Monday, December 19, 2011

Why Dating is Just Not My Forte

If you look to the right of this blurb (I think) you'll see a list of links that I like, and on that list is my friend Julie's blog. She recently began writing a blog and we've been sending each other topics to tickle some sort of artistic/literary/whatever-else-you-want-to-call-it musings. I am ashamed to admit that I have been neglecting her because my new place:

A) Does not have the internet yet
 B) Is not unpacked yet, so I find myself getting distracted by organizing things. Yes, I like cleaning and organizing.

She wrote an interesting post Here where she spoke about some of the phases we go through as we go through a break-up. While this wasn't a topic "assigned" to me, it tickled some thoughts I've had kicking around in the back of my head for a couple months now. 

Some of you know I had the joys of dating once again thrust at my feet a few months ago, and while it might have taken me a while to get around to not being INCREDIBLY PISSED OFF, I'm done with that now, and I feel about ready to talk about it. That, and last night I found myself harassing one of my favorite acquaintances of all time (the one man I've ever internet stalked... oh yes... I am finally a stalker. Except, in my defense, he wrote back, so maybe that negates stalking points) via text message all night and the subject got brought up. So now the not only are the thoughts kicking around, but they are quite fresh and I have a little more clarity on what I want to say.

My recent dating fiasco was ridiculous! I definitely should have known better! In fact, I DID know better. Didn't change anything though. Isn't that what we all say after we get out of a stupid situation we plant ourselves in though? My girl-crush (totally heterosexual, we don't sit around and listen to Melissa Etheridge while comparing Birkenstocks or anything) will be the first to tell you that I'm really good at reading people. I can generally figure someone out within a few minutes of talking to them. It's a really useful skill to have, except that it completely fails me in the dating department. For some odd reason, the minute romance is involved all of a sudden my picker goes all sorts of screwy and I start looking for the most UNACCEPTABLE option. 

"Why yes, I know you're a highly-skilled, emotionally-available surgeon and would like to whisk me off to a life of luxury in your mansion up on the hill, but I think I'm going to go wait for Joe-Bob to get out of prison again. We've got something special."

Yes, that is me. I blame my mother (It's so much easier than taking responsibility for my own actions). She likes the wounded birds. All of the men in her life (and subsequently MY life) have been starving artists. None of us (there are 5 girls) had a chance. We all go for the losers first. Luckily, the top three have managed to break the cycle and have all found amazing men. This proves to me there is hope. 

But is there? Hope, that is. I'm not so sure, especially after my recent debacle.

The strangest thing that kept kicking up when I met, I think I'll call him Enrique because that sounds far more exotic that anything I have ever gone for, was that he reminded me of the "Best Lesson I Ever Learned" up in Oregon. It seemed like every time I turned around, it was someone else's fault for the predicaments he'd landed himself in throughout his life. Where I normally shut off and completely ignore individuals who suffer from the "poor me" complex (there can only be enough room for ONE person to sit around and whine about life being unfair, and that's me!) I couldn't bring myself to. He was just so... broken. [Remember girls, when you find broken - RUN]. I wanted to scoop him up and stand him up on his feet while I brushed his knees off and patted him on the head and told him that everything would be okay. Unfortunately, that's what Enrique has always had, and it caused him to be a somewhat spineless sap when it comes to the women in his life.

In the... month and a half?... that I dated Enrique (long-distance even), I managed to break all of my rules regarding men. He managed to cheat on me right off the bat. He (if we give him the benefit of the doubt) "accidentally" tripped my super-power when we got together and broadcasted it on his FB. His recent ex saw the picture of me and went bat-shit crazy (as chicks are wont to do when they realize that the man they just tossed has found someone new who's not fat and covered in pimples) and started calling him and telling him she wanted and needed him. So he, of course, jumped in the sack with her and then, in a guilty freak-out drove all the way across the country to beg for forgiveness at my doorstep.

I can't say I've ever had anyone beg for forgiveness at my doorstep before. I don't think I need to have that repeated either. I also hadn't slept on the floor of a tattoo parlor before this year either, but that too is out of my system and I think I can go on in my life without doing it again (until the next time I go out to Hawaii that is). I then broke rule #2 (after rule #1: Never get involved in cross-country relationship with unemployed whiner) and thought, "he's obviously sorry. He did drive all the way across the country." 


I will give him credit, he was in a crazy spot in his life and he went for shelter. But I have some extraordinary e-mails from his ex because he "wanted me to tell him what to do" with her input. And then his mom flew out to drive him back to the East Coast. 

Did I leave him then? Oh no... I wasn't done with the emotional masochism yet. I think I hadn't been a complete moron romantically-speaking for a while, so I needed to catch up. I'm an over-achiever. My poor wounded bird (did I mention how "in love" he was with me?), I couldn't just abandon him in his time of need. I had told him to go fuck himself, but he text me every day, all day until I couldn't think straight. It had been hard to even make that decision and here he was, ardently professing his love and anguish. Oh how I love the broken babies. *head shake*

I'm getting off track with what I was wanting to talk about. That, and I don't feel like admitting HOW STUPID I was. There's so much more that happened, but that's not really what I started writing this to discuss. I was more interested in my own knowledge of what was going on, and my willful ignoring of that knowledge. The man I stalk on the internet called me on it last night. Was I that blind? Or did I just completely ignore it and go for it anyway.

The honest answer is, I just went for it anyway. Closed my eyes, plugged my nose, and jumped right into that vat of shit. I knew it was a vat of shit. I'd asked friends who told me that it was a vat of shit, but he "liked me so much." I'd been pretty drama free for a while, just needed a good helping. I knew he was cheating on me while he was doing it (don't ask me how... apparently I pick up on those subtle behavioral changes), I knew he was just sitting around and bitching about his life instead of fixing it (let me help. Poor Woobie), and I knew that he was feeling really raw about his recent break-up and was quite happy to have a blonde, barbie doll-esque girl to gallivant around with in front of the other girls to show that he was still totally awesome. And we fall for it constantly. Why? Because it feels good to feel needed. It is nice. It tickles that maternal instinct to fix everyone else's problems. (That's the most of a maternal instinct I've seen in myself so far, but it's there somewhere).

