weekend. Thursday was the first night I drank in two weeks. The night ended with a random birthday party gave me a shot of Patron at a pizza place. I was home by 8pm. Friday I was out much later having gone to seen Machete (GO! It's so fun!) and then out for drinks at Blind Tiger, Amity Hall, and the bar Fiver works at in Astoria. In my drunken stupor I bluntly asked him to come outside so we can make out. He declined, but he did only charge us $5 (Fiver!) for six beers. I'll take discounted alcohol over smooching any night. Luckily I did get some mouth loving (that sounds worse than I mean it to) on Monday night. I met this guy at Crazy Ass and we made out for a good couple of hours at another bar and on the street. He wanted me to come home with him, but I said no. I just wasn't feeling it, plus I had a stitched up boob, hairy legs, and a grandma-sized pair of Hanes on. Back in the day none of that would've mattered, but it does now. I'm growing!

And shrinking! Or will be anyways. After stuffing my face at my family's annual Labor Day party and a street fair in the hood, I decided to start counting calories again. My doctor said I should wait another week before I start running. I cannot wait! Sexy, here I come!

So all day yesterday I felt AWESOME. I couldn't wait to come home, clean the apartment, and chill. As I thought this, an evil idea popped into my head. "You're going to have a gas leak." Wait, what? Why the fuck would I have a gas leak? "Your day is going too well. You're going to come home and something will be wrong. Maybe a roach. Maybe a flood. Maybe your kitchen will kill you."

And there you have it. My freakout started three blocks from my house. When I walked into my apartment I thought my kitchen smelled funny. Then I got all lightheaded and anxious again, like I did the time with the CO poisoning. Then my night was ruined.

My kitchen probably smelled bad because I hadn't washed my dishes in four days. While I had taken the garbage out, I didn't replace the bag in the can (Juniper!) so I had some garbage just sitting in my sink. I also had a vase of dirty water and flower remains sitting on the counter.

I was probably lightheaded and anxious because I was giving myself a panic attack before I even got home. I'm quite possibly PMSing too, and those are two new symptoms I get now that I'm off the pill. I also ran up the four flights of stairs like I usually do, forgetting that I haven't actually done that in two weeks since my surgery. And while I ate about 1100 calories at work, I could have had low blood sugar, too.

All of this plus my insanity made for a crappy night. Two good things did come out of it though: one, my previous post which I've been thinking about writing for four months now and two, I finally submitted an application for renter's insurance which I should have had this whole time.

I cleaned my kitchen this morning and it smelled fine when I came home an hour ago. I've been in my bedroom writing this since then. I think I've finally calmed down now. Maybe there is a connection between my fears and 9/11, but I do have to admit Shunty (my evil, cunty self) can mindfuck the crap out of me if she feels I'm too happy. I really need to learn how to stop that bitch.

The Inevitable NY Blogger Post

Last night I freaked myself out about my kitchen again.

As I wrote the other day, now that I’ve shared one of my most personal life experiences I feel more open to sharing other events that have strongly impacted me. My breast saga was the post I knew I’d always write and am very happy I did. This is The Inevitable NY Blogger Post that I’m forcing myself to write.

My issues with my stove scare the crap out of me. Sure, it is completely rational to be concerned about gas leaks or fires, but the visions and anxiety I feel while worrying about these things is not. At the risk of sounding like a crazy person, from about 7pm to 2am I had awful thoughts of my kitchen blowing up, me on fire, and everyone in my building dying. It was horrible.

After the most recent Stovegate incident earlier this year, I knew I needed to figure out where the hell all of this stress and fear were coming from. It finally occurred to me a few months ago. Only now am I somewhat ready to address it. I hate to admit this, but I think it’s because of September 11th.

Why do I hate to admit this? Because I fucking hate thinking about that day. I also feel like I don’t have a right to be upset about it. I didn’t lose a loved one, I wasn’t at ground zero. Who am I to have a story? Well after nine years of holding it in, here it is:

In June 2001 I got my first job out of college working for Penguin Putnam in the West Village. I still lived in NJ at the time so I used to catch a 6:30am bus and arrive in the city around 8:15am. The commute was rough, but I loved the view of Manhattan from the ramp going into the Lincoln Tunnel. I also liked to either walk the two miles to work from Port Authority or sit in the park on Clarkson Street when it was nice out.

September 11, 2001 was a gorgeous day. I remember sitting on the bus looking out the window and thinking how the city was picture perfect. Typically I would have walked to work, but that day I chose to take the subway. I got off at West 4th, walked west on Carmine, and saw at least twenty cop cars fly south down Varick. The sirens were deafening. Something was definitely wrong.

