I got beads to celebrate my upcoming surgery. March 15th! It’s not JUST a boob job. There’s also gonna be some fat and skin removal and a tummy tuck scar revision. But also… BOOBS!
Do I throw my own boob party or is it like a bachelorette thing? I’m thinking June.
1) New highlight moment:
Backstory – I always preorder my deli meat so i don’t have to wait in line to get it cut. Also, I’m wearing capris to show off my sweet goomba tattoo.
*I Grab my ham from deli fridge*
Deli guy: “Are you picking up for Roberta?”
“No,” *indicates ham* “I got mine.”
Deli guy: *100% talking to my goomba (its obvious, its my ankle, approximately 5 feet below my eyes):* “You’re [Mrs C]?”
“Yes. Thank you”
Deli Guy: *Still starring down my goomba* Cool
Goomba basically got cat-called, yall! Mr C better watch out. Soon all the young nerds will be torn on whether to look at my new boobs or my sweet 8-bit tattoo.
Also, Roberta is a terrible name. Surely, Roberta would not sport such a cool gem as this.
EDITED FOR CLARIFICATION: He called me by my name, not “Mrs C.” No, he did not recognize me from my blog. No one reads this shit, especially not the guy from the deli down the street. He probably sees my name on online orders all the time from my deli meat and picking up subs for Mr. C so was just associating a face (actually a goomba) with a name.
2) I live in a swamp. People might not know it’s a swamp because it’s highly developed with nice housing, but dude, you live in a swamp. So the wet areas are really wet. This leads to swarms of frogs. Frogs singing in such loud masses that it sounds like a summer song. I’ve only ever heard this in Florida — Specifically, from the roof of the condominium we have stayed at every year since I was conscious of time. The frogs in the undeveloped lot across the street that was there when I was little. So hearing them now makes me a little nostalgic for my mom. Us going up to the 16th floor to look at the ocean and the lights and hearing the song of the frogs. It’s bittersweet.
3) My second surgery is in less than TWO WEEKS!
4) I recently found myself with a few hours shooting the breeze with a lawyer. Vaccines came up, of course. You go through the “do you want me to wear a mask, I’m vaccinated, but if it’ll make you more comfortable” — usually because I’m wearing a mask. They’re required at work and I wear them to the store and stuff. So we were discussing how hard it was to get the vaccine when it first came out and we were both in the “give me that shit” category. Now of course a lot of people are antivax. Those people suck. Good thing you weren’t around when we needed to eradicate polio.
Tangent, sorry.
So he was curious how my fellow engineers reacted to being required to have the vaccine. (We work government contracts in this city, so it was a requirement until some court shit postponed it). I told him everyone I knew was all for it! We’re engineers. We think logically, not emotionally (“which is why you don’t like us on your jurys”). We work with SMEs all the time. Subject Matter Experts. We are well aware and taught that some people know way more about this thing that you can ever hope to know. A lot of us become SMEs in our career. We wrote the damn program and were on it from its conception. You’re the SME. Just like my lawyer is my law SME. I don’t know shit about the law, so I pay him. So when the engineers were told by a shit ton of medical SMEs that we better get the vaccine — we didn’t worry and hem and haw. They know more than I ever could about it. The people I immediately work with felt the same. We were gunning to get that shit in our arms LOL
Be smart. Listen to the SME. Doesn’t make you a sheep. A sheep can’t tell who the SME is. I’ll give you a hint, the SME didn’t get their degree from youtube.
5) This shit is fucking delicious:
Ascent Recovery Water. I was in Sprouts looking for something low carb to drink as I was thirsty. Grabbed this watermelon water. Holy shit. It’s fucking delicious. Tons of flavor! And after I drank it I was looking over the bottle — 20 grams of protein! What? It has whey in it. But it was crystal clear pink water. Is this sorcery? Why is sorcery always so expensive!? If this was affordable, I’d drink them daily for sure!
Mr C fears confrontation. I’m not sure if he fears it, or it’s just too awkward from him — but he doesn’t confront. He has me to confront. I do not fear confrontation. I enjoy it. I take pride in it as a skill. Therefore, whenever Mr C wants to know whats going on, or pwn someone who’s trying to rip us off, he just calls on me. Cause, fuck it, I’m in.
So Friday, Mr C calls out (we’re working from home) that someone’s taking pictures of our house. “What do you mean taking pictures of our house?”
“They’ve parked in the driveway and are walking around taking pictures of our house.”
“You want me to see why?”
“I thought you’d be interested.”
“Do I have time to change out of my PJ pants?”
I’m very possessive of our property. I don’t know if it’s because I like having property or what. I just don’t like people on my property without my permission. Maybe I just like that it’s mine. Maybe I’m the old man yelling “get off my lawn!” Maybe you look shady as fuck even if you weren’t taking photos of my house.
