Friday, May 28, 2010

BYOC - Bring Your Own Craziness...

BYOC - here we go again!  A couple of questions to get to know each other better.  Copy and paste into your own blog if you want to play!

1.  If you could be a flower, which one would it be and why?

** I have to say a lily.  I'm kind of a green thumb and have a million lilies in my yard and some have 20 blooms on each plant. The color is amazing.

2.  Which Sex and The City Character do you most relate to? (Thanks Jenny)

** This is a hard one for me...because I see a little bit of me in all of them.  But I love Carrie (Sarah JP)...her ability to wear the oddest things and look hot in them is how I want to be....that confident.

3.  If you had a crystal ball or could know one thing about the future - what would it be?

**  God this is hard.  Why do I pick such hard questions?  I guess I'd want to know how long I have left - I think that would guarantee I would never take a day for granted though I try not to anyway. 

4.  What's your biggest fear in your weight loss journey?

**  That I'll never get to goal and when I do - I'll have to white knuckle it to stay there because it may be unrealistic....*sigh*

5.  Repeat question:  Whose blog or comment spoke to you the most this week and why?

**  Comments hands down were those I received about my post yet again on my father.  I swear to God I have theee BEST followers in blog land.  Your comments speak to me on so many levels...I can't even put it into words.

Have a great, safe holiday weekend!  And watch for my very first vlog with my BFF Jennifer.  Drazil shall finally be revealed...unless I chicken out!

Love you all.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I'm not strong enough to keep moving mountains...

Hello buddies!

I am happy to report I’m still going apeshit over exercising and eating right. I skipped yesterday’s workout so I could give my legs a break after doing 7.5 miles in heat indexes over 100. Tonight I will do a 5k and Thursday and Friday I’ll do 4 to 5 miles before I go see Jenny. Sheniqua WILL get off my ass one way or another. She’s a nasty ho and lately I hate her more than usual. It’s summer here – and I love to live in bikinis. That is not to say I should or that I don’t scare anyone off who catches a glimpse of me in one BUT it does mean I’ve been wearing them lately which forces me to observe the damage I did over the winter. It ain’t pretty folks. I put on a string bikini this weekend and at one point lost the string in between my side fat rolls. I’m not kidding. Sick. I have incredibly flabby flanks – either I never noticed them before my tummy tuck or they’ve gotten bigger due to the lipo I had….who knows…they are there and they are getting big enough to name. Sheniqua has always wanted friends – and she’s got ‘em now. But not for long…

My eating has been pretty stellar. I’m staying way under 1000 cals a day and burning anywhere from 500-800 depending on how far I run/walk. Last night I did some volunteer work at school and all I had for supper was bread. Me and the Pillsbury Dough Boy are tight. I’m his Pillsbury Dough Girl. We’re cool like that. I could live on bread. Like for real.

I had an issue last night and it knocked me on my ass. More than I’d like to admit. I had a literal fight in my own head with myself (I’ve admitted I’m crazy before so this shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone). I actually asked myself, “What would my blog buddies do/say?” I did things I’m not proud of….all in the name of something that doesn’t even exist. A relationship that is only in my fantasies. But for one moment I thought I had it – and I did everything but move mountains to make it exist for longer than a moment….and for what? I really don’t know. He’s still just a man who can’t be the father I need and want. And I’m still angry and saddened at the core of me – no matter how much I pretend I’m not.

I need to admit that I am damaged – probably forever – and I have a right to be. I am angry that due to being bedridden from depression I was forced to change, go through therapy, find my way, figure out my worth, and go on living – and he was not. He gets to live just like always. He gets to take a pill and say he’s better than he was 20 years ago when I needed him most. He gets to pretend I don’t need him now because I’m 35. He gets to say I don’t know any better, I was never taught, this is who I am, take it or leave it. He gets to say I love you but I can’t show you.

And I either accept it or lose the little part of him I have.

I either learn to be grateful he even speaks to my kids – or lose those few words every couple of weeks completely.

I guess I am most angry he isn’t pissed or saddened that he has nothing with me. How does he see me and not feel stabbed in the heart like I do when I see him?

I read a quote in blogland yesterday that said….

• Carrying around unforgiveness in your heart is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die from it.

I feel like I drink more poison each time I see him or don’t see him. And he doesn’t even notice I’m dying. And it’s a choice to not see me dying – because he isn’t blind. I’m mad he makes that choice. I’m mad I even care when my life is so full in so many other ways. I’m mad I even feel the need to blog about it. I’m mad I made you guys read this. I’m mad I haven’t found a way to make peace with this….at 35 effing years old.


I am carrying this hurt for a reason. There is a payoff….and it’s not cuz it gives me something to write about. I have to figure out how to let go….or I’ll lose more of myself than I’m capable of giving.

I mean really – let’s face it – I’ve given him all of me over the course of my lifetime and now given him a son-in-law and two beautiful granddaughters to boot….and it’s still not enough to force a change. We kind of had an unspoken connection under everything as I grew up…a sort of understanding that he couldn’t be what I needed and I could allow that and love him even more in spite of that.

Now – things are worse. And I didn’t expect these feelings – to come back so strong or worse at 35.

As a kid I was too young to understand him so I was just sad. I went out of my way to make him see me or talk to me or notice me. I thought it was my fault. I wasn’t good enough.

As an adult I am old enough to understand him so I am just angry. I have stopped trying to make him see me, I don’t talk to him, I try not to notice him…and he makes it easy. It is not my fault. And I am good enough.