Girls do this to themselves all the time. We want to be the exception. I blame cheesy romance novels. HA! But it's true! We just want to believe that we really are that special and he might have been a completely pathetic douche to everyone else he dated, but he'll be different with you. No ladies, NO! You are the rule! You are not the exception (go watch the movie, you know what I'm talking about). People (men and women both do this) will use every situation to their advantage. You can't offer them excuses and get-out-of-jail-free cards. They have to work for them. If they don't have to work for them, and they don't have to own their own shit, they will take you, and what you do for them, for granted. It's a fact. You no longer are something to be desired and striven for, you are now that pathetic creature that lets him wipe his shoes on you. 

You see, what I'd learned in Oregon (and obviously forgot after seven years) was that men who suffer from the affliction of "Completely Helpless Unless Mommied Persistently" aka CHUMP have hit the bottom. They no longer have any way of proving any self-worth except for sitting back on their conquests of the past (think high-school football stars, or my favorite example, Al Bundy) and by showing that they still possess their sexual prowess. That's why CHUMPs always have girlfriends (and girls on the side). They can't be happy by themselves, they can't fill the void of what they're missing, so they find a way to make themselves socially relevant, even if it's just by finding something pretty and shiny to tote around in front of their friends. And girls live for that! We're biologically programmed to be the prettiest, the most desirable, the absolute best because that's what gets us taken care of while we're knocked up and unable to take care of ourselves (biologically speaking... it's not really that way anymore HA).

I spent a solid month being REALLY pissed off over this whole situation. Then I got a nice dose of lemon juice and salt rubbed in the wound when I was informed (on accident of all things, gotta love those passing comments) that a "friend" of mine had happily participated in stroking his ego (and her own low self-worth played into this as well) in an incredibly public fashion. That sent me into another round of REALLY FUCKING MAD mainly because I'd known something had been up that day, but once again, did NOT follow my instincts. Also, I just like to think that people won't behave like that. And then I remember that people will do whatever they can get away with. 

So I stomped around and had a temper tantrum and thought vengeful, awful things about people. (Luckily I'm too lazy to really get around to exacting revenge on anyone). But then, after I got done being really mad at everyone and everything, I took a good, long look at my life and did some housekeeping. Because that's what I really do when I get that pissed off.

I am pleased to say, that regardless of my momentary lapse of good judgement, I came out quite ahead in the whole situation.

"How is that, Cat Lady?" you might ask, "what good could have possibly come out of this cluster-fuck you happily shoved yourself into?"

Well, let me tell you (in list format of course):

1) I am back in school as of January 21, 2012. What I thought was completely impossible until I had to start thinking about how to move forward with a complete dead-weight attached at the hip, is now completely attainable. I got everything together and am enrolled and ready to go. I even got funding and will be working full-time. Watch me go.

2) I moved into my own place. Not that my roommates of awesomeness aren't the most wonderful and amazing people I know, but I was hanging onto my security blanket there and it was time for me to stand back up and be a grown-up. Obviously I had too much free time because I was just running around and getting myself into stupid situations.

3) I got a good reminder of WHY I'd made those dating rules for myself when I'd last gone through a good clean-up of my life (when I'd moved back to California). A man's ability to hold a job, car, whatever is not what makes him wonderful or not... but there are things that people need to take care of by themselves, and if you give them a safety blanket right off the get-go they will continue to use you as one until you get sick of it.

4) I'm back to being completely happy by myself in my little Cat Lady world with my kitties and my vacuum. (Don't ask, I find it soothing to vacuum). I take great joy in the fact that I can be completely self-contained, and this all was a very strong reminder of how much I've changed in the last ten years since it was acceptable to date a CHUMP.


5) Perhaps most important of all of my "I'm ahead in this situation just because I'm not you" reasons. I remembered why I love my life as much as I do. I have some of the most amazing people around me. I am lucky. I care deeply about my friends, and even when I get kicked in the metaphorical balls I still go 110% for them whenever they need anything. This whole situation allowed me to get back to that and really analyze the people I was allowing into my life. Why was I putting this type of effort into people who so didn't deserve the attention and love I was willing to bestow on them? So I did a culling of the herd. Not in a huge, Facebook De-friending fashion, but in a personal, introspective way. I allowed myself to let go of friendships that had run their course and were no longer good for me.

Anyway, there's a ramble and a half. Just thoughts on why girls end up with CHUMPs. Remember ladies, if it's too hard in the beginning, it's not the right time. Walk the fuck away, if it happens later, cool; if not, count your blessings! Life is too short to work so hard on someone who cannot appreciate the goddess that you are.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Adventures As an Internet Sex Solicitor

So this is making me giggle, so I have to share. As this is Future Cat Lady Confessions, I fully intended on sharing the embarrassing stuff I constantly get myself into. Today's situation is a typical instance of my random "foot-in-mouth" experiences.

Two or three weeks ago I was hanging out with my wife (Long story... but I'm Wife #2 due to the amount of time I spend at this particular house) and was talking about how I was going to end up a starving stripper in the near future. I will be a starving student because:

A) I am by far one of the WORST dancers in the history of dancing (which my bookend is reminding me of as I'm typing this). Quit laughing, cat ladies aren't even supposed to now where to go dancing let alone how.


B) As most of you know, I'm starting school next month and am struggling with this whole "no money" thing. 

So, with these factors in mind, I giggled and said I was going to have to start making my boobs pay their way because I wasn't going to be able to support them anymore. My friend then told me how much fun pole dancing classes were and how she wanted to start doing classes again because they're an awesome workout. This sounded fantastic to me since I love group exercise classes and I've been having a really hard time motivating myself to do anything other than eat excessively.

So, I started looking around at pole fitness classes (and a good insurance plan for when I slip off and break my fucking neck) but didn't really find anything that sparked my interest. This morning I got an e-mail from my Living Social account that told me there was a pole dancing class deal for super cheap and I figured, "what the hell? I can afford to embarrass myself for $25.00." So I bought it and proceeded to try to send the deal to my friend so she could partake in the savings and join me in every male's favorite exercise class in existence. 

Let's just say, I have too many friends by the same name in my email address book. I know I clicked the correct one, but it sent to another individual. And one that I only (very) casually know. I don't even know how I have her email address in the first place! 