As I was entering my building, a girl from HR came running out saying that a plane hit one of the towers. We walked around the corner to Greenwich Street where a crowd had formed. We were only a mile away with a clear view of the towers. Through the smoke we could see the hole in the side of the North Tower. At least I’m pretty sure we could. The girl from HR (Kate maybe?) was crying and this is before we even knew what was happening. She just kept saying, “Those poor people. Those poor people.” The construction workers around us were a bit less sympathetic and kept cracking jokes about how the pilot must have been a drunken asshole. I believed them because really, what else could it be?

A few minutes later I was about to take Kate inside when everyone gasped. It happened so fast that I'm not even sure if I saw the second plane hit, but I did watch it explode and a big fireball fill the sky. I’d say it was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, but I still haven't come to terms with what I think. It felt surreal, like I was watching an action movie on an outdoor IMAX screen. At this point even the construction workers flipped out. No one knew what to do so we ran inside the building.

My memories of the rest of the day are in scenes, not one consistent playback. The president of the company came to every floor and said please stay indoors until we know what to do. We went to a conference room to watch the news. My coworker Sharon was hysterically crying because her boyfriend worked at World Trade. When he eventually showed up at her desk completely covered in dust, time stood still as they hugged and cried in each others’ arms. It was one of the most heartfelt and loving moments I’ve ever witnessed.

My best friend at the time was Nicole. She worked at a law firm a couple of blocks away from the towers. I called her a zillion times, but kept getting her voicemail. When she finally answered she yelled at me to stop bugging her because she was getting ready for a deposition and hung up. A few minutes later the first tower collapsed. I cried and called her again, but I think it was around this time that her cellphone service dropped. I didn’t hear from her for two hours and when I finally did, I almost threw up from relief. This is why I won’t switch from Verizon. My phone worked most of that day.

When the first tower collapsed I went into my boss’s office to call my mom. It was pretty stupid to be in there because my boss had a perfect view of the towers. I was on the phone as I watched the second tower fall. Up until that moment I always thought it would be fun to watch a building demolition. I no longer think this.

I don’t remember when we decided to leave the office. Bridget lived up on 42nd Street so a bunch of us walked to her apartment. We were zombies. Everyone was zombies. Someone suggested we get food so there we were, on one of the worst days of our lives, waiting in line for a cheeseburger at McDonald’s. We didn’t know what else to do. On our walk uptown, we saw people crowded around car radios and store televisions. “This Revolution Will Not Be Televised” was blaring from an apartment window. Anytime a helicopter or plane flew over head, we ducked for cover. Again, it was all right out of a movie.

I’m not sure how long I stayed at Bridget’s. The news said NJTransit trains were running again so I went down to New Brunswick to meet my brother at Rutgers. The train was packed with people arguing about what our government should do next. Kill them, bomb them, hang them. There was a lot of anger on that train.

You know who wasn’t angry? College students. I got off the train and I swear to god I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. Kids were chatting, laughing, bike riding. It was a beautiful day, why wouldn’t they be? Richie must have been in class or something because I remember talking to his roommates, then my friend Lou. Lou, I don’t remember what the heck we talked about. All I do remember is looking at my feet (I was wearing sandals) and saying, “I never noticed my big toes were so hairy.” to which Lou answered, “THAT’S what you’re concerned about right now!?!?!”

I’m not sure what time it was when I finally got to Jackson. I laid down on the couch in the fetal position and cried for hours. The next day Richie took me to the park because I didn’t want to be near the television. The week is a blur, but I’m pretty sure I was back to work on Friday the 14th. The city was different. I was different.

I’m not exactly sure when my fear of explosions began. I realize now it must have something to do with the fireball. How could it not, right? I believe the first time I freaked out was on one of the rafting trips. I had nightmares that our campfire would spread or the propane tank at a nearby campsite would blow. My fear seems to have gotten worse through the years as I’m still ridiculously nervous at barbecues, especially when people are smoking too close to the grill. My stove issues haven’t helped ease my neuroses, either. At least three times this year I was overcome by anxious thoughts of my kitchen exploding and killing everyone in my building. This is not good.

Now I’m embarrassed. I feel like a jerk for using 9/11 as a reason to why I am insane. Again, I feel like I don’t have a right to be affected by it, but as you now know, I do have issues with trusting myself and tend to feel guilty about my emotions. I guess it’s also because I feel like a hypocrite. I fucking hate everyone else in the country who weren’t in NY that day or didn’t lose a loved one, yet chant “never forget.” Honestly, I don’t like to remember.