It was gutter people. They were making an estimate on cleaning our gutters. They cool. I got their card. (Gutter Pro sent them — but Gutter Pro works like a pimp pimpin out gutter cleaning whores. I’m serious. You just sign up and say “I’ll clean gutters” and they start sending you addresses. It’s terrible. Mostly they send people ill equipped to do a large two story and we get turned down — if they show at all. I never said they were good pimps.) So Mr owner of “Chainz” (I told you these people looked sketch as all hell) was taking photos to justify a higher price for the job.
The roof was too slick for them to finish today but I asked Mr Chainz’s handyman if he could fix our coat closet doors too. Cause dude, I need a handyman. He’s gonna give me an estimate when he comes back for the gutters.
Anyway, I hate that if there’s ever a bump in the night, I’m gonna be the one investigating. I always wanted to date the protective type. The guys who were at least as big as me. I’ve got 100lbs on Mr C. Dammit cute nerds.
I wish more people used their cameras in work meetings. I’d like a face to associate with a name. So I tend to turn my camera on a lot more than other people. I don’t get dressed — I’m still in a tank top and compression sleeves and a compression binder — but I throw on a cardigan and turn my camera on.
Today we were about to have a meeting with the customer so my manager wanted to play around with her settings. I decided to do the same. I finally found the blur background (I had never looked for it). I work in the spare room and so my background is actually a lovely piece of art I made myself that is covered in paper succulents and says “Relax.”
It’s perfect for when this was a guest room. However, it’s a little too on-the-nose to my work ethic for work purposes. So Now it’s blurred. Nice.
Now… I also found an option to “soften my appearance.” Now, I do hate the weighty standards and expectations that Photoshop and filters have brought to everyones body images. I, myself, hardly ever wear makeup and don’t touch up my photos (unless it’s going on a Christmas card and there was broccoli in my teeth). BUT. That said… this setting makes my camera not show every flaw in my 39-year-old, sun damaged, PCOS-affected, stressed-picked-at skin. I look younger. I look like I have makeup on. I look like I didn’t just roll out of bed and walk in here.
I cranked that shit to 75%
Sorry, not sorry.
So today, while being a terrible person and looking at Facebook on my phone instead of better things, I saw Misha Collins post about “Angel Numbers” — cause yesterday was Twos-day. 2/22/22 (in American notation). So he posted a number to text for your angel. Well, im in a funk so I texted it.
“Hello Angel Number, I’m very depressed and worried about my job and lack of contributions, knowledge, and motivation. I think I’m not good enough to do it and I don’t have that drive to dive i and figure it out. And the upcoming court mediation Friday is gonna be a cluster fuck. If I get the max, I won’t recoup 10% of my losses and they’re no offering the max even. C’est la vie.”
Then it asked me if I was a Russian bot and I kept texting cause I got shit to say.
“I am, in fact, not a Russian bot. Just a down in the dumps software engineer. I feel so screwed. I had a car accident that caused me to miss almost a year of work so I lost the job I liked and about 80k. When I got the OK to go back to work, I got put on a shitty contract. I hated it so I left for this job in November. But now I feel woefully unqualified and my depressive instinct is to shut down rather that pick up the reigns. Now we’re finally trying to settle with insurance over 2 years later and they’re offering 7k. No, thats not a typo. They’re offering 10% of my missed wages. AND I have to pay back for medical care, disability benefits, taxes, and of course the lawyer get 40%. I’m getting fucked!”
“I wish I could focus on the good stuff in my life. I’m finally getting plastic surgery to spiff up after massive weight loss. The second surgery is set for March 15th. I wish my mom could see! But oh yeah, she died of COVID before there was a vaccine. “
“I miss my momma and I hate my job. I’m crying to a text number dammit.”
“Mustn’t cry during work hours. At least I finally got my super sweet goomba tattoo.”
“Oh and no worries, I’m not a suicide risk. I have a psychiatrist and I take Valium PLUS 3, yes 3 antidepressants. And I have an awesome husband and cat. Oh yeah, the cats in stage 3 kidney failure with a heart murmur. When the cat goes, I’m gonna lose it.”
“I hope I can get his tattoo before he dies. He’s like my little familiar soul cat, At one my, my soul reason to live was that cat. He kept me going. I want his portrait.”
“Look at my handsome Jack!”
“I want Megan Massacre in New York to do it but she’s crazy famous and I’m in Alabama. My next choice is Devon Greig who did this sweet goomba on me. “
“*sigh* Thanks for listening, Angel Number.”