So, now that I have initiated contact by soliciting pole dancing company I immediately send an e-mail following the first to say, "whoops! Wrong e-mail!" But then I realize that maybe she might want to go with us (she knows all of us casually) and I can't just exclude her so I add in the old, "unless you're interested." I then got an automated response saying she was on vacation and would get my e-mail when she got back.

This caused me to wonder... I only got one automated response, and it was from a different last name than EITHER of the friends I'd just e-mailed. So, with a little bit of research in my "sent" folder, I discovered that, in a nutshell, I solicited an acquaintance for exotic dancing, apologized to someone I have NO idea who she is at all, and finally got the e-mail to the correct friend on the third, or fourth try.

I have started my life as a sexual deviant on the internet. Next up, donkey porn!

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Julie Challenge #1

One of my favorite people recently began writing a blog of her own [shameless plug:] and mentioned to me that she needed brain fodder. I can totally understand this need, as most of my topics come from Craigslist or my boobs (occasionally my failed attempts at dating, which I will get to at some point, I swear) and on occasion it would be nice to be able to talk about something else. Anyway, she and I started sending each other topics and today I got....

Wait for it...

 "No matter how good something is, people always try to make it better. Such as... chocolate covered skittles"

She's trying to make me think. I find this insulting. Not the topic, just the thinking. I'm feeling deeply disinterested in the world right now and instead of thinking, I would like to sloth about the car dealership I'm working at and fantasize about napping. And a life of being fanned by over-muscled cabana boys while eating whatever I want and not getting fat. 

But, alas, I cannot ignore the gauntlet that has been thrown at my feet... a challenge is a challenge, and my cats would never look at me the same if I failed them. So here goes.

*note the competitive streak*


When I first received today's topic, the only thing that popped into my head was the entire bag of peanut butter-filled, chocolate-covered, pretzel bits I ate on the way home from taking my dad to surgery on Tuesday. Those were by far the most amazing things I've ever eaten... well... the first half of the bag was pretty good. The second half of the bag was not so great, but for some reason I felt the need to eat it anyway. Don't ask, I have no willpower.

Whoops, derailed! My eating habits really don't have much to do with the topic at hand. Those popped into my head because they took a pretzel, shoved it full of peanut buttery goodness and then covered it in my life-force... er... chocolate. But, Julie's topic really made me have to take a moment to think. Why improve a perfectly good pretzel in the first place? That is the real question. After all, a pretzel is a good snack. It's got some salt, but not too much, not too high in calories, provides roughage/fiber/something good for you I'm sure, etc, etc... all in all, not the worst thing to snack on. 

Wait a minute! What was I saying? I'm American! A reasonable snack? WHAT?!? We've got to do something about that! Quick! Infuse it with LARD!!!

Okay, okay... back to the question. Why improve the damned thing in the first place?

Not all improvements are necessarily a bad thing... I mean, look at one of my favorite inventions: the single serving blender. It's perfect! It's a cup and a blender in one and totally cuts the amount of dishes that need to be washed in half. I can make my breakfast and take it with me in less than five minutes. But, one can go a little overboard with fixing things that aren't broken, and often it results in breaking the hell out of whatever it is you're trying to improve. Just ask 2/3's of the wives/mothers in America who ever made the mistake of letting their husbands/sons "work on" their household appliances. (Years of watching "Home Improvement" showed this to me).

In all honesty, moderate competition can cause some amazing things to be invented and some serious results to be achieved. For instance, a friend of mine started running last year, and when she started catching up to my running "records" I had to up my game so I could continue to be "better" (in my mind at least; she could still whoop my ass any day of the week if we're going to be honest). But, it caused me to stay in shape and continue trying instead of resting back on my laurels of being in good-enough shape.

Mild competition is somewhat different than what I'm focusing on in the mental regurgitation that I'm putting up as this "blog post" though. I mean, chocolate covered skittles? That's not a minor competition. That's a candy trying to claim dominance over the entire candy sphere. It's got a candy shell, chocolate, and squishy, chewy, candy-yumminess. That's complete bullshit! It's practically trying to steal all the other candy's lunch money! What happened to a nice, normal Hershey Bar? Chocolate covered skittles?! GAH!

Not only can the "improving" be unnecessary (chocolate covered skittle), and on occasion, nothing is different other than packaging (turning a robe backwards and calling it a "Snuggie"), but I think that the whole thing can be boiled down to a strange need people have to one-up virtually everything they come in contact with. (Spray-can pancake batter). I think in general it has to do with a deep-set insecurity. "If I can improve it, it will show that I'm valid and important." The insecurity is not always necessarily to do with food, (especially not with me... obviously. I couldn't cook my way out of a paper bag) but it could be, I suppose. Some people put a lot of stock into how good of a cook they are.

People's competitive nature seems to revolve around insecurity and the need to prove oneself as valid and worthwhile as the person(s) they're competing with. We all do it, it's just part of our nature, but some people take it to a level that is almost inappropriate. (See: chocolate covered skittles). They can't interact in a group without taking whatever the subject is and working it into a web that wraps around them and their life. (Like how I'm taking chocolate covered skittles and using it as an excuse to talk about myself... you like that, dontcha?) So they sit around with their "friends" and spend the entire time telling each other how amazing they are instead of just enjoying the time they have together.

"Hey guys, I redid my lawn. I put in a whole bunch of roses because I think they smell nice."

"Yeah Joe-Bob, I really like what you did with your lawn, that's why I did the same thing but added 6,000 rosebushes so you could smell my house from six miles away."

"Oh, I know, Joe-Ellen and Joe-Bob, that's why I added 6,001 rosebushes and imported them from a greenhouse in OUTER SPACE where they genetically modified them to produce enough scent to canvas the entire STATE in rose smell!"

Really, people? Why not just appreciate the damned pretzel for what it is. An awesome fucking snack! Let people enjoy their moment in the spotlight and let them be special for who they are and what they are. The most impressive people out there are the ones who don't have to say anything to prove how awesome they are, they just are.

I guess my ramble-ender is...

Stop trying so hard to make things bigger and better and more impressive, and just BE. You'll be amazed with the results, and the lack of 723 unnecessary calories.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Really? Why Even Say That Shit?

So, every once in a while I get this wild idea that I'm going to go out and date. It always seems like a good idea. This time could be different! My friends are right, I can't just hide out with my cats! And whatever else might float through my head as I'm considering dating someone, (generally it involves the thought of "ooh, he's cute").