I also don’t like the ignoramuses who use 9/11 as an excuse for hating other religions and cultures. Did everyone hear about the mosque being built two blocks away from ground zero? Of course you have, the media and politicians are having a field day with it. Did you know there's already a mosque four blocks away and another one ten blocks? Probably not, because then this wouldn’t be newsworthy drama. And don’t even get me started on the pastor in Florida. All of this just in time for the anniversary, too…

So what now? Has writing this changed me? Will my fear of explosions magically disappear? Am I insane or traumatized or both? Who knows. Apparently I’m unloading all of my emotional baggage this year, so I figured now was a good time to write about this. Plus at this point I’ll do anything to stop being afraid of my kitchen.

Thanks for reading.

Poop booger!!

That is all.

Sexy Monday

My friend Palmio has a blog about all of his awesome upcoming comics and projects, as well as fun things he does and enjoys. Definitely check it out, especially on Mondays. Just not at work.

Sexy Monday is a weekly post that includes about 15 pictures of women. Nude, dressed, classy, not-so-classy, natural, fake, amateur, professional - whatever my thoughts are about a specific photo it is fun to just simply ask myself "What do I find sexy?"

In real life, sexy to me is confident, graceful, deep, mysterious, and effortless.

In fantasy life, it's a tied up redhead.



I'm not sure if I want to be her or the person who took the picture. Do I want to look LIKE that or do I want to look AT that? Decisions, decisions...

Recovery

Thanks for all of your support, my emotional bras. You are such great friends. Love!

The good news: my surgery went really well. The nurse said everything looked fine at my follow-up visit yesterday. And the girls still look pretty damn even! Hurrah!

The not so good news: it was a very stressful week. My mom and I didn't get along. I barely slept. I keep crying. My breast feels empty. I feel raw.

The past three days felt like six months. I thought I was going in for surgery Wednesday at 11am, but I ended up on standby. The nurse said she'd call in the morning. No one called all day. I had to call them at 10am, 2pm, and 4pm before they said to come to the office. The wait would have been fine if a) I wasn't with my extremely impatient mother, b) I wasn't nervous and freaked out, and c) I wasn't told to fast. By the time it was all over, I hadn't drank or eaten for twenty hours. Awesome.

Thursday I was too vicodined up to feel or care about anything. Yesterday I was an emotional wreck and couldn't center myself for my life. Today is the first day I am truly in recovery. Now I am able to heal and reflect. And hopefully sleep. So tired...

I am glad this is almost over. I can't wait to feel like myself again. Or my better all-natural self!!! WOOTY WOOT!

Tomorrow

The past two weeks flew by. I'm glad Episode II of my Boob Saga will be over soon. Who knows what will happen next. Or is this Episode V and my story leading up to it are the prequels? Ugh. I hate prequels. A prequel is written knowing the end game, so it isn't organic story-telling. Same with memories. They are recreations of what happened in the past to fit what is happening now.

I ran into this problem yesterday. All of my anxiety and pain from the past three weeks (32 years?) came pouring out. I sat with it for a while, going deep within to feel what I wasn't capable of feeling as a teen. I saw Me then using the movie reel form of memory, but I realized I was recreating the scenes to fit who I am today. I decided to shut the projector off and feel the memory of my younger self rather than see her. It was hard at first, but I eventually got the hang of it and ended up discovering so much more about myself than I usually do through meditation. If this makes any sense to you, I highly recommend trying it.

As someone who loves to find the interconnectedness and reason behind life events, I have some ideas as to how my experience may have influenced who I am today:

1. I am not very affectionate. While this is mainly due to my upbringing, I have to acknowledge there was a time in my life I was scared to hug people because I didn't want them to feel my lopsidedness and/or stuffing. As silly as it sounds, I've only recently become an active hugger, probably because I have so many huggy friends. (Goddamn hippies.)

2. My "safe" weight is around 180 pounds. I weighed this much all through high school as a way to protect myself and my secret. I believe this is why whenever I stress out or feel unsafe, I immediately gain until I'm back in my "comfort" zone.

3. Control. I had no control over my body, nor did I have any control over the decisions made to correct my deformity. My parents chose to give me an implant. I feel like an ungrateful bitch saying this, but now I really wish they didn't.

Ugh. That was hard to admit. Believe me, I am VERY grateful they did anything at all. They could have easily said "Deal with it, Loppy." and I would have been a shut-in. It's just that I wonder if this is why I try to change so many things I can't control, such as workplace bullshit.

Conversely, I do not change the things I can. I believe this is due to self-worth and fear of making the wrong decisions. Who am I to live well? Why should I get to better myself when there are so many people who can't? What if I did have control over how my breasts were fixed and I chose wrong? Am I making the wrong choice now? Should I be immediately replacing my implant or reducing Righty? What happens if I'm lopsided again? Am I going to deal with stuffing my bra?

