Life was never the same

Every mother loves to tell her birth stories and I am no different.

My oldest was in fetal distress and so I had to be induced with him at 36 weeks.

It took me 45 minutes to push him out.

He was born going pee.

He peed on the doctor and on me.

Typical Duncan.

And then two years later came Gavin.

With Gav I didn’t realize how far I was in labor until I arrived in the hospital, got in a bed, looked at the nurse and groaned, “I have to P U S H!”

She examined me and noted that I was fully dilated and ready to push.

It took 20 minutes to deliver Gav.

He came out with a perfectly round head because he spent no time in the birth canal.

So 45 minute and 20 minute labors.

Not too shabby.

Personally, I have no idea how women can handle labors that last a long time.

18 hours.

36 hours.

It’s insane.

I’d be begging for a C-section out of sheer exhaustion.

There is a downside to having very fast labors.

My chart was flagged for fast delivery and the nurse told me that if I had another baby, it would probably arrive in the car on the ride to the hospital.

Whoah!

Also, I can’t guilt my children by telling them how long I was in labor with them.

All I say is, “Do you know how MUCH it hurt?!”

I recorded both births.

Yes, I did.

Not your typical side shot of the mother delivering the baby.

No.

I instructed my mother to record the birth right where all the action was happening.

I watched the births right after the boys were born.

Then on their 1 year birthdays.

And I gotta say, those deliveries are pretty gross.

I see why people take sideways shots of babies being delivered.

It’s sort of a juicy, fluid-filled, mucus plug, gross out fest.

But in the end, I had a 7 pound 2 ounce baby boy and an 8 pound 5 ounce baby boy to love on.

And life was never the same.

Standing next to supermodels

It sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?

Having to stand next to a supermodel.

What could be worse that being side by side with a leggy blond or brunette with perfectly symmetrical features and cheekbones that could cut wood?

I personally try not to follow too many fashion models on Instagram because it’s bad for my mental health and self image.

I try to follow curve models.

They have curvy butts and thighs and sometimes even a soft belly.

It’s comforting to me to see women with body types like my own.

It makes me feel like less of an unlovable freak and more like a beautiful woman.

I’m not sure beauty magazines understand the impact they have on young women growing up when all they promote within their pages are size 0 models.

It’s a 445 BILLION dollar industry based on convincing women that they need this lipstick, dress, purse, face cream, etc, in order to be beautiful.

I am reminded of a line in “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” that goes something like this:

DO NOT READ BEAUTY MAGAZINES, THEY WILL ONLY MAKE YOU FEEL UGLY.

Beauty magazines are in the business of making beautiful women feel ugly.

When I was younger I loved beauty magazines.

I used to subscribe to several of them and I’d comb through the pages of the magazine picking out makeup, clothes, and accessories that I really wanted.

It gave me a little thrill.

Now, it makes me shudder.

And yet, I am a beauty consumer of the first water.

A VIB Sephora member.

A Platinum member of ULTA.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t also buy makeup from Milani, Beautylish, and elf.

If the amount of makeup we buy is proportional to how ugly we feel inside, then what do my spending habits say about me????

God, there’s a frightening thought.

I was going to be good. . .

I was going to be good.

I had it all planned out in my head.

I was going to wear my red and purple dress to my cousin’s wedding in October.

I even bought a little red and purple fascinator to go with it.

But then I wore the dress on a date (a disaster of a date, if you ask me).

And it struck me that for a wedding, it was AWFULLY low cut.

Maybe too much so.

I mean, I don’t want to be remembered as the cousin who had her tatas hanging out while her cousin got married.

I can just hear the gossip now.

“Who’s Michelle?”

“You know, she was the one in the really low cut dress. . .”

“Oh right. Tacky.”

My Aunt Xondra has informed me that if she gets married, she’s making me wear a turtleneck.

So it seems I have a bit of a reputation for this sort of thing.

Therefore, I bought a dress at Nordstrom to wear to the wedding.

A lavender floral dress.

Isn’t it pretty?

And not the least bit low cut.

Demure, even.

I also bought a teeny tiny fascinator to go with the dress.

So even though the plan was to not spend money, I did spend a wee bit on a new outfit.

I was going to be good.

But being bad is so much better!

 

I have no business dating

I have no business dating.

I came to this realization just the other day as I deleted ALL THE ONLINE DATING APPS off my phone.

I can’t BEAR to meet any more men.

Sure, I’ve met a bunch of louses lately and that’s coloring my opinion of men.

But intuitively, I know there are good ones out there.

I hired a life coach a few years ago and he used to tell me that what you attract is a reflection of yourself and if that’s true then I’m a GOD AWFUL MESS and have NO BUSINESS DATING.

If you look at my life you will notice:

  1. I live with my parents.  Granted, dad is blind and mom has a heart condition so staying with them also helps them out, but I’m a soon-to-be 44 year old who lives with Mom and Dad.  Le sigh.
  2. My finances are a wreck. Hopefully the downward spiral has completed and I am on my way up and out of the hole I dug for myself.
  3. I’m an admin. Yes, I plan events and my title is Program Assistant, but as far as my employer is concerned, I’m an admin.
  4. Not much of a career unless you count 14 years at a prestigious university as a career. But see #3 above.
  5. I have a pretty diverse sexual history which makes me unsuitable for MOST vanilla men. They either assume I’m a nymphomaniac or that I’m easy when I am neither.  It doesn’t help that I’m still unsettled when it comes to my sexuality.  I’m not sure what I want.
  6. My health is not at its best. Which is a polite way of saying I need to lose weight.  As much as I like my curves, they are getting curvier than I like.  I’m working on fixing it but I’ve got a long way to go.
  7. I’m not perfect. Yes, I know no one is perfect but in several ways, I am inherently flawed.  If I could wish these flaws away, I would but sadly they are here to stay and require medication.
  8. I can’t even keep my room clean, for fuck’s sake! I mean REALLY!  Who can’t keep their room clean after the age of 25? People who shouldn’t be dating, that’s who!  If you can’t keep a tidy room then how can you maintain a relationship?