Recently I've been putting a lot of thought into stupid phrases that get dished out to people in relationships (both romantic and friendship). Do people ever listen to themselves when they say this crap? Today's pondering is fluttering around the break-up phrases...

Why is it when people are breaking up one of them feels the need to say, "you're so amazing" and "don't let anyone ever tell you you're not as wonderful as you are" or something along those lines? I've heard a variation of this particular thing a few times (even when I'm the one breaking it off) and it never ceases to irritate the fuck out of me.

Really, I'm amazing? Then how did we get to this point? And why would I let someone tell me differently? I'm not a huge fan of sitting around and having someone tell me how mediocre I am. I am quite capable of doing that by myself.

What is WRONG with people?? Why can't we just be honest about this shit? Breaking things off would be much less drawn out and full of anguish if people would just bypass the bullshit and say what the fuck is really going on.

For instance:

- You annoy the shit out of me and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life listening to you demand attention.
 - I hate your cat
- You snore
- I really liked the idea of you, but the reality is a little more ridiculous than I thought

and, my personal favorite,

- I just don't want to be with you anymore (heard that one... ouch, but it definitely helped on the moving along and not hanging on)

Really, it's the same thing as when people end up getting butt-hurt over a fling. Why tell the other person how much you want to be with them if you just want sex? Most people are okay with just having a happy little tryst. We don't need to hear about how you'd walk to the ends of the Earth to be with us, or that you can't live without us. Believe it or not, girls like sex too. Try something new and original. You'd be amazed at how well it works.

For instance:

- I'm not necessarily interested in a relationship, but I like you and I think we should hang out for a bit (used that before)
- I like hanging out with you, but I don't know if I want more (totally reasonable)
- I enjoy your company, but I'm busy as hell and don't feel like making time for you (used that one once or twice)

The reason why things get so fucking complicated in relationships is the bullshit (at least in my limited experience). Don't say things you don't know if you mean or not. If you aren't sure if you want a long-term thing, don't say you want a long-term thing, it won't change anything. I promise it won't. If a person wants to be with another person they will hang in there until the two of them can figure out if it develops into something you can't imagine not having, then great, but otherwise, save the other person the hassle of having to sort through all the crap you throw at them. It always confuses me to hear that sort of sappy conversation because I'm quite happy NOT hearing someone tell me they can't live without me. That makes me feel uncomfortable. It puts expectations on me, especially if I don't feel the same way (or if I don't know if I feel that way or not).

Now, nobody is perfect, we've all gotten carried away in the moment and said something a little more than how we really feel. It's not an intentional "I'm going to hurt your feelings" thing, but it happens. The best you can do is TRY not to say this shit, but if you can't do that, at least try to be cognitive that people actually listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth while you're trying to sneak into their pants.

Cat Ladies Hate Dating

So... I think I've mentioned once or twice that I'm a failure in the romantic realm. (Yes, I know, I'm also a failure in the whole "finish saga of boobs" realm, but whatever). But really, if we're going to be specific, I'm a major failure as far as my own relationships go. If we're only focusing on as far as everyone else and their relationships go... well, that's an entirely different story. I give great romantic advice, just ask me!

In my research, I have been coming across some fairly odd patterns that occur between friends. The one that's been pestering me lately is I keep hearing the phrase, "don't let a guy come between your friendship." Now, the phrase is not what's bothering me; we all know that to follow that advice is a really good way to live. You should never ever put some random dude over your BFF. That being said, I rarely hear it being appropriately used. In fact, 9/10 times the chick saying that is the person that just made a move on your boyfriend, and the other 1/10 is your boyfriend that just shoved his hand down your friend's shirt.

I mean, really... let's look at this a little deeper. How exactly can a boyfriend (aka BF) come between a friendship? Other than the general she just stops paying attention to her best friend (aka BFF) and only wants to be around her BF. While this is what this phrase was originally intended to be used for, that's NEVER actually the scenario that someone uses this phrase. Whenever this saying comes out it always has to do with some sort of romantic interaction between BF and BFF and when the girl finally says something about it she gets some crap-ass line of "Bros before Hos" or some shit like that.

Let's be honest here, just for a moment. It is incredibly rare that a BF can come between two BFFs who have a real friendship. In fact, most men are overjoyed that their girl has friends outside of the "relationship". This means he does not have to go shopping, listen to her bitch about work, or tell her if her pants make her ass look fat. She has a BFF for all of that. It also gives him time to go scratch himself while watching sporting events with his friends, or drinking excessive amounts of beer and watching scantily clad girls dancing around and acting like they'd really want to go home with him while serving chicken wings. It's a win either way for BF. Why would he want to come between his ability to have a good time?

It is highly unlikely that there would be an instance that a BF would want to come between BFFs, but, as I have put an enormous amount of time researching human behavior, especially in the romantic realm (not mine... DUH), I feel that I can shed a small amount of light on this issue. I believe there actually are a few ways a girl's boyfriend can "come between" her and her BFF. Allow me to list some examples:
  • He tells her that he's going to leave her if she doesn't stop hanging out with that fat snatch of a friend. (This generally occurs after he is rejected by BFF)
  • He mauls her BFF sexually and she gets upset at her BFF for "making a move" on her man
  • Girl's BFF finds a guy so inappropriate that she stops talking to her friend until she dumps the loser douche bag
Yeah, that's about all I can come up with. For the most part, the only time I ever see this line come out is when one of the BFFs has crossed the line with her friend and then feels that she can validate her behavior with a guy "coming between" their friendship.

 If you step over the line and come onto your friend's boyfriend, YOU are coming between your friendship. The guy is an idiot (obviously if he's falling for behavior that is fueled by your obvious lack of self-respect) and you are demonstrating you have no respect for yourself, your friendship, or (in situations where both friends have boyfriends) your own boyfriend. Double that lack of respect if you're doing all of this in a public environment. To blatantly come on to a man who is not your boyfriend sends a very clear message that you could give a shit about your friend or her relationship with you (which is exactly what a man displays while behaving inappropriately with a girl that is not his girlfriend). 

No no no no... Ladies, allow me to offer a simple advice nugget to help you maintain  your friendships with the people that SHOULD be a part of your life forever. Or, in a simpler explanation: How to keep a guy from coming between your friendship.