Deep down I still have issues with believing I'm worth making positive changes. As my brother said yesterday, "You are scared because you are making yourself proud for dealing with this." Man, he's good.

4. "Why me?" "It's not fair." I don't recall asking or saying these things in regards to my breasts as a kid, but I'm sure I felt them. If I didn't then, I do now. IT WASN'T FUCKING FAIR. I didn't deserve it!! Was I being punished? I was a good kid! What kind of sick twisted shithead pervert are you to do this to a child who lives in a society where these things matter? FUCK YOU FUCKBAG.

Maybe I'm putting way too much weight on this experience, but I can't help feel my whole fucking life would be fucking different if this didn't happen. Sure it's a bunch of maybes: maybe I'd have higher self-esteem, maybe I'd have more self-respect, maybe I would be happier. I'll never know now. DICK.

5. It turns out I never told my mom. She walked in on me in the bathroom. Knowing her she said "Jesuschristwhatthefuck!" I wonder how long I would have waited to tell her. I wonder if I would have told anyone. I wonder if this is why I've always felt so alone.

I guess that's it for now. It took me all day to write this. I'm beat. I look beat. I'm heading down to New Jersey in a few. I seriously can't wait for this shit to be over.

Emerging Adulthood

I read an article in the NYTimes* called What Is It About 20-Somethings?

Psychologists and sociologists believe there may be a new developmental phase to explain the growing number of twenty-somethings who are delaying taking society's traditional path of adulthood to much later in life. This phase includes self-discovery, self-indulgence, dependence on parental support (for some), and the struggle to make life choices when there are unlimited options. They coined the phrase as "emerging adulthood."

I like this idea because it makes me feel like I'm not alone. I had no clue what I was doing in my twenties (check out my 2007 posts) and while I'm still not sure where I'm headed, I definitely feel like I'm emerging as something. I say "something" instead of "adult" because I've viewed adults as people who are married/partnered, have children, own a home, are financially secure, and/or don't hand wash underwear in the sink because they are too lazy to laundry.

I am none of those things which is why I have a hard time saying I am an adult. Society says I've been one since 18. But why? Should the definition of adult be based on age or accomplishments?

As a single 32 year old, I have the luxury to be a self-indulgent, self-involved, woman-child. I work and I pay my bills, but other than that I have no responsibilities. Does this make me less of a grown-up? I don't know...

This will be shocking (not really) that I liked this idea most:

"N.I.M.H. scientists also found a time lag between the growth of the limbic system, where emotions originate, and of the prefrontal cortex, which manages those emotions. The limbic system explodes during puberty, but the prefrontal cortex keeps maturing for another 10 years. Giedd said it is logical to suppose...that when the limbic system is fully active but the cortex is still being built, emotions might outweigh rationality."

Possible physiological reasons for my neuroses are comforting.

Any thoughts on the article? I spoke to my mom about it and she said we're all just a bunch of lazy, whiny fucks that won't shit or get off the pot. Okay, maybe she didn't say that, but I know that's what she was thinking.



*Look at me! I'm reading!

Manhatty Living

I always wanted to live in Manhattan when I was younger. I'm kind of over it at this point. If I did live there though I'd love to live in the West Village or in this blurple building on the Upper West Side.



That is all!

Follow that Word #3 - Slug

I was followed by another word yesterday. "Slug."

I wrote an email about my anger saying all I want to do is smash skulls and slug beers. I probably meant to write "chug," but "slug" felt right. A few hours later I was reading my horoscope and it said something about a "slugfest" in the cosmos. Then my friend Chips said that a punch to the vagina is a "cunt slug."

If I could marry a phrase, I would be Mrs. Thighs Cunt Slug.

So why "slug"?

slug [sluhg]
–noun
2. a nudibranch.
8. Slang . a person who is lazy or slow-moving; sluggard.

I have definitely been a slug all year. I didn't need to look up the meaning (I swear!), but I'm glad I did because nudibranch is my new favorite word. I wonder if there's a town called Nudi and their library is referred to as the Nudibranch.

I'm going to cunt slug you with my nudibranch. JOY!!

Anger changes everything.

Last night I wrote an angry post when I was drunk at 2am. I deleted it when I got to work this morning. Some of you may have caught it. The rest well, why aren't you checking my blog every moment of your life?!?!?

It was Mick. AGAIN. Sort of. To backtrack, we made out a few days after our nice chat. We made out A LOT. We hung out again the following week, but didn't hook up. I wanted to though and texted him later on saying so. He told me I shouldn't have left the bar. You'd think things were turning around, right?

