Sleeping alone

My doctor stayed late working on Friday just so she could get the results from my biopsy and let me know via email that there were no pre-cancer cells present.

Let me say that again.

THERE WERE NO PRE-CANCER CELLS PRESENT!

You can’t IMAGINE how relieved I was.

Just in time for Mother’s Day, I get a clean bill of health.

It was exactly as I hoped and everything I wanted.

The best part of finding out your pussy isn’t broken is that you feel so ecstatic about it your flirt game goes up a notch.

I went to a Tacos and Tequila bar crawl and had THE BEST TIME.

I got my flirt on (as best I could when most of the men I ran into were coupled up or way too young for me) and managed to pass out my card to not one, but TWO men – both of whom were interested in finding out more about Burning Man.

There was one gentleman, an angry young man who raged about his mother leaving him in a crack house, who played a game of “Whose childhood was more fucked up” with my friend.

I steered VERY CLEAR of him.

By the end of the night, it was time for me to go to bed.

Yes, alone.

But at least we now know that won’t be for long.

P.S.  I ran into a HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND I hadn’t seen since HIGH SCHOOL while on the Tacos and Tequila pub crawl.  Shout out to Lynne!

Hug Therapy

michelleIt’s been a rough three weeks for me.

First, I got the flu on the eve of my trip to Florida to meet The Swede and I had to cancel.

All that vacation prep down the tube:  nails, pedicure, body scrub, spray tan, hair.

I felt very sorry for myself, I’ll have you know.

But just as well since I have a busted pussy that I’m not allowed to use.

Speaking of the busted pussy, it’s screaming at me right now from the biopsy.

To be honest, it burns something fierce and I’m really irritated that I have to deal with the painful aftermath of the biopsy while trying to focus on work.

Someone should bring me cake, just to cheer me up and remind me that my busted pussy is only temporary.

At least, that’s my hope.

Results next week.

Until then I’ll just have to keep living this celibate lifestyle, hoping and praying that everything turns out normal.

And I’m not one to complain but it sucked to go to unSCruz for five days and not be able to flirt AT ALL.

I love flirting.

Breathe.

Flirt.

Breathe.

Flirt.

Fortunately, I was able to hug A LOT of people.

Hugs are the exact therapy I need to treat all my worries.

Send virtual hugs, please.

I’m in need of some.

Busted pussy

If you read yesterday’s post, then you know that unSCruz was HOT during the day and COLD AS FUCK at night.

I literally brought one warm weather dress for the entire event.

I pretty much lived in a bright yellow sundress during the day.

At night I would envelop myself in a nice warm onesie.

Thank God for those onesies.

It would have been sheer torture without them.

The first night I was there I climbed into a FRIGID bed and literally curled up in the tiniest ball I could muster, pulled the bedspread over me, and prayed that the bed would heat up fast.

The second night I was there I shared my bed with a friend and I appreciated the warmth of another body, but it was still pretty chilly.

It reminded me of the time I took The Swede to unSCruz two years ago and I brought nothing but a black lace romper to wear to bed and it was FUCKING FREEZING at night so I wore my lingerie with a full-length faux fur jacket over it.

And socks.

I’m nothing if not sexy.

The remaining nights were not as cold as the first two, but they certainly weren’t all that comfortable either.

Especially when you’re sleeping alone.

But sleeping alone was fine by me seeing as how (sorry I’ve been holding out on you) I have a cervical biopsy this week and I’m literally NOT ALLOWED to have sex, according to my doctor.

So there you have it.

UnSCruz was cold at night and I may have cancer.

Fucking busted pussy!

Weight loss

I have OFFICIALLY lost ten pounds.

10.4 pounds, to be exact.

It may not seem like a lot but I’ve been struggling to lose weight for years and never broke the five pound mark so I’m THRILLED to have finally made some progress.

I’m going to reward myself with a day of pampering with my sister.

That’s right, I’m going to Reno to visit Lisa.

We’re scheduled to get facials and then enjoy a nice dinner out.

Once upon a time, my sister and I were not that close.

She was a hippie in high school and I was a nerd.

We didn’t understand each other.