Don't act like the only way you can achieve validation is through sexual attention from the opposite sex. Flirting is fine and fun, but show respect for yourself, your friends, and the relationships of everyone involved and you might be able to come out of a social interaction without looking like a desperate tramp that is hanging onto the memories of being relevant in high school. Everyone makes mistakes in this realm, especially if they have pure intentions at heart (it's harder to see how someone could mistake the intentions behind your behavior if you don't think you're doing anything untoward), but own your shit if you cross that line.

Also... if that advice is too in depth... just try to GROW THE FUCK UP and stop trying to compete with your friends. You're either friends or you're not friends. Friends don't vie against their friends for attention from the opposite sex. I am grateful for the knowledge that I have surrounded myself with women (other than my cats) who are secure and happy with themselves and can go out and have fun with each other while leaving the petty, harping, passive-aggressive bullshit at home. There are reasons why there are jokes up to high heaven about women being mean and petty to each other. Break the mold ladies, there is more to life.


Off the soap box now.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Whoops! More about my boobs!

Just got informed that I forgot to mention the approach I chose for my surgery. Teehee. 


Going into the planning with the surgeon I had wanted axillary (armpit) incisions and completely sub-muscular implants. After meeting with my doctor twice we decided that we are going to do the incision at the bottom of the areola. The implants will be under the pectoral muscles, but not under all the muscles. It will be a "partial" job. Ha ha ha. Okay, might not be the best term, but that's what I'm going for. There are many reasons for this decision.

#1: My surgeon suggested it. I'm not gonna lie. If the man (or woman) who's going to cut you up tells you a way that they think will look the best... just go with it. They know more about what they're talking about than you do. No matter how many books you've read or blogs you've perused, you have no idea (unless of course you're a surgeon as well). Also, they know what approach they're most comfortable with to achieve the look you want.

#2: Surgeon explained that going through the axillary tissue is more traumatic (more digging around in tissue), more difficult to see what you're doing and where things are going, and... there's a risk of increased sweating. EWWW. I'm sweaty enough. (Sorry for that tidbit of TMI, but I run at an unusually high temperature).  I researched around a little more and realized that the findings about the areolar incisions weren't that scary. I don't have much in the way of "sensation" anyway so I'm not really concerned with the "decreased sensitivity" that can happen in like 5% of women. The nerve structures that attach to the nipples actually come around from a woman's back. The incision is made at the base of the areola and goes down. Talking to my fabulous roommate of awesomeness who has been a BSN for 15 plus years, most of those years being an OR nurse (part of them with a plastic surgeon) made me less than nervous. Also... more comfortable with surgeon suggestion. I want him to be able to see where he's putting my boob. I picked him for the realistic and absolutely beautiful breasts he creates. I'm going to have to listen to him on how he creates them.

#3: I don't have enough breast tissue to obtain the breast shape I love (that looks the most natural) if I got the implant completely under the chest muscles. There's just not enough there. My surgeon is going to have to do a procedure (that is very common) that has the bottom of the implant not under the muscle to achieve the realistic looking breast. Otherwise I would end up with torpedo tits. And I'm not having that. No way, no how. So, once again, bowing to the wisdom of the double board-certified physician who makes beautiful hurraybies. 

#4: I don't remember if I mentioned it, but I'm getting silicone. They now make the breasts with a gel (as opposed to the liquid filled implants that were banned several years ago). They feel more realistic, they don't ripple nearly as much, less likelihood of popping, and... the coolest thing... the cohesive gel doesn't go anywhere if it is lacerated. My surgeon showed me one that he intentionally slit a LARGE slit in. He squeezed it and the gel pushed out in a weird gel-hemorrhage thing. Then, when he released the pressure, the gel sucked right back in. There is not much risk there. I am comfortable with that. And, once again, I don't have enough tissue up there to make saline the optimal choice. When you have as thin of breast tissue as I do, if you put the saline in, it can ripple all over the place just from normal movement. I don't really want to look like I have a water bed strapped to my ribcage, so I'm just going to pass on that.

So there you have it. Sorry I forgot those crucial bits as I was talking about my future boobies.

Things I Had to Consent To So I Could Get Boobs

So, yesterday I skimmed over how my pre-op appointment went with my surgeon. I giggled, I laughed, I tried on many different breasts. And then we got down to the nitty gritty... PAPERWORK! Paperwork is the biggest part of any surgery preparation. Believe me, I know. Plastic surgeons have it easy, they don't have to jump through any insurance hoops.

With America being the way that it is, litigious, most doctors have to protect themselves with a few things. 1) A good insurance policy, 2) Carefully documented cases, and 3) CONSENT FORMS. Now, almost all consent forms have the same basic contents: "You realize that there are risks with being cut open, you realize that there are risks with anesthesia, and, you realize that shit can go wrong even in the best circumstances." I'm used to those forms, I give them out all the time. I can only imagine how women must feel reading our forms that say, "by the way, there's a chance we might perforate your uterus." I don't normally feel nervous about anything I'm having a doctor do to me, and I'm normally confused with why I have patients calling me in a panic about minor procedures they're having done. Then I went to my own Pre-Op.

I had four or five pages of consents to initial and sign on. I hadn't been worried about any of these scenarios before, but looking at them in writing for some reason made them more real. Luckily I had my friend with me who has a similar sense of humor to mine and we giggled over the consent forms (my coping mechanism). I was fairly shocked/amused at some of the things I had to acknowledge... 

"Stretch marks may occur after surgery." Woah, woah, woah... stretch marks? When my boobs grow? You don't say! There I was thinking that all those lines from when I was 12 were a freak occurrence and had nothing to do with the fact that my boobs doubled in size overnight.

"Unsatisfactory Cosmetic Result - you may not be pleased or satisfied with your result." Um... you mean that you can't give me a guarantee that my dream of being a EEE cup will look right on me? I want my money back.

"Your perception of what you expect to look like or your proportions and size may seem different from what you imagined or perceived prior to surgery. You may feel or look like a different person." I'm going to look different after I buy tits? And I will be surprised? You're acting like I'm going to go to sleep and wake up with a different body. Oh wait... I am.