Wrong. This Tuesday Facebook told me that Mick is in a relationship with that bar troll. I was LIVID. Crying, bat-shit crazy, beat the fuck out of someone (him) ENRAGED. And mean to myself. Oh so mean. Self-flagellatory (fa!).

I was so angry and I wouldn't snap out of it. I needed to be mad. I wanted to be mad. Now I'm done. Thanks to my buds who put up with me being a miserable hatehole all week. I owe you one.

Okay, he seriously JUST texted me to hang out. Granted it could have been a group text, but still. I know I'm over him because I'm not upset by this. It's actually kind of funny. Like is he seriously that stupid? We obviously can't be friends, so please stop contacting me. Enough.

While I had every right to be mad at Mick, my anger had nothing to do with him. Whenever I have really strong emotions towards or about someone I know I'm projecting. I was angry with me.

I'm angry that my fear of myself has stopped me from being my best self.

I thought I was afraid of change, but I'm not. I am very much aware that I'm changing. I'm changing everyday. The problem is I'm afraid of what I'm changing INTO. I don't know who she is and this scares me. I guess She's whoever I want Me to be. All I need to do is choose...

How did Mick help me come to this? Easy, he rejected me. It was a sad reminder that I reject myself everyday. Maybe this is another reason why I get hung up on guys that don't like me back. I'm not trying to make them change their minds about me, I'm trying to change my mind about myself.

Man, I'm on fire this year!

Flagellation

Apparently I'm supposed to learn a new word. Flagellation has followed me around for two days - twice in a book, once in a friend's status update. This happens, usually when I am being/acting/doing the new word without realizing it.

flag·el·la·tion   [flaj-uh-ley-shuhn]
1. the act or process of flagellating.
2. a masochistic or sadistic act in which the participants receive erotic stimulation from whipping or being whipped.

flag·el·late [flaj-uh-leyt]
1. to whip; scourge; flog; lash.

self-flag·el·la·tion
1. The act of severely criticizing oneself.
2. The act of punishing oneself.

Crap.

Silly Secrets

Now that I've shared one of my biggest most personal secrets, I can't help wanting to unleash all of them out into the universe.

This is dumb.

But these are silly things about me that are okay to share. I think.

Whether I like reading a book without pictures or not, I will inevitably check to see how many pages it is and groan. Page count doesn't matter.

I change into lounging wear the minute I get home. Previously worn clothes are taken off and thrown on the floor right where I'm standing and stay there until I either have a visitor or move to a chair until I have to do laundry.

When someone visits I am highly motivated to clean the bathroom, take out the garbage, and wash the dishes. Until then, not so much.

I love band-aids. I don't need them as much now that I've finally stopped chewing my fingers. I sort of miss them.

Speaking of my fingers, I stare at my nails a lot now that they are pretty.

I've taken about 65 pictures of myself in the past month with either my camera or iPhoto so that I can finally change my damn online profile pictures. I looked horrible in all of them. If someone has a good picture of me with short hair, please send!

I miss Mondello's pizza near Company. That shit be good.

Most of my passwords have superhero names in them.

I can tell when someone on the train is reading my thoughts. I usually let them unless they give me the creeps.

I don't know the last time I changed my sheets.

My alarm goes off at 7:30am blaring a Spanish radio station. I snooze until 8am. My neighbors probably hate me. Sacapunta!

If I could make out with anyone famous, I have a hard time picking a guy. Christina Hendricks, Bettie Page, Scarlet Johansson (although she seems bitchy) - girls are no problem. Gosh, I'm even indecisive about guys in my fantasies.

I'm forgoing Dunkin Donuts iced coffee because the iced coffee at the local diner is $0.30 cheaper. It's not as good.

I cannot account for the missing $2 in my spending tracker and it's annoying the shit out of me.

I haven't bought new work clothes in almost two years. My professional wardrobe is the rattiest it's ever been. I'm too cheap to buy new outfits and I really just don't care at Minnow. Unfortunately, it shows.

Not only do I have zero recollection of conversations and events that occur when I'm drunk, I also have zero short-term sober memory. I guess this isn't really a secret, but I forgot that was the point of this post.

Mick is the only person I slept with this year. Again, not really a secret but worth mentioning as I can't remember (see above) the last time I had only one sexy partner in eight months. It was probably college with PJ. I like it.

I started writing Thighs as a teenager, thinking it would be a book about my life one day. It's funny to think the internet barely existed then, let alone blogs.

Right now I look how I always look when a'blogging - sweaty and pantsless with a big cheesy smile on my face. If it's a sad post I don't have a smile, but I still have a positive glow. I like this, too.