I’ve just got to find a way to believe those words….cuz frankly…I’m done moving mountains – it’s too damn exhausting.

And you guys have got to be sick of reading this crap…….

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

If the coat fits......hell....try it on.

Ugh – no one here gets it..

….I mean really gets it.

What being overweight does to your head. What having boobs the size of the Titanic does to your mind. What it takes to overcome what it’s done to your brain once you think you’ve lost the weight and kept it off.

No, I have not been overweight my whole life – that was brought on and continued by yours truly with pregnancy. I did however, have HUGE boobs most of my life and having them changed me in every way. In high school I could beat anyone at the 100m dash – even won track titles doing it…but stopped the day a guy I had a crush on said something about how could I see when my boobs were hitting me in the eyes while I ran?

I wore huge clothing – thinking I could hide my boobs so no one would make fun of me. I endured constant jokes about the size of my tatas because well – kids are cruel. I refused to wear certain clothes or go swimming because of them. I shopped in plus sizes for shirts and could never find matching pants in the size I needed. I bought my wedding dress in a size 20 and they had to alter the waist to a size 8. Instead of shopping for my dream gown – I shopped for wedding dresses that made my boobs look normal instead of ginormous. I wasn’t me – I was the girl with the big boobs. It became my identity.

So….I chopped them off (well, the doc did) and I lost my pregnancy weight. After that I even paid out of pocket to have another doctor take off my hanging skin – because I became the girl who got healthy but hid in her clothes still due to her hanging skin. No tucking in shirts, no fitted clothes. No way – so the tummy tuck ensued…..and now I wear bikinis like I own nothing else – because my scars and stretch marks are who I am. They are my journey marks.

I came from a size 16, 226 lbs (I'm only 5'3") and once E boobs – and on a good day I’m 161, size 7/8 and a C boob – and this weekend I even bought a size small shirt.

Unfortunately – I do not see this. I see the old me. And today I showed that old me to everyone else here and I felt embarrassed about it.

Our company ordered clothes from a catalog – the kind you can’t see or try on before you order them. I ordered a fleece jacket and a vest. I like jackets bigger you know. Everything in me was going to write down 2x when I ordered but I didn’t.

I ordered a 1x jacket and a large vest....scared to death they'd both be too small.

Today they came in. We all tried on our clothes in front of each other. I put on the jacket and it’s everything I wanted it to be. Translation = I can hide in it and no one would know what size I am underneath.

Four other women standing there. One said, “that looks ridiculous”. Other said, “that is huge on you, you’re swimming in that.” Other said, “why on earth would you order that size?” Other said, “you should never have ordered anything bigger than a medium.”

I stood and argued. Yup – argued.

I said, “It’ll be winter, I’ll have big sweaters under this. I like my coats big. This is what size I am. I think it fits just right.”

They just shook their heads. Like they’re mad at me because I can’t see the size I really am.

The whole experience made me sad and angry really. Why did I do all this work – pay all this money – endure multiple surgeries – if I wasn’t going to let myself see the outcome? If I wasn’t going to take pride in my work? If I wasn’t going to look in the mirror and see what everyone else sees?

It’s just not that simple. Is it?

You all get it if you’ve endured the same fears and faced the same weight loss world I did. I know you do.

But unless you’ve come from that place….you just can’t get it. And you can’t understand that it’s not like flipping a switch and voila! – you see all the changes you’ve made. The memories, the fear, the things said to me – some of those things will stay with me forever. They make me who I am. They were what spurred me on in my journey some days.

Other things like realizing what size I am? Well that’ll come – all in due time.

Until then – they can all kiss my fat baby’s ass….cuz they haven’t been there. Instead of rolling their eyes at me like I’m some crazy person – they should try a little compassion, a little understanding….

Or they should try on my HUGE (in their minds) coat….it will probably fit them just right.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Jiggly parts, assless chaps and pee holding...

Hello my lovely little turkey bones!

It’s another list-y day!

1. I, Draz, am completely aware that May is almost over and at the beginning of May I was all “Bring on May, I’ll kick its ass, etc etc.”…..and I am also completely aware that I singlehandedly pissed another 20 or so days away before I got my ass in gear BUT it’s in gear. That’s what matters right? On Friday I did a 5k and some kickboxing, on Saturday I did the treadmill and on Sunday I did 3.5 miles outside in 90 degree weather. I haven’t worked out in over a month and my “jiggly parts” are bigger to prove it…but not for long.

2. Since I started working out again on Friday – which is only 1 – 2 – 3 days ago I have gained 6 pounds. Yup – scale is up 6 pounds. It makes me laugh and throw a temper tantrum at the same time. No way on earth did I gain that much in 3 days so it’s not fat but I thought I’d include this to prove to everyone that when you start working out your muscles burst and then they retain water to heal themselves. AND to prove that when I say I still swell 2 years after my tummy tuck – I’m not lying. My stomach is totally swelled today…I could pass for a couple months pregnant if my clothes weren’t hiding it so well. It sure does come in handy at the supermarket though….everyone is opening doors for me and lifting things….for the poor pregnant lady who is waddling you know.

3. I got up at the buttcrack of dawn today – no lie – 4:45AM my little bloggers – TO EXERCISE. Did you read that? I said 4:45AM!? Like morning. Like not at night. Like still dark out morning. Like carry my cell phone with me cuz the boogie man could still be out it’s so early.

I did another 3.5 miles and already at 5am it was 80 degrees. I plan to do another 3.5 tonight for a 7 mile day – even though right now it’s close to 100 degrees. I LOVE heat and love running in it. If I’m going to exercise I want to sweat and today that’ll happen no problem. Sexy I know.

