LastWeekAGram
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Since I’m clearly too lame to write a cohesive paragraph these days, let’s take a look at my last week in pictures.
*This will be the most boring post ever if you already follow me on Instagram or Tumblr, so read a book or make yourself a sandwich or something.
I’ve gone positively crochet-blotto. It’s all I want to do pretty much ever. Housework has suffered. Writing has suffered. TV comprehension has suffered…terrible.
It was so hot in the morning (short dress), but then it started to snow (snow boots) and I was cooking dinner (green onions) and cleaning up and listening to Madonna on my headphones and this happened. *Apron by Angie.
Monday was rough. I needed Mink Stole to protect me.
I had to present in a bajillion meetings, this was my attempt at “Business lady” fashion. Business lady who loves Mink Stole, Disney villains and pigtails.
My nephew, just because.
These babies.
More yarn showed up at my house… somehow.
Puppy cuddles during Game of Thrones and yes, even more crochet.
Today, I planted some herbs and gerbera daisies. It actually felt like spring. Hopefully the Vitamin D will go right to my creative center because, seven hells! I need it.
On The Rag Mag Roundup
In which I discuss my ennui and inability to do anything productive right now.
My BFF Tawnya made a baby. His name is Elliott. He is wicked cute. I made a mixtape.
I was crabby. I made a creepy video mixtape about it.
The Morrissey tickets I’ve had in my wallet since June are covered in tears
After two postponements, I shouldn’t have been surprised when Morrissey canceled the rest of his North American tour, but…
Ugh. I can’t even talk about it guys. As Legolas once said, “I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near.” *and no, I didn’t have to look that up.
Here we are in happier times. We were so young. So innocent then.
Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll be in my room, listening to The Smiths and crying.
Someone please talk me out of buying this leather jacket
or don’t.
I finished My Mad Fat Diary yesterday and I loooooved it like a person. I loved it so much. So much that you need to stop reading this post and watch it immediately.
Now that you’re back, wipe away the tears and tell me that you don’t want me to buy the leather jacket that Rae sports through the entire first series.
I found it on Asos and I want it sooooo hard.
I can’t decide if it would make me look/feel like a huffalump and then there’s the other thing. I’m adamantly anti-fur and try not to buy leather when I can help it, so would buying the perfect looking leather jacket make me feel like an asshole?
Ohhhhh, but I’d be such a cool asshole. I just dont’ know. Look at these beauties! How can I not want to look like this? Help me Obi Wan. You’re my only hope.
Gabifresh, Fashion Hayley, Style Chic 360
Gabifresh in the exact Asos biker jacket giving me fever, Fashion Hayley in a thrifted leather beauty, Style Chic 360 in a really cute Target moto jacket.
Recovery
It’s been a week since my surgery and I’m doing really well.
Side-ponies are essential to recovery.
I slept and slept and slept some more. I read. I watched all of Call the Midwife, caught up on The Americans, marathoned the first season of Scandal, started the Horatio Hornblower series, got half-way through My Mad Fat Diary, watched my favorite Lifetime movie, “A Woman Scorned: The Betty Broderick Story” and taught myself to crochet. Basically it was exactly like the Houses of Healing in Return of the King.
Monday – Thursday I felt pretty crampy and swollen. I didn’t feel totally shit, but I didn’t feel like myself at all. Narcotics really don’t do me any favors.
My recovery cocoon on our new love seat.
My favorite “Get Well” card from my friend, Sadie (Melissa’s daughter)
Friday I left the house for the first time and was shaky, but did well. Frankly the worst part was having to wear a real bra.
Saturday was the first day I felt somewhat well. I was able to go grocery shopping and run a few errands. It was blissful.
Sunday I cleaned the house. I never thought I’d be happy to clean the house, but I’ve really been taking mobility for granted.
I also, with major assistance from youtube tutorials, taught myself to crochet a granny square, so la-di-da.
Today I worked from home and tomorrow I head back to the library. Let’s see if I can make it to 10:30 without needing a nap. I’m guessing, no.