37

My lucky number is 37. It came about when playing the board game Life as a kid. Every time I'd choose 3 or 7 on the number strip, I'd become a tycoon and win.

I love when the number randomly pops up in my life. For example, I just checked my spending tracker to see how many Peppermint Patties I've eaten since my addiction started in April. As of today, 37. Awesome.

I also love when a ridiculously random image pops up on a Google search that has nothing to do with anything I am searching.

I thought I'd find an image of the Life number strip in case you don't know what I'm talking about. No such luck. Or actually, lots of luck because this was the first image to pop up instead:



If the price was $37, I woulda shit myself.

Mash Up

I feel like writing, but I don't feel like making sense. Or at least not making paragraphs. I really should be on Twitter because I am a segmented thinker. I don't even know what that means.

Giants/Jets pre-season game is on! I'm pretty psyched for football season, especially since the Mets blow. Just another August in Queens. Spags invited me to the game tonight. I'm bummed I didn't go, but since surgery is nine days away (I'm not counting) I want to take it easy. I'm also bailing on the Yankees game tomorrow night. I don't know what crowds have to do with my boobs, but I sort of want to avoid them. Maybe I'm feeling exposed. I'm feeling exposed.

Speaking of the bags, I haven't been in pain in a few days! Hurrah!

Was anyone else confused by the weather last night? It was cold and rainy. I couldn't understand it. I was wearing my summer uniform (t-shirt, capris, flip-flops) and actually made a pitstop home just so I could bundle up for the walk to get tacos. No joke, I came outside with socks, sneakers, jeans, a raincoat, and a scarf. I didn't actually use the scarf, but I had it to be safe. Ruth Clare in full effect.

Saturday I had an awesome pool-filled day with Stevie. I love playing pool. I do not love angry lesbian pool players who push you off your table halfway through a game. I'm a mouthy bitch and even I did not want to start with these beasts. They were scary.

Boy update - I am not single. I've never been single. I have had imaginary boyfriends my whole life.

Today I realized I need to think about a guy, ANY guy at all times because I'm afraid if I'm not thinking about one the universe will think I'm not trying. I have always been mentally and emotionally attached to some dude, whether they knew/liked it or not.

Case in point, I've spent the past six weeks ing-ing all over Mick for nothing. He didn't pick me! Hell, I didn't pick him! MOVE ON.

But that's my problem. I'm afraid to let go of Mick because there isn't anyone to move on to...

My mom always stops me when I get like this and says, "...right now." It's like the "in bed" game with fortune cookies.

Me: "I hate my job!"

Mom: "...right now."

Me: "I have so much debt!"

Mom: "...right now."

Me: "You're fucking annoying!"

Mom: "...right now."

She's right, though. I'm afraid to let go of Mick because there isn't anyone to move on to RIGHT NOW. Who knows? Maybe once I let go of stupids, someone better will come along sooner.

Huh. Letting go. Sure seems to be the theme for this year.

Two Weeks!

It was moved to the 25th! Thank Shizza. September felt like years away...

I can handle two weeks. Or as said in Total Recall "twwwoooo weeeekkss."



(There were better quality videos, but I couldn't embed them.)

(I love this friggin movie.)

Three weeks?

The surgeon isn't available until September 3rd. I cried. They are going to try and get me in sooner if there's a cancellation. I sure hope so. Besides breathing and laying down it also hurts when I bend over (heh), walk too fast, and wear certain bras. I can't run, dance, carry anything too heavy, laugh too hard, and worst of all, drink. This probably has nothing to do with anything, but the thought of a beer makes me ill. Not sure why.

The good news? The procedure itself should only take about twenty minutes. The pain I'm in is very common and nothing to be worried about. And the best news of all for any young girls out there with this issue, it is also very common for the breast to eventually grow on its own. As Bakes put it, my boob ate my implant.

So the wait continues. Fingers crossed I can get this shit over with sooner!!

Enough boob talk...go to Governor's Island! Saturday night the girls and I went there to see the band Local Natives. It was the perfect day for a quick ferry ride, a stroll around the old Army/Coast Guard station, and lounging at Water Taxi Beach for the show. I know nothing about new music, so randomly tagging along helps me broaden my horizons. Check 'em out:



I've replaced drinking with eating. Friday I had sushi, Saturday I ate a chicken wrap, falafel, and half a hamburger. Sunday, aw crap, I ate ANOTHER burger at Sweet Afton (so good!) and then tacos at Tacos Mexico (amazeballs!). I've been wanting to check out the taco place for a while now and I'm so glad I did. Very fresh, not greasy, and guacamole you want to smear all over your body, then eat.

