How sick is sick?

Blah blah blah, surgery



The funny thing is, when I first got my disability information for surgery I was like, ” THE FUCK they mean a whole month? What exactly are they doing that I’m going to be off for that amount of time?!”  I started envisioning frankenboob with tubes and such, and me lying in bed in horrible agony because why else would I have so much time off to heal?

And then I had surgery. Which, you know… was surgery. The first day, @laprimera hand delivered these babies from @emmiej and @undomesticdiva. Which I …and The Man, enjoyed. I even tweeted about them. High on Vicodin, because I HAD SURGERY GUYS. I’m not a machine.

But then I felt weird because I had surgery. I am SUPPOSED to be in agonizing pain, right?  Too hurt to do anything but pop pills and sleep. Too broken to send daily (okay, every other day) emails for Black History Month? Which, I also send to my manager, WHO KNOWS THAT I’M OUT FOR A MONTH.


I’m in pain, don’t get me wrong. But not it’s debilitating. I am capable tweeting and tumbling my heart out. I can have visitors; I can still walk around.

I’m in purgatory: Too sick to really do anything, but too well to sit around on my ass all day. It sucks. Because I want to do more, but I can’t really. Or at least I can’t without being in pain.

I had a doctor’s appointment today. That I went to alone, like a big girl. I drove myself, and reported back to The Man because he had to work. And then I had to go to class because I can sit in the back of the class and zone out just as well as I can sit and stare into space at home.

Yes, in case you were interested, I’m in some pain. NO, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna kill me. Though to be honest, I wouldn’t mind some ice on it and some tylenol. But I’ll be home in hour. And when I get there I will pop a pain pill and settle into bed for a nap.

And until then, I’m going to assume that whoever thought a month was how long it was going to take me to feel like myself knew what the fuck they were doing, and stop feeling guilty for the things that I *do* feel well enough to do.

Hopefully this will include Jack Daniels soon enough.


My (not so lumpy) lady lumps

Okay, really.

This is pretty much THE LAST POST about my boobs. It’s really just an update, for all the people who may have been “WELL? DID YOU HAVE SURGERY OR NOT?!”

I did.

Easy peasy. Done in outpatient surgery. Sent home with a bucket of Vicodin and an ice pack.

I’ve got a month off to recuperate. And catch up on my homework. And TV shows that I’ve been DVR’ing, but not watching. And do things during the day that I’d normally have to take time off to do. That, of course, will be after I feel better, but before I have to return to work. I’m hoping that this will work out to be at least 2 weeks.

In the meantime, The Man has been making sure I take my meds, feeding me and checking in on me from time to time. And of course, providing sympathy when required:

Me: This newest scar is not pretty at all.

The Man: I think it gives you character.

Me: Really..?

Him: Yeah. You can just tell people you got stabbed in the tit in a bar fight.

Yeah, that’s my man y’all. He always knows just what to say to make me feel better.



The one where I take more pictures…

The last time I did the picture challenge, I didn’t finish. But I had a lot of fun trying.

This month, Miss and Megan and their love of all things Friends brought this particular photo challenge. So I’m trying again. And with all of my free time, this should be easy right?

I guess we’ll see.

Day 1

I don’t ever drink coffee drinks at home. BUT. This coffee mug with my friends doing headstands on it? Is my favorite coffee mug ever.

Wanna join? Follow the hashtag #FRIENDSpc and add your pics to the Flickr pool.

Who you callin’ a ….?


It’s been (passively agressively) called to my attention that I’m a bitch.


Maybe I am. But I’m not going to lie. I’m perfectly okay with that description. Before y’all get all riled up, I’m not gonna get all “let’s be empowered to call each other bitches” on you, because it’s not the point.


The point is that sometimes, people do things and don’t expect that I will call you on it.

Or I don’t react how you thought I was going to react.

Sometimes, I say what I REALLY MEAN, instead of what you thought I was going to say.

Occasionally, my opinion is not your opinion.


That’s not to say that I am the kind of person who will get ALL IN YOUR FACE with my opinions (but, this *is* my blog. This is one place where I am allowed to be as opinionated as I want). I’m not. Usually. I tend to take things comfortably in stride. Because THAT is really the kind of person I am. I’m not aggressive, unless I think that the occasion calls for it.