Add to that the fact that we were ALWAYS together (in the same grade, drive to school together, share a bed on vacation together, etc.) and we sure fought A LOT.

Lisa liked to throw things at me and I liked to break her stuff.

It’s changed now, especially since she lives in Reno.

She’s far enough away that I don’t get to see her on a regular basis.

So I’m SUPER excited that I’ll get to see her in a week and just hang out.

How times change, no?

We’ll see if she can tell that I’ve lost weight.

I personally think I need to make it to twenty pounds before people start to notice but the other day a coworker stopped by my desk and asked, “Have you lost weight?”

I considered joking and saying, “I’m wearing black, which is a very slimming color” but instead I said, “Yes, I have.”

Yes, I have lost weight.

Yes, I’m feeling better about myself.

Yes, yes, yes!

It’s incredible how happy weight loss feels.

I could get used to this.

P.S. In case you’re wondering what I’m doing to lose weight I am walking and following a ketogenic diet.

The first five

I’ve lost 5 pounds.

Normally, I wouldn’t blog about that but I’m trying to celebrate my milestones.

Five pounds.

Not too much to lose in 3 weeks, but just enough to encourage me to keep going.

How have I done it, you ask?

Eating healthy and exercise.

There’s no magic pill.

The first thing I did was stop drinking so much booze.

I allow myself one or two cocktails a week now, instead of one or two cocktails a day.

What a HUGE difference that makes.

I’ve also started eating more fruits and vegetables and have cut out most of the processed foods I used to eat.

I eat healthy snacks during the day, never letting myself get too hungry.

I’m still not great at drinking water instead of Diet Coke, but this is a work in progress so I’m not kicking myself in the ass for cracking open a cold Coke and downing it.

Oh, the other thing – I weight myself daily.

And I journal my food.

Basically, I’m doing all the stuff that’s supposed to be intuitive to losing weight but somehow is a huge challenge to overcome.

I’m not going to lie.

It’s not easy.

I miss being able to eat whatever I feel like.

But I know it’s time for change.

If for no other reason than I want to do a Spartan Race.

And I’m not in shape to do a Spartan Race right now.

So my reward for getting in shape?

A Spartan Race!

Fall down 7 times, get up 8

I’m almost ashamed to admit it but once again, I am working on losing weight.

Yes, I’ve tried before.

Yes, I’ve failed.

Many times, actually.

But you know what they say. . .

Fall down 7 times, get up 8.

So I’m getting up again and getting ready to work on it.

Again.

It’s made worse, of course, by the fact that my failures are so spectacularly catalogued by this website.

But I figure if I can admit to having a crush on a man I nicknamed “Coke Can Dan” then I can admit to something as personal as weight loss struggles.

This time around I’m trying Noom, a sort of guided weight loss program that sends me little reminders on my iPhone.

It also hooks me up with a counselor and a group of people trying to lose weight, just like me.

So far it hasn’t irritated the hell out of me, which is a good sign.

I’ve had a few realizations during the 5+ days I’ve been using the Noom app:

  1. I’m going to have to exercise.
  2. I’m going to need a pedometer to track my walking.
  3. I’m going to have to give up booze.

I’m already trying to stack the shelves in my cupboard with healthy alternative to carb-heavy foods like lasagna and cheese bread.

Cottage cheese, fresh fruit, hard boiled eggs, and grilled chicken.

I’ve also purchased meal prep containers so that I can spend a few hours packing my breakfasts and lunches for the week on Sunday evening and not have to think about food the rest of the time.

There’s no guarantee that I’ll be successful this time around, but I do feel like I’m becoming sensitive to the alternative (not making any changes to my diet and exercise routine) and I DON’T LIKE IT.

My long term goal, which might be a little aggressive, is to lose 20 pounds by November 21st.

My short term goal, which may be a little to easy, is to go for a walk tonight before the sun sets.

Hopefully I will achieve both.

Here’s my “BEFORE” photo (photo by Glow Girl taken at Burning Man, August 2018):

Scared

My youngest son visited the doctor yesterday.

He has a lump on the back of his head that has been slowly growing.