4. I went to a Harley store this weekend and have only proven to myself once again that I love leather and men and tattoos and motorcyles and tattooed men in leather on motorcycles. I went home and got out my assless chaps – it is riding weather and I’m never happier than on the back of our motorcycle with my arms around my husband!

5. I get to see Jennifer my best friend this weekend and I’m super excited. Let the laughter begin I tell you! Jenny - are you ready?

6. Now that I’m back to being healthy I’m also back to drinking water like a fish. It is 2pm – I have held in my pee until now. All day long I have heard Explosive Man followed by Man that takes so long in there people think he’s dead followed by Martha Stewart whose poo smells like the perfume she bathes in – and so I have squeezed my little muscles so tight in trying to hold my pee in that I have a headache and the makings of a 6 pack vagina…..

I can no longer do it. I must put on my warrior outfit and enter the bathroom. It must be done. Wish me luck. If you never hear from me again you know what happened. Do not come looking for me. You will not survive. Please just put a hit out on Explosive Man.

Thank you.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Helping a sister out....Curvas Peligrozas

Hi everyone - just popping in cuz I was reading a new BYOC and realized the woman behind this blog will be getting banded soon and needs some followers and lap-band support specifically!  Check her out if you want and tell her Drazzee sent you!

Love you all!

BYOC - Bring Your Own Craziness...

And boy don't we all need a little crazy?  I know I do....after my somber serious posts the last couple days....

So here we go - 5 questions - funny and serious - to get to know each other better!  Join in if you dare!

1.  If you had 3 wishes what would they be and why?  (you can't wish for more wishes or money!)(Thanks Steph)

* I'm pretty sure I'd have to wish for a cure for cancer and depression.  Two diseases I could easily have lived without seeing in person.  I'd also wish that my children and husband outlive me because I'm not sure I could handle watching them leave this world before me.  I'd wish that illegal drugs didn't exist....too many families lose their sons and daughters to addictions and successful rehab is rare.

2.  If you had all the money in the world and perfect circumstances - how many children would you have and what sex?

*I currently have two girls.  In a perfect world - I'd have one more - and it'd be a boy.

3.  Have you ever faked it?  (Because I need to laugh...feel free to skip this one if it's too personal.)

*Nope - never.  Happens every time unless I give him a free pass.  YAY ME!

4.  What movie character do you think you look like?

* one...I have never been told I look like anyone in the movies.  Dang it! 

5.  Repeat question.  Which blog or comment spoke to you or stuck with you this week and why?

* Blog - Joey and Sandy and my best friend Jenny's bandiversary pic blog
* Comments - all mine - on my depression blogs this week....I'll carry them with me forever.

Love you ALL!

Thursday, May 20, 2010

What if my kids were fat and ugly?

Strange question you think?

A little back story for you to clear things up.

I am going on my first vacation for longer than 2 days this year…to meet family I didn’t know existed….on my husband’s side. His whole family from here where we live now is going with us. Even though my husband and I have been together nearly 20 years I’ve never met most of his relatives because they live about 16 hours away…in Rosebud’s vicinity (Tessierose in blogland).

Now….just because I have not met these people does not mean no one else has. My husband’s mother has visited them through the years. She knows them all. I now know them through Facebook. It’s been really fun getting to know them before I actually meet them. Kinda like you guys before I meet you in Chicago! I’m completely just as nervous!

Okay – back to ugly kids.

Last night at my house….the in-laws arrive. We begin talking about our upcoming trip. I am super excited. I say:

“I’m excited to meet ________. She has kids the same ages as mine.”

The mother-in-law replied with this. Out loud. She repeated it three times.  Everyone heard her.

“Her kids are fat and ugly.” And then she followed it up with a nasty face to boot.

Let me just say the woman who made that statement is well over 300 pounds and doesn’t move around a whole lot.

The more I think about this comment the more angry I become. Those kids are active – their mom posts what they do all the time. They are also good kids – not in trouble. They are also sweet – they do nice things all the time.

Do you think that matters at all to my MIL? Nope – fat and ugly. Almost like how could I be excited to meet them when they are fat and ugly? Almost like why bother? Almost like those kids are somehow less than – simply because of outward appearance.

Ugh. I don’t understand words like that coming out of a grandmother and mother. I just don’t.

It makes me wonder what she said about me when I waddled around at 226 pounds. I must have been the fat and ugly woman her son married.

And God forbid what if her granddaughters – my daughters – had turned out “fat and ugly” by her definition?




Today I carry a little less....

Ahhhh…..feel the love. That’s how I feel after yesterday’s heart-wrenching post. I feel like I have one big bubble of bloggie love wrapped around me…and it feels good. I’d love to say thank you – and I will and I am – but thank you doesn’t seem to cover what I feel from your responses on a subject that has changed my life. But thank you.

A commenter wondered where my subject was coming from – meaning was I falling again – into the black hole? I’m happy to say I’m all good – no falling here….it’s just a post I’ve felt the need to write for a long time.

Others of you commented that you have been the caretakers of someone going through depression and there’s only one word you can feel when you’re that person and it’s helpless. I do not think any one person or thing – except meds – can bring you out of a bedridden depression. This is my opinion for me. I had people – begging me to live, willing to rip me from the black hole, a husband, a great job – a seemingly perfect life – and yet I wanted to die. There was nothing wrong physically – except a chemical imbalance. It’s like a diabetic needing insulin – I needed serotonin. I knew I had everything to live for – but my body didn’t give a shit. That may be the worst part – you know you “shouldn’t” feel this way – but you can’t stop it. You feel selfish and ungrateful for wanting to die……but you can’t shake it.