That being said. I’m not PASSIVE either. You don’t get to decide what I’m going to do or where I’m going to do it, unless

a) I don’t really have an opinion.

b) I am in the minority (majority rules when you go out in groups y’all.)

c) I wanted to that anyways.

d) You’re paying.


I am also not the person who is going to let people treat or talk to me any old kinda way. That goes from stranger on the street to the woman who gave birth to me (although, she’s got some privelege, yo. That’s my mama).


I like to think of myself as being somewhere in the middle between doormat and aggressively obnoxious asshole.


HOWEVER. If you act like a complete asshole, please do not be surprised if I respond in a manner befitting your completely obnoxious behavior.


And if that makes me a bitch to you? I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.

Talk about facing your fears

Took me a while to get to my #OpEleanor update. But there was a reason.

First I should tell you, I really got a lot done. Things I never would’ve tried except, I said I was gonna face my fears, one day at a time. So I did.

And of course, I ended up having to face a huge one.

‘Member that mammogram? It was Day 2 of Operation Eleanor. An aside: Most MDs suggest getting your first mammogram at age 40, and then going yearly. In case you were interested, I’m not 40. Yet.

But. Both an aunt and cousin (mother and daughter) had breast cancer. And I figured this was as good a time as any to get started.

It was simple. Easy. As comfortable as you can imagine a perfect stranger adjusting your tits on a glass table-y thing might be. And after she was done, I asked if I could look. Because, hello! I’m curious. I got the spiel, ” You’ll get your results in a couple of weeks, blah blah.” I’ll be honest. I stopped listening because I figured I’d done what I came here to do and now I can go do a little Christmas shopping.

I got a call a few days later. They found “inconsistencies”, they wanted me to come back for another mammogram and maybe an ultrasound. Please cue internal screaming.

So I did. And this time, they took the pictures and took them RIGHT OVER to be viewed. Not comforting at all. I’m not going to lie. Also? Lemme tell you about awkward: Bursting into tears for NO REASON AT ALL except being scared of something that may not even happen and having perfect stranger comfort me because: CRYING WOMAN. I’m pretty sure it must happen fairly often though. BUT STILL.

And on top of all that, boobies still inconsistent. Now for a biopsy. I would like to take time in this already already long story to tell you that I took pictures of the fancy biopsy table and stuff, but I got a new phone and when they reset it I LOST ALL MY PICTURES. MOTHER. FUCKERS.

Moving on. Biopsied. Right before Christmas. Results? Right before the New Year.

Not cancer.

Still though. The lumps inside my lady lovely lumps? Must be removed.

According to the surgeon, they are so small that I never would’ve known they were there if I hadn’t decided that I needed a mammogram RIGHT NOW. And I kind of shudder to think what those lumps woulda looked like a year from now, or maybe would’ve been when I was actually 40.

BUT. Hurray for early detection! And Yay for #OpEleanor!

Because I’m fairly certain I would’ve put this one off forever if not that that.



Happy Birthday!

I don’t even remember when we met, really. You were one of the first bloggers/ twitterers that I met though. I think.

I remember thinking that I liked you. That you were genuine, honest,  ridiculous, and ballsy (and pocket sized. How can someone so small be SO MUCH?! ‘Cause girl, you know you are TOO MUCH.)

It’s like I’ve always known you.

You became a friend I could count on. Not to mention a friend who received late night drunk texts of my ridiculousness, and random pictures.

It was a natural progression to being my #booyahroomie for BlogHer in 2010. (“No, it’s fine. We don’t need anybody to clean our room. Can we get some towels please?”) Also? Can’t wait for BlogHer2012, it’s going to be rad, I’m sure.

I know that you REALLY DON’T want a big fuss for your birthday. So I’m not buying you a gift. In fact, we went out yesterday to celebrate ME (post forthcoming).

So, I’m just going to say Happy Birthday, girl friend. And here’s to many more (birthdays, jagerbombs, shopping trips, drunk texts….).


So I have an iPhone. I wouldn’t say that I am guzzling the kool-aid, but taking cautious sips.

I don’t LOVE it. I loved my droid. But, we were having an issue that I just couldn’t resolve, so I decided to test the waters with an iPhone. I don’t hate it.

It’s taking some adjustment, let’s say.