Lars is smart AND hot
In case you missed it, my gorgeous husband was on a little game show called, Jeopardy.
He didn’t win, but he was amazing and I couldn’t be more proud.
Not surprisingly it took less than 12 hours before he made an appearance on the “Hot People on ‘Jeopardy!‘” tumblr.
I’m a lucky lady.
*Note: Hot People on Jeopardy is a real thing. Click the link or the picture below and get lost in the sexy, nerd action.
Fat Bitch: Week 4, Seeing Beauty in Other Fat Bodies
How to be a Fat Bitch E-Course, by Rachele at the Nearsighted Owl
My homework from week 1
My homework from week 2: Reclaiming the FAT word
My homework from week 3: Being Fashionable and Fat
This week’s assignment is:
Create a tribute to a fat body. Your fat body or somebody else’s. Make a papier mache figure, draw a silhouette photograph your rolls, curate a collection of images of bodies similar to yours, etc.
I made a collage including just a few of the beautiful, lovelies who inspire and delight me.
Discussion:
How has seeing fat bodies in the media affected you? Like Adele, Gabourey Sidibe, Aidy Bryant from SNL, Beth Ditto, Melissa McCarthy, etc. Do you gravitate towards fat positive music, TV and movies?
Seeing fat bodies in the media has absolutely altered the way I view myself. I remember back in the early 2000s, watching Gilmore Girls and feeling so blown away that Melissa McCarthy’s Sookie St.James was “allowed” to be this interesting, beautiful, fashionable and talented character. As far as I remember her size is never an issue, plot point or even brought up at all. That was a game changer for me.
Don’t even get me started on Beth Ditto. Back in the day, I was literally the only fat girl playing music in my city. It was very isolating and scary. Reviews of my band often included invitations to “lay off the Twinkies” and such. In August of 2000, The Gossip opened for Sleater Kinney at the Bluebird in Denver and my entire universe shifted.
I had never seen another fat woman own a stage like that, particularly not an “indie rock” stage. I’d never seen myself reflected that way before and it moved me to be braver on stage myself.
Fat visibility is so important. It’s such a gift to see fat actors, artists, musicians and bloggers be beautiful, strong, funny and brave.
Jiffy Lubed: My Laparoscopy and Hysteroscopy Extravaganza
So, Monday was the day of my surgery. I was asked to remove my nail polish, take off all of my makeup, my bra, underwear and put on the most delightfully flattering outfit of all time. No, really… don’t I look pretty?
I was interviewed several times by med students, nurses and doctors. I got my urine collected, my blood tested, my blood pressure checked (which, Ha! why do they even bother? I was so nervous my blood pressure read like I was on Crack).
I saw my actual doctor for about 4 seconds before the anesthesiologist came in and started hooking me up. I loved my anesthesiologist from the jump. He looked and sounded exactly like Virgil from Homeland.
This, of course comforted me. It also could have been the sedative he shot into my IV. Whatever.
He and his med student wheeled me off to the OR, which was truly a bizarre experience. I blame the fact that I used to watch ER, but there’s just something creepy about being wheeled on a gurney, watching the lights in the ceiling pass you by. Sedated or no.
When we got into the OR, I was immediately surprised by how huge the room was, how many contraptions, lights and people there were. As I shifted myself from the gurney to the surgery table I said,
“This looks like an alien abduction lab.”
To which a doctor I hadn’t met responded, “Well, I can assure you that I’m human.”
“That’s what they all say,” I said and then as a nurse gently propped my IV’d arm up, I heard Virgil say he was putting me under and BOOM. I was out.
That was around 10:30am.
The next thing I remember was very slowly waking up in the recovery room around 1pm. The nurse in the recovery area was lovely. Lord only knows the weird shit I said to her. The first exchange I actually remember went like this:
Me: I have to pee.
Nurse: I could bring you a bed pan.
Me: Noooooooooo.