While I don’t think anyone can fix this problem – there is something you can do. You take them to a professional. You don’t screw around. You don’t assume they’ll get better in a few days. You drag them out of the hole… someone who can fix it. If let go – the progression from depressed to bedridden to suicidal comes fast. And my friends – meds take a good two weeks to kick in… for two weeks I couldn’t be trusted to be left alone.

Imagine the relief when you hear that someone gave you meds that will stop this pain – and then the realization that you will feel no relief from those meds for 14 days. My first thought when I heard that was, “No problem - I’ll be dead by then.”

While I can always feel better by eating better and working out – 15 years later I take a daily med. It is the lowest dose possible but it steadies me. I have tried three times to go off it – and within two weeks – I get the “feeling”. Those of you who’ve gone through this know what I mean. There is a feeling – and it is a warning….if you ignore it – you’ll be in the black hole so fast you won’t know what happened. If I ever get that warning – I fix it fast. I panic. The memories come flooding back and I get scared. I only get that feeling back if I dare to go off meds.

Meds saved my literal life and yet I hide the fact that I take them…probably because I’ve seen women here parade their Prozac around like it’s Tylenol and to me – it’s not a joke. Meds are not perfect though. There are side effects like constant exhaustion. And I don’t feel emotions 100%. As women I’m sure most of you cry…most women cry a lot – it is good and necessary. I do not. Meds don’t allow me to feel deep sadness nor deep joy. That is not to say I don’t get upset or am not happy – it’s just I feel everything about 85%-ish….and it’s a price I’ll gladly pay.

A doc once told me if a person tries to go off meds three times and it doesn’t work by then – it’s lifelong. That’s a hard pill to swallow – no pun intended. I struggle knowing I can’t live without help. I’m Superwoman remember? I struggle comparing my life to others because in my head my life is bliss – why then am I not okay? Why is the single mother with more problems than she can count across the street doing fine without meds? Why am I not strong enough? I guess I’m strong enough to ask for help. Still….I wish I didn’t need meds.

The times I went off were great – I felt real and alive and I felt profound, deep emotions every day…but something would happen. And sometimes it wasn’t even bad. Once it was my Grandmother dying of cancer and I took care of her until she died. Understandable. Another time I got pregnant. Happiest time of my life. Not understandable. My body couldn’t handle it though and I was back on meds or I’d have died with a child inside me had I let it go. Good or bad changes – depression knows no difference. It only knows triggers and chemical levels. To pretend I could fix this on my own….well that ain’t gonna happen – believe me – I’ve tried.

My biggest fear in this disease is the hereditary nature of it. Let’s face it – I have a brother and a father who have been down this road and need meds. I have an uncle who took his own life. I have this. My sister has this. I live in the fear I may have passed this on. And once you’ve been down this road – it is nearly impossible to watch someone else go through it.

When my sister went through hers and she’d sob for hours and literally only need to be held…..I did it…while I died inside and put my mind somewhere else to cope. I can’t see someone in depression. I can’t see the pain. Because it is mine too. Seeing it will make me remember – and I’ve blacked that out for a reason. I did what I could for my sister – but mostly – I told my mom what to do from afar. I couldn’t watch someone enter the black hole….she’d have taken me back in with her. So if my daughters ever suffer from this….well….I can’t even go there.

I’d like to say I’ll suck it up and be strong enough – but I don’t know that. This disease is powerful and once you’ve felt it – if you see it in someone else – all your mind can do is scream RUN RUN RUN!

I said before I’d take any physical disease before I’d wish this on anyone – and I meant it. Mental disease has come a long way but in a lot of families it is unchartered territory and it carries shame and embarrassment for parents that grew up long ago. It carries stigmas and words like nut house and crazy with it. It carries discrimination. And it has been minimalized by doctors who prescribe anti-depressants to any child 10 and over whose mother says they are a brat or any woman or man who comes in saying they are not feeling great about something. Depression is not a brat. It is not being upset. It is not even being sad.

When I laid in that bed, I never cried. I wasn’t sad. I was nothing. I felt nothing. Except the will to die to make the pain stop.

I live 15 years later – with a disease I’ve completely managed and most don’t’ even know I have – and a simple depression commercial can take me back in an instant. I turn them off. Don’t make me see “that feeling”. I’ll do anything not to remember. Including hiding the fact that I have this from everyone….because I was taught to and because remembering is just too painful.

Just one more thing – thank you again – to every single one of you for chipping away at the shame I built up about this disease. In my little head I know I bear no blame or shame….but I carry it just the same. Today I carry a little less….because of all of you.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

You can't hide me. I remain.

I’m going to write about something that most of my closest family members don’t even know. I have no idea why I feel the need to write it but I do.

I’ve talked about 15 years ago before. That’s when I got married, bought a new house, bought a new car, moved out of my parent’s home for the first time and got a new job – all within 6 months of each other.


Really happy. For a moment.

If you recall, my Uncle killed himself when I was 15. I was changed forever in that gunshot. Right after that I met my husband and I was rarely alone ever after that. I lived for my husband – through the grief of losing my Uncle – I lost myself and any identity I had. During our engagement my husband was gone for months in a semi – yet I lived with my parents – so again – I was never alone. I became a pro at masking my emotions. I laughed all day. I smiled at the appropriate times. Inside I was dying and every night I cried myself to sleep. I never knew why. I just couldn’t find peace within myself – though nothing was wrong.