Like for instance, this particular phone always wants to be on whatever local wireless connection that’s available. It’s kind of weird that I get these random pop-ups suggesting different wireless connections. Usually I just cancel it out, because OBVIOUSLY: No.

 But this one particular time it happened, I was sending a text to The Man and one network caught my eye. My assumption is that before this, his network must not have been password protected.

I’m not sure if the opportunity to see this is a PLUS or a MINUS for iPhone.

The things I tell my friends

Sometimes, all I can do is send e-mails in bullets. I’m pretty much the laziest e-mail writer ever:

Subject: Preemptive Strike

1. Did not bring my lunch today.

2. Also? Forgot my sweater from Old Navy that still has the sensor on it.

3. BUT. Am going to the sprint store today for lunch.

4. I have a headache.  I think that caffeine may be necessary.

                a. I’ve already had 2 Aleve

                b. AND a caramel macchiato. But it was decaf?

                c. Maybe I should just have a ½ a coke.

5. I sent this in an e-mail with no explanation to The Man in warning:

Yes, I just told the entire internet it's my ladytime

                 a. I feel like he deserves fair warning for my all around general b!tchy attitude during my rare waking hours because shark week is also making me sleepy.

I’m actually going to give something besides thanks today

So today is Thanksgiving Day. The day that I usually call “Turkey Day” because you really ought to be more thankful EVERY DAY and not just wait for the 3rd Thursday in November. And because really, these days, today has been more about how much food you can eat before your top button pops, before going out for a shopping frenzy at midnight in order to catch all of the sales.

But then my friend,  Undomestic Diva happened upon an organization called Feeding America. For just a buck, they can provide 8 meals. EIGHT OF THEM.


Do you know what *I* can do with $1? I can’t even buy a bag of chips at work with a buck. So, when Undomestic Diva went all Faberge on us. But. She was right. If 8 followers donated $1, and those followers donated, that would be a lot of meals.

Which is kinda my point. I’m not rich, by any means. But you know what? I have a couple of dollars in my pocket, and food on my table. Doesn’t seem like much, until you think of how many don’t. AND NOT just the homeless and impoverished. Some of your neighbors right there in the suburbs are also wondering where the next meal is going to come from.

And just like that, I became even MORE grateful for the things that I have. And because I do have them, I can give to those who don’t. And so, I’m going to donate. Because, I can. Because I have to. Because there shouldn’t be hunger in a place where people have EATING COMPETITIONS (Which. Gross).

Also? You should stop by Undomestic Diva and Jett Superior‘s place. THEY are the masterminds who are putting the giving, back in Thanksgiving day. And even though *I* don’t have a giveaway, they are giving away fancy gifts and prizes to those who do a little donating today.

So have at it kids, Have yourselves a Happy ThanksGiving!


P.S. If you need help, go here. When they said that they are Feeding America, they meant you too.

On trying new things

I am definitely a creature of habit.

If given the chance between NEW RESTAURANT and McDonald’s, there’s a pretty good chance I would pick a cheeseburger happy meal every time. (Clearly I believe in going with the devil you know, rather than the devil you don’t. Sorta related: Hurray for apple slices!)


So one of the stores at my Big Fancy Hospital closed and was turned into a deli. It’s right next to the coffee shop that I go to pretty much every day. (Non-fat, decaf caramel macchiato. Upside down. With whipped Cream. Please. Thank you)

My co-worker decided that she wanted to try to place next door. She was STARVING. And a bagel was not going to cut it.  So, she forced talked me into going with.

Please see very first statement. I FEAR CHANGE.

But I did it. I had a breakfast burrito. Chorizo and Egg Burrito to be exact.


So. I had to take it back. To complain that my egg and chorizo burrito did not have chorizo. Huh. They didn’t give me any trouble though. They made me a new one. Chorizo. Egg. Cheese. No Salsa. No hash brown. (I hate hash browns. I also hate Pace Salsa. And coincidentally, I had home-made salsa that my co-worker brought over JUST. THAT. MORNING.)

I ended up not liking it. I don’t know if it was just the experience, or because I genuinely didn’t care for it. But I’m doubting I’ll get it again. They also had lunch stuff, and a juice bar.

Maybe I’ll give one of those a try. I guess that’s the point, right? Giving things a try?