"Loss of interest in sex by your or you partner may occur." HAHAHAHA!!!! You're saying that after I have my chest cut open and a pair of water balloons shoved under the muscles and then sewn back together, I might not be interested in sex? And my partner might not want to have sex with me if I all of a sudden have weeping wounds and bandages all over my chest? Say it isn't so!

"Synmastia is when the implants and capsules connect across the midline to look like one learge breast. This is rare, and very difficult to correct." Okay, I didn't know about that possibility going in. I could get uniboob? DAYUM! Then again, some guys might dig uniboob. Maybe I should start wearing a sports bra to artificially create uniboob and see if it works.  

And then there's my favorite of all of the things I had to sign. It might have even been the first thing I had to initial:

"There are alternative procedures such as padding a bra, taking hormones, breast pump, or doing nothing." Really? You're saying I could wear a padded bra or do nothing? I don't have to pay 8k for new boobs? I never would've thought about that! Are there really women being forced into plastic surgeons' offices to have their breasts augmented against their will? Or without their knowledge of other forms of "treatment"???

Okay, there you go. A small snippet of some of the exciting things you too could sign if you felt the need to buy your own pair of boobs. But don't worry, you don't have to buy boobs. There are other options. Like a padded bra. They left out tissue paper....

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Let's Talk About Boobs!

I have been pretty lax in the "documenting" of my boob job. I will try to pick it up. Next week you should expect to hear a lot of, "Owie! My chest hurts!" Or something along those lines at the very least. 

I've had two appointments with my surgeon so far. The first was the consult where he told me how amazing I was, and then let me try on boobs. I was like a kid in a candy shop. I got to put on a stretchy bra and was then loaded up with implants to see about where they'd fall. We found my happy place with a full C cup. I'm a tall girl, so everything else just kinda stuck with the whole "looking kinda sad" category. He made me try a size bigger after that. WOAH! I'm not gonna lie, there was a tiny little part of me that clapped her hands and squealed, "ooh! Boobs!! They're HUGE!" But, the rest of me said, "Really Phoebe? You look ridiculous." So I politely asked to see the smaller size again.

Two days ago I had my Pre-Op appointment. My surgeon had been urging me to bring someone with me, but I don't really have anyone in San Francisco. I know maybe three people, all of them men, none of them know me like that, and... AWKWARD.
"Excuse me, would you like to come help me pick out my new rack?" HA!

So, I was all ready to go to my Pre-Op alone when I got a phone call from a guy I dated for maybe two months earlier this year. He was in town and wanted to get dinner Tuesday night. I said sure, would you mind going to my pre-op with me first? So... there I was. Getting my boobs measured with my ex. HA! It was nice though. I need someone to giggle with to get through difficult situations, so it was fantastic to have someone with a similar sense of humor to mine with me. Also, it was nice to have another set of eyes checking out the size of rack I was considering. My surgery is on Monday. That's four days from today. 

The week before the surgery isn't fun at all, I might add! My surgeon has cut me off from my four favorite food groups: Booze, Sugar, Carbs, and Salt. WTF?!?! I am dying here. Not only am I basically on a liquid diet of smoothies (I know fruit has sugar, I don't give a shit... it's not pasta), but I'm like an old lady with my pills. I take a HANDFUL of vitamins every morning and evening. And that's on top of my regular meds. Then I started a super Vitamin K pill yesterday, and will be adding two more pills on Sunday, and then the antibiotics. I feel like I should get myself one of those desk-sized pill organizers and organize them by color. 

The whole situation has been fairly smooth sailing. There have only been a couple snags. One of the snags happened when I noticed that my credit card had been compromised online last weekend. What?! For sixty dollars. Really?? You're going to make me disrupt my whole life over sixty fricking dollars on iTunes??? GAH! So I had to juggle around how I was paying for things and will just have to do a couple balance transfers later. But, whatever. No biggie. 

The other thing I had trouble with was arranging someone to pick me up. I am lucky in the fact that I have an awesome friend who will come pick me up and stay with me until my awesome roommate of awesomeness gets home to make fun of me and my bra of frozen peas. I probably won't notice as I will most likely be sleeping.

The office situation has been interesting. Most of the women know I'm going to get surgery. I told one person what procedure I was having done, and one of my favorite coworkers guessed it. It was really funny. She had to work up to asking me what I was getting done. Finally she blurted out, "Are you getting boobs?" HA! She, and just about everyone that knows me, is excited.

So, there's my update. Later on tonight, I'll share some of the things I had to consent to in order to get my boobs.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Consult

Well, today's the big day. Well, more the "medium" day when you think about it; I'm only going to talk to the surgeon, not get on the operating table. I'm somewhat excited about the little road map that's going to be drawn all over my chest. I'm also hoping it'll come off easily, otherwise going to the gym might be a leeeeeetle embarrassing. Ha!

What have I had to do so far? Well, let me tell you:
  • I have figured out how to pay for my boobs. With an awesome financing company for medical procedures and my super low-interest car loan (that I refinanced for more money but a lower payment and interest rate) I can afford LOTS of boobs. Not that I'm getting lots of boobs, but it's nice knowing I have boob options depending on how tonight's consult goes and what my doc recommends I do.
  • I have had to spend a shit-ton of money on all sorts of vitamins. My doc suggests a vitamin regimen to be started a month before the procedure (started) and another one a week before the procedure (bought). Vitamins are not cheap. I feel like a little old lady. I take a handful of pills in the morning, and I take a handful of pills at night. On the plus side, these are good for me and I should just be happy that I'm on a healthy body regimen.
  • I had to go online and fill out my patient intake forms. This office is fabulous and I can fill it all out online before my appointment to save me time and give me more time to talk about my future breasts with my surgeon.
  • I've had to take time off work to recover from my boob surgery. Hopefully my surgeon will be able to do my boobs that week, otherwise I'll have to reschedule my time off and it would be the perfect week. My boobs would be all healed up before I go to Hawaii with my bookend + crew and I wouldn't have to worry about sore boobs while being forced to learn to surf.
  • I was just about to crow over my eating right and exercising more so I won't be all nasty bloated right before my procedure, but a drug rep just brought us lunch and OMG is it amazing. I will now have to roll myself to my doctor's office. Oh well...