The week after I got married my husband went on the road for two months. I was alone.  Really alone. In a big house. There was no one to fake happy for. And the desperation made its way out.

I saw a doctor who told me this much change in a person’s life should be over a 5 or 10 year span and I did it all in months. My body couldn’t take it even if it was GOOD change. Fine – sounded good to me. Give it time – here’s some Xanax in the meantime.

The next week I got the flu. I vaguely remember being so weak nurses carried me to my mom’s car from the clinic I worked in…what a way to start a new job. I didn’t know it then but I wouldn’t see that place again for a month. They all thought I had the flu still – and bad.

I never had the flu. My mom took me to her house and put me in her bed upstairs and for two solid weeks I didn’t get out of it but to pee. I didn’t eat. Nor did I sleep.

You see eating meant I would live…..and I didn’t want to live. Sleeping meant rest so I could wake up revived….and I didn’t want to wake up. I stared all day and night at a ceiling praying my body would die to cure the ache inside. I had full blown bedridden depression. Just like that – happiest time of my life – and I couldn’t even move.

For those of you who haven’t been in the throes of this – it is inexplicable and excruciating. Your body is built to fight to live – but when your mind wants to die – you can’t fight it. You know you should…..but you can’t. I have lost most of the memories from that time. One I remember is my mom bringing me juice after I lost 20 lbs laying there and she begged me to drink just one sip. She pleaded and cried – I would not. Food meant life. This was not life.

I wanted nothing more than to drink that juice to wipe away the panic in her eyes as her daughter lay there dying. But I could not drink it.

And I remember being hidden. 15 years ago depression wasn’t what it is now. And in my family it was taboo and crazy. You know – like the Uncle who killed himself that no one wanted to talk about? My mom had a daycare – people and babies in and out all day. I was not allowed to come out of the bedroom. Someone might see me and what would we tell them? People – even family – even my own brothers – were told I had the flu. I saw no one and talked to no one but my mom.

My Uncle was a shame dead.
I was a shame alive.

Though I was in a living coma and blocked out most memories of this time - I remember being hidden. It is no one’s fault. My parents knew no better. It is what it is. They were scared out of their minds – watching me die – when in their heads nothing was wrong with me.

Being hidden is the reason that 15 years into a depression I have completely managed – most people in my life do not know of the time when I was inches from death. Most do not know the shame I carry with that secret – though I know I should not feel that way. It is ingrained in me.

There are days I want to scream it from the rooftops when my co-workers nonchalantly talk about mixing up their Prozac or doubling their meds on a bad day. I want to know if they hit bottom like I did – I want to know if they ever physically could not eat, sleep or move from a bed. I want to know if their pain was ever as real as mine. Really I just want to know how they talk about it without shame?

Many of you will tell me – just say it. Just tell the people that you want to know. But remember me? I’m the model employee, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend? I’m the one who does it all nearly perfectly. What kind of a fake am I if I sit down and admit to them I once couldn’t do any of it? How can I explain that pain and make it real to them because to them depression is just a word. How can I admit that I’m vulnerable? I’m actually weak? I am human.

And to get to this SuperWoman spot that I’m in right now – I had to go through hell and back. I had to learn you can’t live for someone or something else. I had to learn to live for me and figure out I was worth it. What little memory I have of that time can haunt me to the core if I let it. 99% of the time depression doesn’t affect me and hasn’t for years.

The secret about having it and what I went through – well that affects me deeply. And why? I do not know.

Probably because I don’t think anyone who hasn’t suffered through depression or watched someone go through it really knows what it is and what it’s like. So if I were to say I had it – all the wrong images would come to mind – and I don’t want those images to taint the seriousness of my pain back then or taint who I am now.

It’s like living at the bottom of a black hole with not one speck of light…and you know you should get out. And you even know that somewhere in that hole there’s a rope that could get you out. But your hands won’t grab it…because your mind wants to die there. Your only way out is if someone reaches in and drags you out – or you die. It is unimagineable pain and the only way to end it is to get through it….and getting through it makes you feel a fear you’ve never known. Like I said – inexplicable.

I have watched two people I love die of two physical diseases. One Alzheimers and one cancer so big I could feel it in her stomach. I would take that pain and that death any day over what I felt in those dark days before meds kicked in. Hands down – no question.

Years later my younger sister suffered from depression too.  Do you want to know if we hid her too? 

We did not. We embraced her and her disease - because of my pain from years back we now knew what it was and how to fix it fast.  I'm so relieved about that though I wonder who I'd be today if that's the treatment I would have gotten....though I know it wasn't intentional and it was no one's's hard not to wonder.

Please – my point is – do not minimize depression when someone tells you they suffer from it. Do not assume you know what it feels like. Do not think the pain isn’t debilitating. And for God’s sake – don’t hide that person. You’ve got to reach in and drag them out…there is hope…there is healing….

I am proof.

You can’t hide me. I remain.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Sluts R Us!

Alright – so – there are two things that have become pretty clear since my last blog.

1. I can’t write about anything of merit. Only boobs, bras, nipplettes, plastic surgeries, whootananny shaving, poopoo (in the woods or on toilets) and peepee and everything in between. There’s something wrong with me. It is not my fault. It turns out it is yours. I write these posts so I can read all your comments which are always more funny than my original post. So my secret is out….I write to read what you all will say. Pretty sneaky huh?

2. Everyone has nipple issues.

OH thank God in heaven I am not the only one who has nipples popping out everywhere. Doesn’t it drive you guys nuts???? I know they make flower petal thingys for that but the thing is – I don’t want to have to wear them! I want to slap on a bra and walk out.