1) Chicken bologna has 4 carbs per slice. Beef bologna has less than 1 carb per slice. What the fuck are they putting in that chicken bologna?
2) Jack had his vet visit for vaccinations and kidney check up on Friday. They took him back to get blood and returned with one tech holding him and another scrunching his neck while he growled like a feral. “I’ll take that. Sorry.” LOL Then they found a heart murmur. Booo. So they wanted to get a blood pressure. The vet wanted them to take him back and the poor tech was like, can we do it in here? He’s calm with his mother. Again, sorry yall. So I held him while they did everything else. His blood pressure was fine. His kidney levels are, as expected, still stage 3 failure but have improved by like .01. And he hasn’t lost any weight. So good on that front!
Unfortunately she said cats don’t usually show signs of heart trouble. And the sign of a heart murmur is usually just finding them suddenly dead. Well, can’t fault them for holding back. So thats nice. Now he has kidney failure and a heart problem. Nothing to be done for the heart problem since his blood pressure was fine. Oh and they are transitioning him from the kidney pills to a power you mix in his food. Nice! He still has the liquid to take, but now we dont have to wrestle with pills twice a day. Which will be great when I’m recovering from surgery…
3) I had my pre-op on Friday! Breasts are paid for and scheduled for march 15th. I’m having the side and back fat removed and a lift with implants. They’re also gonna do a revision to my tummy tuck to get more skin now that my swelling has gone down so much. Yay! I’m more excited since I got to REALLY sit down and talk about size with the nurse. They’re gonna order multiple implants (high profile, smooth silicone gummy implants). I’m asking to be around a DD but not bigger as I don’t want shopping for bras to be difficult. She assured me they’ll try different sizes and the whole team of nurses and the professional plastic surgeon will all weigh in on what looks best. So I feel more relaxed about it.
She also gave me one of their bras (you have to buy your own but they had a few) to show me what to get. I thought my current zip fronts were fine but they’re not because they’re flattering and push your boobs together. Apparently we don’t want that. We want the implants exactly where the doctor put them. So the bra she gave me has absolutely no support. Why ever wear it? So I ordered two more of them so I’ll have 3 total.
I’m gonna have drain(s?) again. UGH.
4) Jack wasn’t the only one getting vaccinations Friday. I got my Covid booster shot. Woot!
I got my surgical drain out today! After exactly 2.5 months. I was so excited when they called (to tell me they could take it out today) that I rushed out the door and forgot all my paperwork! I don’t have tubes coming out of my pubic area! Like, if I have to go to the bathroom, I can just pull down my pants and not be careful about it. And I can pull them back up without making sure to tuck bulbs and tubing just right. There’s no bulge in my shirt. I can wear real non-stretchy pants again! (Downside: I have to wear real pants again). Happy Valentines to ME.
First, Backstory: I live on an acre of land on a main road. Back in the 20’s — the 1920s, not these shithole ones — a neighborhood was planned. There would be a neighborhood with 10 large houses fronting the road at the entry. These 10 plots of land were mapped and sold. The neighborhood never came to be. Eventually the road access was even merged into Ricky’s plot. So there were just 6 of us in a row with lovely houses and forest for miles behind us and in front of us.
Well, where we live is quickly expanding so they decided to buy that land behind us and put in a neighborhood. Of course we’re not a part of it — fuck your HOA. But their backyards back right up to ours. We lost all that beautiful forest and privacy. Now our backyard backs up to someone else’s backyard. C’est la vie. Now you’re caught up.
Today, I search for their neighborhood on Facebook. They had a Facebook page! I immediately applied to join and explained the situation. They let me in and I commented on posts and got likes and it was nice. I then made an introductory post explaining the history of how they used to be neighborhood ABC like us, but now they’re neighborhood XYZ and welcome to the area! I got a bunch of likes and some comments. I texted my fellow neighbors that they should join too! How neighborly!
Then comments were turned off on my post. Weird. Then they made the group unsearchable on Facebook. That’s not gonna help your neighbors find you. Then a few hours later, I look and I’ve been booted. BOOTED.
What the fucking fuck? Motherfuckers. I’m hurt. Like irrationally hurt. I thought we had a neighborly thing going and they don’t want me in their neighborhood? Motherfuckers, I was here first. YOU TOOK MY TREES YOU SONS OF BITCHES.
So now I’m like, irrationally hurt. I’m depressed about it. (Granted, everything makes me depressed because I’m always on the cusp of collapse into the darkness — but still). I’m hurt.
Fuck you and your whole neighborhood. Fall in a sinkhole, you bitches!
Am I allowed to hold one admins actions against a whole neighborhood?
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UPDATE: The Next Day
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This was in my mailbox today!