So far things have been going smoothly. I found it strangely easy to find the financing for my procedure, I'm not anxious about it at all. I feel like I should be; I am going to be put under anesthesia and cut open. But, I have no qualms. I have always felt like that though, I might be a little too trusting of doctors.

The most difficult thing I've had to deal with so far sprang up today. My coworkers started asking about why I'm taking a week off. They were being very polite about it and inquiring on if I was going on vacation. One (who had been told I needed the recovery time) thought I'd actually found a doctor who would give me a hysterectomy. I had to laugh at that; I might talk about wanting a hysterectomy, but I might end up wanting to use my uterus at some point. And I haven't met a doctor out there who would even consider giving a woman my age that surgery! They would laugh at me (and have). That, and I don't feel like getting put on hormonal therapy before I'm even 30. Ick! I told one girl what I'm actually doing, she probably won't tell anyone else, but it's going to be pretty obvious when I get to work. I have been strangely close-lipped about the procedure so I think that's what my coworkers are finding odd. Normally I tell them all about the stuff I'm up to, but all they know is I'm "having a procedure." Then they get worried and I have to tell them that I'm okay. Oh well, it'll all make itself obvious soon enough.

Okay, back to work. Update after tonight's consult

Friday, July 15, 2011

You're Doing WHAT???

There are a lot of reactions people have when they find out you have, or are going to have, a "boob job." I'm sure a lot of women have had a very difficult time coming to the point that they could go ahead and have the procedure done due to fears of what everyone would think of them. Contrary to popular belief, the pressure is to not get surgery. No one is running around demanding that everyone have amazingly huge and perfect breasts. Even if you have had physical changes to your body that make you very uncomfortable with yourself, people will push you to just be happy with you and who you are. While that is all well and good (and sound advice in many instances), most of the people who are telling you that haven't actually seen what it is that you're not happy with. I can guarantee you that every single person that has protested my decision has never, and I mean NEVER, seen my breasts. For all they know I could have a pair of tube-socks rolled up and stuffed into my shirt.

The first person I told I was really going to go through with it was actually one of the people I first lived with when I moved back to California. He happened to text me while I was researching surgeons. (My Evil Bookend was actually the first person I talked to about it, but she lives a few states away). He was really awesome about it and told me to go for it if I felt it would make me happy. He likes boobs too. Not all guys do. Most of the discussions I've had about boobs generally involve men preferring smaller boobs. Although, a good friend of mine's husband described it as a textural thing. He doesn't like big boobs because they're so fatty. I can understand that, small boobs are somewhat firm (most of the time). Firmness is almost a thing of the past when they've changed shape four or five times. Then you can start discussing elasticity and the lack thereof. You can also learn the "joys" of having small, but saggy boobs. Two things that you'd never think would be combined. *deep sighs*

While researching surgeons and facilities I made a post on my FB account about the fact that I could (and probably would) totally buy boobs for 4k. (I wasn't really going to go for the cheapest surgeon I could find, but the surgeon that had been recommended to me was having a special). There were over 70 responses on that thread. Most of the men stated it was a horrible idea. A large portion of the women were incredibly supportive and some stated they would do it if they could afford it. A few of my friends already have done it and stated they loved the results and if they went back in time they'd do it again. They also offered their opinions on the different types and what they preferred and had experienced. A couple women thought it was a crumby idea. One of my favorite people (and the one girl down here that knew me when I was full-sized) was sweet about it and told me it was "like I was cheating" because I was already "so pretty". That was actually very flattering. She's happily married so I know it's not because she wants to flirt with all the boys, she's just ridiculously honest and blunt. I like that in a person. You don't have to agree with me, just say what you actually mean.

I told my mother yesterday and her response was something along the lines of, "Oh good. I know you've always wanted them. You should get a nice C." My mom's a hippy by the way. She delivered all her children naturally with no pain killers, sings folk music, and you wouldn't look at her and think she'd be so supportive of something like that. Not that she's running around with a flower garland headband and living in a tent (anymore), but she seems pretty granola if you know what I mean. But that's just how my family is. One of my sisters has also fixed the deflated boob issue and while we all teased her about it, I definitely didn't see anything wrong with it. After all, she wasn't doing anything to my boobs, so what did it really matter?

Overall, I've gotten an overwhelmingly positive response from people. I did have to tell one person to please stop talking to me about it because he was bothering me and it really wasn't his decision. I love him dearly but he was acting like I was going to a back-alley surgeon to be cut up with a rusty scalpel. Another person I don't remember ever meeting kept e-mailing me the most random comments. He'd added me on FB and I assumed we'd met at least once but I just wasn't placing him. But I really don't think we have. He e-mailed me not to go too big. I told him I merely wanted shape, to which he seemed fine with, until two hours later he e-mailed me to beg me to think of my back as he knew a few well-endowed women with back problems. He then went on to suggest I wear a weighted bra for a couple weeks to see how it felt. I didn't even know who this guy was and he was assuming I wanted to get an H cup or something. Good Lord!

Why are these people e-mailing me about this anyway you ask? Well... I did put it on FB. I figured it would just be better to deal with it now and get it out of the way so we can all move on.

All this noise about my impending set of tits made me start thinking about a bigger picture than just me and my future boobs. If people are willing to say these sorts of things to me, the chick that sits around and talks about wanting boobs on a weekly basis, what do they say to other women when they're considering surgery? I'm pretty open, and really couldn't give a shit about what people think about me and my bustline. I like boobs and I want my boobs to be pretty, not saggy. But in the bigger picture, there's a lot of stuff that goes into this decision. It's already an emotionally charged decision, and women that are feeling sensitive and concerned over the surgery must feel incredibly pressured. They're hearing about how they're mutilating themselves because of "societies standards." They feel judged, they feel even more insecure about themselves than you could possibly imagine, and they're being made to think that by trying to do something to help themselves feel "feminine" or "pretty" they are going to get an unending stream of bullshit from everyone around them.  

When I spoke to the patient care coordinator I was somewhat confused with why she told me she thought it was so great that I called, blah blah blah. I initially thought that was standard with just trying to get me to buy tits. But then, thinking about how the last few days had been, I came to the conclusion that women are freaked out when they call these offices. The patient care coordinators aren't just trying to get you to buy boobs or noses or whatever else you're thinking about, they're trying to allow you to feel "okay" about the decision you made. It seems like the standard response to, "I'm going to have augmentation done on my breasts" is, "did you think about it?" I spent years thinking about this. I'm pretty sure every woman that's bought boobs put a lot of thought into it! Do you really believe we were just walking down the street one day and decided, "I think I'd like to buy a set of boobs today." We research surgeons, we look at costs, we read effing Yelp reviews for fuck's sake!