My father-in-law came over the other day and I had a heavy sweatshirt on and no bra – I stood with my arms crossed over my ta-tas the whole time so he couldn’t hear my nipples trying to have a conversation with him! No other woman would have to do that. A heavy sweatshirt would be enough to cover the damn things and they’d stay hidden.

I stand around looking pissed off (arms crossed) when really I’m just hiding the nips. Ugh.

And a bunch of you said you lost feeling in yours after your reduction too…isn’t that ironic – no feeling yet they are always ON! How does that work? It’s just kinda sad – like losing 70 pounds and being left with hanging skin. It’d be like having a tummy tuck and still not being able to wear a bikini (that was a goal of mine). I feel like I went through having a reduction and I love my boobies BUT I can’t wear pretty sexy bras and I’m annoyed.

AND – what the hell – about the celebrities and people buying pointy cones to make their nips point out? NO ONE looks at you if you’re nips are on – NO ONE. It’s like you don’t have a face – only boobs. Even women can’t help but look at them. Sure – in a wet t-shirt contest or the bedroom it’s sexy as hell and that look will get me laid every time but it’s not really the vibe I’m going for in a board meeting.

The solution is that my best friend, Jennifer will be taking me to Victoria Secret. I’ve never had a bra fitting and most of you commented that you get what you pay for in a bra. I can’t go in there alone – with my social anxiety and general shyness – so I’m making her hold my hand and lie and say I look hot about 50 times while the salesclerk feels me up. I told her if she laughs I’m going to hit her with my purse – and my purse is more like a suitcase. A good 20 lbs at least.

Oh AND get this – I should ban Jennifers from my life. I have my best friend from Jen’s Lap Band Journey and then Jennifer from A Southern Belle’s Journey nagging telling me I should post bikini pics cuz it’s all the rage. Gilly whips out the big bazookas in a bikini and then Gen does and then Jennifer and it just keeps going. You’re all a bunch of followers….er…. motivators I mean. Jenny says I should do it – to use as motivation to lose my last 10 lbs. I think she just wants to see my boobs. Anyway – I might do it. I bought two new suits and could use an opinion on which one to keep.

I’m supposed to swim in Jenny’s pool in less than 2 weeks – in front of people other than Jenny . Just typing that sentence made me break out in hives. Oh oh and that’s the weekend we might do a vlog together for you! By September I won’t be anonymous any longer so why the hell not right? We shall see my bloggie buddies! Stay tuned!

I also want you to know I left work early yesterday to go home – knowing my kids wouldn’t be home – to get some “dessert”. Husband was on the phone with his mom – which is the perfect time to molest him because he can’t do a damn thing about it and that makes me feel powerful. Five minutes later his dad arrives.

Plan over.

Can you believe that? I – me – Draz – took off work early for the first time in my life to go home and “bake cake” and it didn’t pay off. Apparently I lost my touch. Well okay – fine – not really but I’m pretending to be sad about it. I’ve already gotten about 5 emails asking about when we will be able to finish “the recipe” tonight…and I’m saying no – my ego is damaged after yesterday.

All I can really think is man – BandBabe would be so proud of me. Leaving work early, reigning in my woman power – to make cupcakes – before 5pm – on a week day. I think I might actually BE BandBabe….Sluts R Us unite!!!!! (I mean that in a good way BB)

Monday, May 17, 2010

The nipple extraction.....

While I completely understand there is a purpose for women having nipples….they serve no purpose for me. I do not breast feed any longer. Ever since my boobs were bigger than my thighs – which was like when I was 12 – they were NEVER sex objects to me - so nope – don’t need nipples for that either. Therefore I am on a mission to find a doc who will take mine off after this weekend’s nipple endeavors. I mean I like my boobs – after the reduction – I loved my boobs. I’d dry hump my own boobs if I could manage it.

After years of having boobs so big men never knew I had a face or eyes – the reality of having teeny size C boobs was almost like Playboy heaven to me. And due to the surgery I have two boobs exactly the same size and shape which we all know is rare. I’m all about me and my boobettes hanging out of shirts and going bra-less at home. I like my boobs. I want to keep my boobs. I want to lose my nipples.

This is why. For any of you who don’t know – when you have a reduction your nipple is completely removed. Taken out and set aside. Mine was anyways. What a funny picture – imagine – my nipple sitting on a table all by itself. Anywhoozle – of course – they put it back on your new manageable size boobs. Now before my nips pointed to my coochie – they stared at it all day. Some days I couldn’t find my nipples because they hung so low or so under all the rolls of my boobs. So on surgery day my doc put my nips dead square center on my boobs. I think he thought over time they’d drop a little.

I’m here to tell you folks – they have not. They are dead square center and they are forever 24/7 cold – like headlights cold – if you get my drift. They stand at attention every day all day. They had no feeling before – and now are super sensitive to even just freaking air. This creates bra problems of massive magnitudes.

First – I cannot buy thin bras – or everyone on this earth gets to see exactly where Doc put my nips. Now yes – I just proclaimed it to all of you here but most days it’s not something I want everyone to know. People see that and they think I’m aroused – um nope. It is odd – they are always “out” but actually I have very little feeling in them if any. They are still numb – as are all the parts he cut – over 10 years later. (Same with my tummy tuck – most of my stomach is still numb – 2 years out). Anyway – so padded bras are a must or I literally wear band-aids over my nips. Sick – but true.