Maybe I’m being hard on myself.

Maybe I’m in better shape than I think.

But today?

This moment right now?

I’m just completely FRUSTRATED with myself. (I was going to say DISGUSTED but that seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?)

So my profiles are deleted and the dating apps are gone.

I have officially given up.

I have no business dating.

 

 

 

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!

Chemistry

I know what chemistry is.

I’ve felt it before.

Recently even, when I met Coke Can Dan.

It’s that sudden rush of hormones that happens when you realize that you’re clicking with someone.

It feels GOOD!

I’ve learned not to trust chemistry though.

Because it’s usually me reacting to my IMAGINED impression of who my date is and not the REALITY of who he really is.

If he’s tall and bearded, my hormones go WILD!

But like I said, I’ve learned not to trust chemistry.

So you can imagine I was shocked when I went on a date and as it was concluding, my date turned to me and said, “I’ve had a great time meeting you but I don’t think there’s any chemistry.”

I was floored.

I thought we had a nice conversation.

To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

I was silent.

And a little bit hurt.

True, you can tell a lot about a person in two hours, but there’s a lot still left to the imagination.

And being an introvert, my personality doesn’t always come shining through.

But, well, okay.

If you say so.

It’s not like you can MAKE somebody like you.

So I bid him farewell and went home.

And then. . .

About 15 minutes later, a text:

So there’s that.

Nice guy.

No chemistry.

Sucks.

Dating (again)

Wow!

It has been a crazy week riding the roller coaster of American politics.

I’m just getting off the ride.

And what better way to celebrate being on solid ground again than to go out on a date.

A REAL date.

Yes, with someone I’ve met online.

But this guy hasn’t described his ideal woman as having no gag reflex.

Nor has he sent me dick pics or called himself “Mr. Hugecock.”

So he’s got a lot going for him right now.

He seems to be, dare I say it, a regular nice guy.

Which is EXACTLY what I’m looking for.

Also?

He doesn’t live in Sweden.

He lives here in the Bay area.

He’s employed at a BIG social media company.

He flies airplanes.

We meet at 8 pm today at my favorite bar, the Jack Rose.

I’m cautiously optimistic about this date.

It’s starting off on the right foot.

But you never know what’s going to happen when you go on a date you’ve only met online.

He could sweat profusely.

He could be racist.

Sexist.

Or, God forbid, a Trump supporter.

All deal breakers in my book.

Wish me luck!

Gavin

Gavin had his neurosurgery way back in the beginning of September, right after I got back from Burning Man.

He had his epidermoid cyst removed and his skull scraped to remove all traces of the stalk that penetrated the skull, but not the dura.

The dura is the outermost membrane covering the brain and had it penetrated, it would have required brain surgery to remove.

We caught it just in time.

The biopsy came back and confirmed that the cyst was indeed a benign epidermoid cyst composed of keratin, sebaceous material, and skin.

Whew!

Gavin was a trooper.

He was out of the hospital within a day and a half of surgery AND he was off pain meds in two days.

About two weeks after his surgery, he had 14 staples removed from the back of his head which were holding the incision together while it healed.

All in all, it was a stressful time for me.

I feel lucky that I had the opportunity to stay with him in the hospital and during his first few days of recovery.

Gavin is back to his usual self, playing video games and enjoying the company of our various pets.

I feel insanely lucky that we caught this cyst when we did and had the wherewithal to deal with it.

The surgery and subsequent hospitalization cost $57,000.

My share of the hospital bill?

$150.

Not too shabby.

I “hate” men

Just to give you an update on my love life.

So far, my biggest challenge has been deciding whether or not to go out with James Hugecock or the guy who told me his ideal woman would have no gag reflex.

Clearly I need a reset.

A do-over.

Because this is not how I imagined I’d be treated while getting to know someone.

Has the whole entire world gone completely porn crazy?

I feel like I’m trapped in an XXX rated movie and I can’t get out.

There are things I understand.

When I go on hookup websites like Tinder I should expect to meet men looking for hookups.

But do they have to be so disrespectful about it?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but lately I get the feeling that the men I meet HATE women.

Their constant objectification turns me off.

I’m a hot blooded American woman.

I need to find a partner who knows how to be sexy AND respectful at the same time.

It’s not impossible.

There’s The Swede.

But he lives in Sweden.

And there’s Coke Can Dan.

But he’s off the market.

These are examples of good, decent men who know how to make a woman feel sexy AND respected at the same time.

It shouldn’t be so hard to find, should it?

So if you’re wondering where I’m at right now, I’m located at the corner of I HATE MEN STREET and FUCK INTERNET DATING ROAD.

Okay, I don’t hate ALL men.

I know a lot of decent men (who are not single or available).

But I’m giving up on trying to meet someone.

At least for a while until the amnesia sets in and the optimism takes over.

Scales and Tales

So there’s a burner decompression happening in Santa Cruz called Scales and Tales.

It’s a MONSTER THEMED decompression.

Woo hoo!

Rainbow Trike Track will be there as will my favorite bar, Ali Bar Bar.

The question is. . . what to wear?

My bat costume?

No.

My devil costume?

Too red.

My dragon costume?

I’ve torn the wings.

So I’ve decided to go with a plain old skeleton:

I’ve got a black leather jacket, black shit kicking platform boots, and THIS:

I’ve never worn it, but now seems like as good a time as any to put on this mohawk and step out to a Monster’s Ball!