This whole experience has been incredibly interesting so far. The next step is the initial consult. My appointment is next Thursday and I am very excited to meet my surgeon and see what he thinks is appropriate.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I Want Boobs. I Like Them.

This week has been incredibly unusual for me. I finally made a decision I've contemplated for years. And... since there's no way I'm going to be able to hide the outcome, I've decided I'm going to share the step-by-step experience. But, I'm going to have to start from the beginning (well, kind of) so I can explain some of my train of thought and why I decided what I decided. Most of my closest friends never met me until I was much, much, MUCH thinner than I could ever remember being, so I think I need to give background before I'm judged too severely. Not that I care that much if you judge me.

I was born at 1:20pm in the afternoon on December 31...

Wait, that's a little too early there, let me skip up a little bit.

I was a fairly inactive child and teenager. Sure, I did all the usual stuff like riding my bike, swimming, etc, but I was also a huge fan of sweets and hiding with my nose in a book. (I still am... it's something I have a daily battle over). I really didn't understand the fact that soda and chocolate and chips would make me fat; especially when combined with the fact that I didn't exercise nearly enough to even maintain my weight. It's why I can understand how frustrated some people get when they try to learn how to lose weight. If it's not something you're familiar with, it can seem alien, and difficult. I'm going to spare you the description of my teenage love of Fritos, Snickers, and Pepsi and how often I ate them. Instead I'm just going to move on. Let's just leave it at I was 165 lbs in 6th grade. (That's a 12 year old by the way, in case you don't remember)

Another thing I had in 6th grade was boobs. I love boobs, I always have. They were only a "B", but they had a nice shape and I wore un-padded bras and adored them. My sister shot up to a D (I refer to her as jacuzzi hover tits. They're perfect. Bitch. [love you sis]), and I developed "boob envy". She also got to be 5'2" with straight dark hair. That had been my plan. Apparently I wanted to look like a Japanime. Not that I'd ever seen a Japanime at that point, that was just the most beautiful image my tall, blonde little mind and I could come up with.

By the time I was 16 I came to realize that I liked having small boobs; they were perky and they didn't sag. It was nice. Unfortunately, I kept gaining weight so my boobs didn't really stand out. They also turned into what I term "fat boobs". Those are boobs that are caused from gaining weight and lose some of their natural shape. They're not a result of genetics, just weight gain. By the time I moved to Oregon I was close to 185 and 18. I still had a "B", but it somewhat blended in with my cylindrical midsection to leave me looking like somewhat rectangular.

I hit my max of 209 (and a C cup YAY) when I was 19. I was in a really unhealthy situation all around. I was in a bad relationship, I worked swing shifts at a 7-Eleven and basically had to live off their food. Right before my 20th birthday I decided that something had got to change. I broke it off with the guy, I joined step-aerobics at my college and I stopped taking birth control pills (which I have really bad reactions with). I went down to 183 and couldn't believe it. I was so excited. The next term I added circuit weight training after step-aerobics and got down to 175. I was thrilled. (I'm 5'9" by the way... so you can get proportions. 175 looks way different on me than someone that's 5'4"). My boobs went down to a B, but still had an okay shape although they had some aspects of "fat boob". They now were a little saggier and didn't have the perkiness to them because there was a bit of extra skin. I fought my way all the way down to 148 at one point... and I was amazed. I saw a tiny little gap between my thighs when I looked in the mirror while changing one day.

At 22 I was dating a guy who thought I was too skinny. And he was a damned good cook. He fed me and fed me and fed me. By the time I'd graduated and was working full-time at my first office I had slowly climbed back up to 194 with my feedings and lack of exercise. I woke up one morning and decided I just couldn't do it anymore. I changed everything in my life: eating, dating, driving, exercising... and I transformed my entire body. I exercised all the time, I ate salad, I got 8 hours of sleep a night. I dropped down to 165 lbs and met everyone in California that I loved. That's the heaviest any of them have ever seen me, and for me... that's just kinda plump.
By the time I moved to California I was 155. I'm now around 140 because I put a little bit of weight back on over the last few months.

You might be wondering why I just gave you a novel on my different weights throughout my teenage-adult life. Let me tell you...

With all that weight flux my poor boobs lost all the fat they had ever had. And it never came back. I had been okay with my cute, small boobs that looked like boobs. I liked them, and just told myself I was "streamlined." But now they looked... flat, almost deflated. I looked like I had breast-fed children. (I still do actually). I hated it. I wear padded bras exclusively, I have padded swim-suits. When I look at myself naked I feel icky. I have excess skin where I used to have boobs. Now, I'm not at the point where I can flap all that skin around or anything, I'm not a 90 yr old woman that breast-fed 12 children, but I can see that looseness and it makes me feel gross. I tried taking hormonal birth controls, but those just made my life miserable and didn't affect my boobs at all. I lifted weights, I did pilates, I did everything that everyone suggested hoping that the skin would tighten up and at least have my boobs remain in a boob shape. Nothing worked.

I have joked about buying boobs for years. I'm more of a butt girl, but I love boobs. I've always wanted them. I come from a family of nice boobs. There was only one other sister that had small boobs, and she is naturally petite where I am not so her boobs look awesome on her. I always thought that buying boobs would be so expensive I would never be able to do it.

Last week I went onto my Evil Bookend's friend's website and he had a boob special going. 4k for boobs? REALLY? I couldn't believe it. If it's only 4k on sale, how expensive are boobs? I had always assumed 10-12k. I suppose I always guess high, but with how everyone had been talking they sounded insanely expensive. It was then that I realized that I really could buy boobs. So I started looking.

I spent the last week looking at boob doctors. On Monday, the doctor I was running and I both looked at boobs all day. I finally decided on a doctor based on his amazing boob pictures. They looked real. He kept the natural shape to the boob (all boobs are shaped different in case you have only seen one set of boobs before. Ha!) So I called, and started my journey towards boobs.