Today my mom took me to T.G.I. Friday's. The sandwich was good, but I am so over chain restaurants. The host referred to us as "guys" about 17 times in 3 minutes: "Hey guys, how you guys doing today?" "You can sit here guys." "Here are your menus, guys." "Enjoy guys!" Now I call everyone guys, but really? I'm with my mom. Know your audience, bub.

Oh right, I don't think I mentioned I'm going to the same plastic surgery center in NJ as I did as a kid. My original doctor retired, so I'm seeing his successor. I could have found a doctor in NY, but the last thing I want to do right now is shop for a new surgeon. Also, I'd like to be with my parents. I'm regressing. So be it.

That's pretty much all I got. I feel the need to keep my calendar wide open should the nurse be able to squeeze me in sooner. That sounds dirty.

I'm sure I'll get bored with myself, but until then I'm feeling a bit hermity. I read all of the Scott Pilgrims this week to catch up for the movie and now I'm starting on a book with no pictures. I might actually finish this one. We shall see.

Okay, truthfully this is what's going on in my head right now: boobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobsboobs

It's a nice change of pace from:
beerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeerbeer

I am such a dude.

First Post-Boob Post Post

I wasn't going to write until after I see the surgeon tomorrow. The waiting game sucks, but sometimes it's nice to sit with the unknown. I'm seldom able to do this, but right now I can. And I have you to thank.

From the absolute bottom of my heart, thank you for all of the positive and supportive feedback you've given me since I shared my story. It was The Post, the one I knew I'd write one day but was too afraid to publish. I felt so alone the first time around that to have you there for me now is truly helping me let go. Thank you for making me feel normal, strong, and most importantly, loved. I love you, too.

It's been a strange week. I'm emotionally vomiting everywhere. This psychic tapeworm has been eating up my insides for almost twenty years now. Openly talking about it is the healing purge.

I realize now the secret became bigger than what I was hiding. Maybe I needed to keep it hush-hush in the beginning to survive my teen years, but I definitely didn't need to hold onto it for this long. I don't even recall telling my therapist the whole story. Weird, right?

Of course now that I am talking about it I have some ideas as to how this experience has affected me through the years. I'm still sorting things out, but here's an obvious one:

This is probably why I like things to be symmetrical.

Well, duh.

Frankenboobage

Well this is it, the mother of all posts. My boob story.

When I was 12 years old I noticed that my right breast was a little bigger than my left one. I don't really remember what my initial thoughts were about this, probably because I didn't know what to think. The only thing I knew about breasts was that I liked seeing them on TV. I am a straight female Boob Man.

Unfortunately my right breast kept on growing. By the time I was 15 Lefty was still an A and Righty was a DD.

And there you have it. My secret.

Only a handful of people know this about me. I don't really like to go back there. In fact I don't really remember much. This is my attempt to try.

I remember I had to get up early to stuff my bra. In the beginning it was pretty easy to hide, but as Righty grew I had a rough time filling out Lefty. I usually wore around six or seven layers at once. The routine get-up was a regular bra with a shoulder pad and tissues, then two sports bras and a tight tank top. Sometimes I'd stuff tissues or paper towels in between the sports bras to round out the shape. I guess I didn't need all of that, but the last thing I wanted was for the tissues to pop out. Or, you know, anyone to notice how lopsided I was. I'm sure they didn't notice anything except the huge uniboob hiding under oversized striped Pacific Sunwear t-shirts and baggy Champion sweatshirts. It was my daily armor for a good two years.

I don't exactly remember when I told my mom. I'm guessing it was around my 15th birthday because I had my surgery that summer. She's not one to dick around.

My parents really did right by me. I am so grateful they immediately took action. My mom found an amazing doctor who wasn't looking to just throw an implant in Lefty and call it a day. He said my breasts were deformed, which sounds harsh but it was the truth. Righty was huge and saggy, not the perky breast a teenage girl should have (can I get arrested for writing that?). Lefty had this weird tubular shape. Not a fan. I tended to ignore her most of the time. She was the runt.

The doctor recommended I have reconstructive surgery first. In August 1993 I went under the knife for 4.5 hours so that he could reshape both breasts and reduce Righty. It was pretty hardcore. I remember waking up during the procedure and seeing things I did not need to see. Yikes!

The following February he put an implant into Lefty. I was finally even.