Second – my nips come out of bras. Do you people with normal boobs have this problem? I’m not kidding. I’m seriously asking. I’m all good – bikini top or bra when I put it on and an hour later I look down – and holy shit – the nip is hanging out the side like it came out to have a conversation with me. The only bra that keeps them in is a sports bra and yah well – while I’d love to wear one every day I’m not fond of the uni-boob they bring with them. Just because I had surgery I cannot be the only woman with nips in the center of my boobs can I?

So no lie – how bad can it be to want them off? In clothes I’d still look good – no one would be the wiser. What’s one more scar right?

Those of you wondering whether or not I’ve told my husband this latest idea of mine – the nipple extraction….um no. I still hear about how I ruined his life forever when I cut 6 pounds off the suckers 10 years ago. This idea is going to put him in a straight jacket.

I swear to God if I catch any of you staring at my boobs in Chicago waiting for my nipple to pop out I will die. I might as well flash everyone as soon as we meet cuz chances are you’re gonna see one. You’re gonna know Draz in ways you never imagined. I’ll do a tummy tuck scar show, a whootananny shaving demo and a nipple flash and be the life of the party….yah…uh huh.

Maybe my problem is I’m buying cheap bras. Maybe I should bite the bullet and go see Victoria and see if her Secret is all it’s cracked up to be.

Until then I may resort to duct tape….over the nipples. I’m sick of them coming out to say hi to everyone….but I guess it still beats size E’s right?

P.S. - It just occured to me I have become one of those bloggers that should click that button that alerts people that I will be using profanity and adult content and they should enter at their own risk.  Eek!  How did that happen?

Friday, May 14, 2010

BYOC Friday!!!!! **Bring Your Own Craziness**

It’s another Friday episode of BYOC where we answer just 5 questions (some funny, some serious) in order to learn more about our fellow bloggers whether they are old or new followers. Copy and paste to your blog if you want to play along!

1. If you could be a cartoon character – who would you be and why?

Hands down for me – I would be Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Something about her in that yellow floofy dress when she dances and the Prince at the end with his long hair….mmmm….yummy. (Who gets excited over a cartoon guy? Drazil – that’s who)

If I was talking classic cartoon characters – I’d go with Minnie and a side of Goofy. Let’s face it Minnie is sweet as cake and she wears heels every day and looks hot…and Goofy – well you gotta love being Goofy-ish. Oh God – I forgot about Smurfette – I could so be Smurfette….all those boys loving her all day long….ha!

2. Who was your teenage heart throb? (Thanks Fiona for this one)

Mine was Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains. I had pictures of him and Corey Hart ALL over my walls.

3. Do you believe being overweight is about a mental obstacle or do you believe it’s simply about overeating/food?

I ask this because I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. I never felt like I was filling a void with food because I wasn’t overweight my whole life. I wasn’t the size I wanted to be but I wasn’t really overweight with health issues until after my pregnancies. And then I lost the weight and now I have just a bit left to go until goal but I don’t stop eating – too much, like compulsively – and that makes no sense to me because I can’t find a mental reason for it other than I like food – it tastes good – I want to eat and I seriously don’t know if there’s any more to it than that so I wanna hear what you guys think about this.

4. What’s your all-time favorite song?

Mine is “Wonderful Tonight”….I’m so embarrassed that it’s my favorite song and I’m not sure of the artist but I think it’s Eric Clapton. There’s a line in the song that says “she puts on her makeup and brushes her long blonde hair”….and every time I dance to it with my hubby he sings the whole thing to me in my ear and every time he changes the line to say “brushes her long brown hair” cuz I have brown hair. Every time. Love that.

5. Whose blog or comment spoke to you/stuck with you this week and why? This is our “you get to be famous for a moment” without having to follow all the rules of an official blog award question.

Blog for me was my BFF Jennifer who lost her grandmother this week and all those I follow who were without their mothers this Mother’s Day. My heart ached for them as I reflected this past Sunday. I had some amazing comments on my Prodigal Son blog this week and they all touched me.

Jacquie’s blog about her loss was heartbreaking and all the comments from everyone were heartfelt. We are all still thinking of Jacquie and her family.

See you at next week’s edition of BYOC!

Mama Pimp got her ass kicked by Kotex this week.......

For those of you who swore to me the Kotex haunting would be over because everything comes in threes and I had three days of horror….well you’re a bunch of liars. The Kotex Gods are still here – taunting and haunting and scaring the Bejesus out of me. The only reason I know this will end is because it’s Friday so I won’t be at work for this crap to keep happening. It can happen in the privacy of my own home. Great.

So here it is – the latest installment of the Kotex Chronicles. I’m almost afraid to type it. I’m beginning to think something is wrong with me. It’s like this crap happens so I have something to blog about.

Let’s get a few things straight.

I did not take my few “pons” to the bathroom yesterday as planned. I was too scared after the tampon pointing incident. I left them in the bag – scared to touch them. That and I want to find a pretty box to bejewel so I can have my own box in the bathroom to put them in…..yes…with stickers.

I am wearing short sleeves. This is an important fact in this story.

I am wearing pants that should be outlawed. The DCS (dropped crotch syndrome) factor is downright unprofessional. I have on capris with DCS, no pockets and a drawstring. You cannot see my butt in these because they are so loose and big. I should not wear them – ever. But I do. It’s Friday – I want to be comfy. I want to pretend I am still losing weight and that these pants are too big because of that. The drawstring is the only thing holding them up. If I pull on the waistband of these pants and look down – I can see to the floor. It’s rather sick. This is another important fact in my story.