It is now 3 cm by 4 cm.

Not tiny, to say the least.

I, thinking it was a lipoma, was nonchalant about the whole thing.

Well, as it turns out, it MAY be a lipoma or a cyst but it may also be a brain tumor.

This, from the doctor.

My son now needs to get a scan to determine if his brain and skull are involved in this growth.

If they are, then a neurosurgeon has to operate on him.

It’s not a simple surgical procedure.

You can imagine, I am a little worked up about this.

To the tune of two cocktails a night.

It’s not every day a doctor tells you that your son might have brain cancer.

And just when I got over my own gynecological cancer scare.

WTF is happening?

The WORST part of all this is that the scan has been set up for A WEEEK FROM NOW.

Which means I have to survive a whole week carrying around this fear.

So, if you can, spare a thought for my little one.

Even though he’s not that little anymore.

We could use some good mojo.

Unremarkable

This blog post isn’t pretty.

Nor is it fun and lighthearted.

It’s serious.

It’s the C-word.

No, not THAT C-word (which I HATE with a passion).

Cancer.

Both my grandmothers died from gynecological cancer at a young age and I hate that cancer robbed me of a chance to meet them and get to know them.

I was 22 when I was reunited with my birthfamily.

So when I had my latest PAP smear come back irregular, I panicked a lot.

My doctor called me in for a biopsy.

Now for those of you who DON’T have a cervix, imagine a soft, delicate organ hidden safely within the depths of your body.

Now imagine someone using a harsh bristle brush and a device to CUT away pieces of that organ,

Ouch, right?!

BIG ouch.

To make matters worse, the doctor used a COLD speculum which almost lifted me out of the stirrups!

She grabbed her samples of my misbehaving cervix, and swabbed my nethers with something that looked like Dijon mustard which stopped the bleeding.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“Your cervix is UNREMARKABLE,” she informed me.

Never was I happier being described as being unremarkable.

So now. . . the waiting game.

Is it pre-cancer? Cancer? Just a blip in my medical record?

Only time will tell.

But until the test comes back, there’s nothing to do except rest my mustard coated vagina, and try to chill the fuck out.

Wish me luck!

Mother of boys

I got sick this week.

This is notable for one reason:

It was an “All exits, no waiting” scenario.

And since there’s only one toilet and the exits are on opposite ends of me, I RUINED the bathroom.

First time this ever happened to me.

My guess is that I either caught the norovirus or I got food poisoning.

From sushi.

How awful is that?

I can’t even look at a slice of sake without feeling sick to my stomach.

The good news is I survived and I’m back at work.

The bad news is that it feels like I’ve been hit by a train.

Body aches up the wazoo. . .

Or OUT the wazoo, as it is in my case.

The worst part of it all, besides ACTUALLY being sick, is that I had an audience.

Round one: My youngest son watched me clean the walls in the bathroom and then TOLD ALL HIS FRIENDS ABOUT IT. He has also taken to calling me “Poopy McPooperson.”  So there’s that.

Round two: My oldest son watched me throw up in a garbage can and proceeded to tell me that it was happening to me because I wouldn’t buy him a $45,000 sports car.

That’s the kind of sympathy you get when you’re the mother of boys.

You don’t mess with my shoes

I didn’t mind gaining a little weight.

My boobs got bigger. . .

My stomach got a little softer. . .

My curves for a little more curvier. . .

What’s not to love about a little weight gain?

Well, diabetes for one.

High cholesterol for another.

And thirdly there’s join pain.

None of those things are fun and all of them can lead to long term health implications.

Things I don’t want to deal with for sure.

Sure, I am still fun in the sack (at least I used to be before I started this damn sex diet), but I have to say I’m not thrilled with the side effects of weight gain.

Of course, I wasn’t thrilled with being labeled pre-diabetic.

And I wasn’t happy to have elevated cholesterol.

And finding out that I had high blood pressure wasn’t fun either.

But I wasn’t convinced I needed to go on a fucking diet until my shoes stopped fitting me.

Yes.

You can fuck with my cholesterol. You can fuck with my dress size. But the minute you fuck with my shoe collection YOU ARE OUT!