For REAL. What the hell kind of response is this to someone joining your facebook group? It’s trespassing! And technically a felony because they messed with my mail box. Was this some weird midnight black op to put it in there unseen? Who does this? What the fucking fuck? What kind of response is this to a hello from your neighbor? THIS IS INSANE.
I saw the plastic surgeon on Monday about doing my breasts in March. He thought breasts could be done for sure, but he also wants to do a scar revision on my stomach. Not because the scar is bad, but because there’s more skin he can get and tighten even more now that my swellings down. Nice. I also asked about getting all the side-boob fat. You know, the fat that you shove in your bra cause your boobs are more like a blob than a perky magazine chick in reality. He said he could totally get that, but there’d be a scar. OK. Have you seen me? I’m up to, like, 4 feet of scarring at this point.
I also asked him about the overhang on my elbows. He tried to address it with lipo, but it’s not a fat problem, it’s a skin problem. The skin from my shoulder to my elbow is just too long after losing weight. He was hesitant about that one. He said he’d consult with his peer and see what he thought. So they took lots of pictures. But the good news was — he said he wanted my last drain out this week! It was still draining too much but he said he didn’t care, he wanted it out this week. It’s only been 2 and a half fucking months. THANK GOD.
LIARS! Fucking Liars! We made an appointment for Friday to pull that last god damned drain. I went in and did it get pulled? No, it did not. Because for some reason, on Wednesday it decided to start shooting up in drainage. It was 80ml on Thursday. Yeah… Not the 15 they want or even the 40 it was when they pulled the other. So the nurse went to talk to the surgeon and he said nope, give it the weekend and call them on Monday with an update. Because at those levels, they’d need to aspirate fluid every other day and every time they do that you risk infection. FUCK.
Yall, I am not exaggerating that I left that office utterly defeated. I wanted to get a krispy kreme donut and cry and spend the day in bed. For real real. I settled for going to the store and buying ALL the keto snacks and working my damn job while eating chocolate.
But wait! In my extreme darkness, I forgot to ask the scheduler about the breast surgery. They never got back to me after Monday. She’s been holding March 15th for me. He’s booking in May right now, so if I can’t do March I have to wait till Fall. That’s because May is not enough time to heal before my pool opens. Well, they just hadn’t got back to me yet — but he’s totally cool with it. Boobs, side boob, and arm and stomach touch ups — all a go for March 15th. I even have my preop appointment scheduled for this Friday. Woot.
It’s definitely a woot. And I know I want my breasts done. However, this surgery I’m much much more anxious about than the last. First, with the revisions, how bad is the recovery going to be? I know breasts are an “easy” recovery, but he’s doing more to my arms and stomach too. Also, my arm scars aren’t that great. So hows this new scar in a whole new place on my arm gonna look? Is it worth it? I think it is but you never know because hind sight is 20/20 and foresight is fucking blind.
Also size. I’ve been sticking to a D or double D. I want to be big but not hard to shop for bras big. Is that too big? Mr C pushed for me to clarify DD because he wants me to go as big as I’m comfortable going. I’m fine with some DDs, but some peoples DDs are way bigger than others. How do I know whats in this guys head when I say DD? I dont want boobs so big that you can’t see my new flat stomach…
I’m scared. And I still have a fucking drain in. UGH.
So I’ll be 40 this year. I’m cool with it. The older I am, the closer to retirement I am! Also, I’m happy with where I am in my life. Good husband, decent career, great credit score, own a house with a pool, good friends, decent family relationships, fucking awesome cat. So I don’t think I’m having a mid-life crisis. I’m just making a lot of changes.
New arms, new stomach, new boobs (all through drastic plastic surgeries) — and some fucking sweet tattoos. Like full in on the new bod and tattoos. I’m getting a sleeve, yall. We’re all-in here. And this was somewhat brought on by my turning 40.
It’s like dude, I’m getting old — if not now, then when? And who’s to tell me no? And why not? Like, bitch I’m 40, what say do you have in my life? Career? I can cover the tats if it’s a big deal or an interview. Long sleeves and pants — check. Husband? He hasn’t objected. In fact he’s pretty jazzed about the boobs. Family? Meh, mom was the only one who would have had any weight, and well, we know how 2020 took her out. Friends? Why would a friend object? I hope I don’t choose friends so badly.
So yeah, I’m halfway through this bullshit we call life. I think I’m doing OK at it. I feel like 40 brings a new freedom. Is that a mid-life crisis or mid-life catharsis? I’m not trying to regain my youth — fuck that, my 20s were a shit show. So was my youth. Fuck that shit. It’s more like: now I have permission. It’s a shame I don’t have hair I could dye amazing colors. I’m too hot-natured for wigs as an alternative. Gonna have to put all the color in the sleeve.