I’m not sure if I really needed to pee, but my urethra felt like it was on fire, a lovely side effect from being catheterized during the surgery. My throat was also scratchy from being intubated. The ice chips and the nice nurse helped.
I honestly don’t know how long I was in the recovery room. If you told me it was 5 minutes or 6 years I would believe you. Time had no meaning at all.
As my vitals picked up, the recovery room nurse called someone, I assume the nurse who was to come and take me to my room and told her my situation. I tried really hard to pay attention because this is the first I would hear what actually happened during my surgery and what they found while they were there.
“She had a cystectomy and some polyps removed. It looks like they were planning to have to remove one of her tubes but ended up not needing to do that.”
Honestly, I’d prepared myself for the worst, telling myself if they had to take the tube, it was really best for my body in the longterm, but I have to admit I was relieved to hear I still had all of my parts.
Another very sweet nurse arrived and wheeled me to a new room, where I got to put on cool and very sexy mesh underwear and sit in a reclining chair and drink apple juice.
This was also when I got to be reunited with Lars. We stayed in their for another hour or so while I slowly gained enough strength back in my body and brain to try to pee, finally.
By this time, I had a new nurse and she was a rotten, old corn dawg. She was snippy and impatient and made me want to get out of there as quickly as possible.
All in all, it wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. It was scary as shit, but once it was done and everything was okay – I was so glad to have it behind me.
I’m on my 3rd day of recovery and am doing pretty well. I stopped taking the narcotics they gave me yesterday because they were making me feel blergy and I’ve felt much better since then. I’m definitely sore and slow, but I’m puttering around like a champ now.
Mostly, I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve never been so tired in my entire life. I sleep for hours, wake up for a few and sleep again and I never quite feel like it’s enough. I know from sleeping through most of an episode of Dr. Oz (or Dr. Fucker as I like to call him) this morning that your body does all of it’s best rejuvenating, detoxifying, etc… while you’re asleep – so, I’m just letting my body do it’s thing.
Speaking of which… snoooooorrrrrrre
“Why haven’t you had kids?”/ “Why don’t you shut up?”
As a 38 year-old woman who has been in a monogamous relationship for more than a decade the question I’m most often asked by friends, acquaintances and yes, even total strangers is, “Why haven’t you had kids?”
After being asked this I stare at them with a bewildered, slightly pissy-diarrhea-stomach expression followed by a quick pivot to one of my three canned responses:
Sincere: “Gee, blah. It just hasn’t happened. Maybe someday. We’ll see.”
Evasive: “Ew. Gross. Why would I want those?”
Truculent: “I had some. They died.”
It’s perfectly normal to wonder why a loving couple hasn’t reproduced, but vocalizing your humdrum curiosity is almost always unwanted and here’s why:
It’s none of your business. Other people’s wombs, their junk… they ain’t your bidness. Whether a couple is child-free by choice or by circumstance, they probably don’t want to discuss it with you. If they do, be assured that THEY will bring it up.
Couples who choose not to have children often feel judged by breeders and are probably very sick of having to justify their choices. Maybe they never want kids… maybe they want them later…maybe they’ll change their minds and maybe they won’t. Again – it’s not your business. Really.
For couples who struggle with infertility or miscarriages being asked something as innocent as, “so, why haven’t you guys had kids?” can be devastating.
Your curiosity should not outweigh your sensitivity and intuition.
Use your Sherlock Holmes-like power of perception to deduce – oh, look it’s a longterm couple and they’re getting older. They don’t have children. I’ll bet they either don’t want them are can’t have them.
But, use your John Watson heart-parts to keep you from cramming your foot in your mouth. Goodness, I bet if they can’t have them they’ll be delighted to talk to me about it. I’m sure they love it when people pry into their most personal busine… oh, no. Wait. I bet they don’t like that. Oh well, maybe I’ll just listen and if they want to talk about it or bring it up, they will.
…mic drop.
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I’m a person, not a robot
I’m a social butterfly with social anxiety
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