A few years later I was in the car listening to Howard Stern. Robin just had a breast reduction and was saying how the scars are pretty bad. Someone said she has frankenboobs. I nearly pissed myself. It was the best way to describe how mine looked. I decided it had to be the title of my book should I ever write about my experience. I know it's strange to consider publishing a book about something I rarely talk about, but I felt one day I'd share. A couple of years ago I read the comic Boobage by Monica Gallagher. I cried the whole time. While her story isn't the same, it confirmed I wanted to write mine soon. In fact, I emailed her that day to ask if she'd be interested in collaborating together. It obviously didn't work out, but I am so happy I read her book. She inspired me. I probably wouldn't be writing this now if it wasn't for her.

Anyways, I have frankenboobs. I'm so pale that the scars are still very noticeable, but I don't mind. Guys don't either. They just want to get laid.

Oh, guys. Hiding this in middle school and high school did not help my dating self-esteem. Self-esteem in general, but we'll get into that later. I was a big tomboy, so it's not like boys were asking me out all of the time but man, did I shut down. I couldn't take the chance of anyone seeing my lopsided breasts and eventually my scars. It was much safer if I didn't date at all. By college I felt more secure about hooking up (obviously, slut) and just told guys I had a breast reduction and left it at that. Again they didn't care. Most seemed to get turned on by the idea my breasts were even bigger than they are today. They always said it the same way, too. Pause, thoughts, then a soft, "So uh...how big were they?"

Needless to say liking boys back then was rough. Swimming sucked. So did trying on clothes in front of my friends, changing in the locker room, running bases in softball. My boobs were always on my mind, even when they weren't.

I really don't know how I dealt with this. My mom said I was so strong. I guess I had to be. My parents helped me fix my breasts, but they didn't know how to help fix me. I was all alone. I couldn't talk to my mom because she was such a basket-case and I was too embarrassed to talk to my dad. Any time I did talk to them about it they tried to console me by saying, "It's not that big of a deal. At least you didn't lose an arm or a leg." Really? THAT'S your answer? I understand they were only trying to put it in perspective, but I needed help coping. Making me feel like I couldn't be upset made it worse. I may not have been sick or dying, but it was still a heavy burden for me to deal with during my formative years. No wonder I have trouble trusting myself, my emotions, and people close to me.

The physical scars are nothing. I have no idea how deep the emotional scars run. I had low self-esteem before I even got my boobs, so this experience just made it plummet. I'm a good actress, though. I had a lot of friends, I had a lot of fun, but I suffered alone. I guess I still do. It wasn't until I started writing Thighs that I openly talked about my depression. The interesting part is I don't think I became depressed until AFTER my breasts were even. Sort of like post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD. P-TITS-D.

Once they were fixed my parents assumed I'd be the happiest kid on earth. I wasn't. All of a sudden my problem was gone, but the pain was still there. That's when I started drinking and doing drugs. I needed to feel something else.

Gosh it feels so good to write about this. As gay as it sounds, Thighs saves me. I feel like writing things out into the interverse helps me heal.

So why tell this story now? The pain in my breast this week is the implant. It popped. They only have a shelf-life of ten years and I got sixteen out of this one. I should have gone in for check ups of course, but I never did. I just wanted to forget this ever happened.

I'm not exactly sure when it burst. The first time I felt discomfort was with Tat. I usually sleep on my back and right side, so it wasn't until I consistently shared a bed with someone that I noticed it bothered me to sleep on my left. The pain wasn't too bad, I'd just have to flip over after a while. That's what she said.

The weirdest part about this is Lefty hasn't shrunk. After the surgery my boobs were a full B. The size of both breasts always fluctuates with my weight, so now I'm a D and have been for a while. I did think it was strange Lefty even grew at all, but I didn't give it too much thought. When the nurse looked at my mammogram yesterday she said, "Um you don't have an implant anymore." I freaked. Like good freaked. It's crazy!! My whole boob is natural. As my mom jokingly said, I'm a real girl now.

I'm still in a lot of physical pain, though. I just want to get this fucking thing out. The implant is on top of my breast and is annoying the shit out of me. It hurts to breathe, hurts to laugh, hurts to hurt. I don't think I want another implant. If Lefty does shrink to the point where I'm grossly lopsided again, I might just reduce Righty. I love being big breasted, but it ain't worth the upkeep. I think. I don't know. I'm going to the surgeon on Wednesday to find out my options.

Now that this is out there in the world I'll probably write more about it. I'm still pretty in shock about everything. In shock from the pain, the news, and going back to an upsetting time in my life. I'm emotionally exhausted.

I figure if you're reading this you're either a good friend or a complete stranger. Both are fine. I'm telling most people that I have a benign mass that needs to be removed. I don't want to get into all the stuff you just read. I will with you though, should you have any questions. Hell, I'll probably need to talk about it. It's been a long time coming. And it's okay if you want to stare at them. I'll even take my shirt off if you want.

Thanks for reading.