I am wearing my heeled boots. The ones that are too loose in the calves and sort of sag a bit. Remember when I complained about skinny calves before – because my boots weren’t staying up tight on them anymore? I shall never complain again after today. Another important fact.

Another thing I want to point out is I work with almost all men. Highly educated men. Highly paid men. Not a lick of common sense but geniuses in their field. And most of them are scared of women and/or single. Cuz they are odd. But woman stuff is way out of their league and subjects like Kotex are taboo. If I even dared to walk around with a tampon I’m pretty sure one of them would have me arrested. They are the kind of men who don’t notice when you point with tampons because they forget I am a woman. They are oblivious.

So let’s face it – today I look downright slovenly – in heels no less. I get to work. I go potty in the Explosive Man bathroom. Ah great – the Red Hag has arrived. Yippee – the pons I brought to work will serve a purpose! Yay me for being so proactive. Now to go get one.

I go back to my office. I get a pon out of my bag. Here is where it gets tricky. THIS my friends is why the f*ck women put the pons IN the bathroom IN a box. Because if you don’t you have got to find a way to get the pon with you to the bathroom….secretly. I never have to deal with this. My AF always starts at home – never at work – until today.

Okay soooo – being the creative girl I am I try to put it behind my ear hoping maybe it’d look like a pencil and no one would notice. Nope – not gonna work. Too obvious. I thought of sticking it inside my Chicken with Broccoli but um yah – I ate that Tuesday. Tucked in my sleeve – nope – short sleeves remember? In my pocket? YES. Nope – no pockets – saggy miss saggypants here remember – these things I have on are barely pants – they do NOT have pockets!

Fine – I am left with no option but to put the pon in my waistband in the drawstring that is holding up my pants. I feel like a cowboy shoving a gun in my pants. I am armed. Get out of my way.

I am proud of me. This is ingenious. No one knows I’m carrying a pon and I’m on my way to happy Kotex land. And come on – I only have a few steps to the bathroom. I’ll make it. Yah – well except – Explosive Man hates my guts and while I was trying to figure out where to hide my contraband he snuck in the bathroom for the 3rd time already this morning. I want to chop his head off with a dull knife.

Fine – whatever – I’ll go to the other bathroom. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.

And I would have been – had the stupid guy who can’t stop talking about how the sun came out today not stopped me to “chat”. I wanted to scream – listen dude – right now I’m losing red blood cells by the millions and if I stand here much longer you’re going to see it for yourself…but I don’t. I stand there. I appear nervous so he’ll get the hint. And then I moved – from one foot to the other – and MY GOD IN HEAVEN. The pon slipped. I felt it. I even suddenly put my hand to my waistband in hopes to stop it – the man even asked if I was alright. Oh yes – muscle spasm….I’m fine.

Too late. My friend Kotex is gone. Oh yah folks. All the way down my freaking leg. And into my boots – my heavenly too loose around the legs boots.

Can you imagine if I had had flip flops on? Just thinking about it makes me turn red. What would I do – bend over and pick it up? Step on it in the hopes he didn’t see it. Look at it like it’s the plague and say “where did that come from” and pretend I’ve never seen it before?

I am having a heart attack. My blood pressure spiked. I turned red. And the whole time this guy has to be thinking “Jesus woman – we’re just talking about the weather – why are you so upset?” He probably thinks I have explosive diarrhea by the way I danced around on my feet and held my stomach for a minute.

Finally he shuts up and I walk on – praying to God no one can hear the swish of the paper IN MY BOOT as I walk. And it occurred to me…THIS is where I should have put the damn pon to begin with. Duh.

Tomorrow I cut my vagizzle off. I can handle the pain. It can’t be as bad as the humiliation I’ve suffered all week here. If I can’t succeed in losing my vagizzle, I have decided next month on this one day I am staying home. It’s not worth it. I’ll just call in and say “Kotex made me do it.”

Move over Mama Pimp – there’s a new guy in town….his name is Kotex and his wrath stretches far and wide……….ugh.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Talking with a tampon....

It’s really not even funny anymore. This tampon, pantyliner, hemmoraging proclaiming it to the world crap. I guess it never was.

My Aunt Flo is manageable. I cannot complain. I get mine for one day – and it’s hardly anything. Which is exactly why being haunted by Kotex Gods is so odd to me!? I do not swear at Aunt Flo. I don’t hold any grudges against her. Once in a while I blog about her but for the most part I could care less about her. This is also why I do not carry Kotex stuff with me everywhere like most women do. 
I have a mom and a sister who carry tampons in their purses, their cars, their pockets, their shoes, and in their ears. Okay – not that bad but seriously – they are never without a spare. Not me. I keep them in one spot – under the cupboard. I only need one once a month – no need to pack them with me everywhere you know?

But this week a girl in my office came in and asked if she could borrow a tampon. First off – you could have one if I had one – borrowing implies giving back and after you use it – please just keep it and consider it a gift. No need to give it back. Second – why would *I* have those with me???  I barely use them myself.

But I got to thinking maybe it would be smart to bring some to work just in case. I could pretend to be like the other women in the office who stock boxes of them in the bathroom and put their name on them. I could belong. 

Why we need to label whose tampons are whose I do not know? I guess people are afraid someone might steal one and use it for something else… plugging their nose so they don’t have to smell what Explosive Man left behind. 

I might decorate my box with stickers but not my name.  I might put someone else's name on mine in fact because I just find it odd that you’d want to write your name in big black letters across anything that says the words SUPER SUPER SUPER HUGE AND ABSORBENT on the package.

Okay – back to my story. I NEVER bring these products to work but I’m all being proactive and threw a couple in my work bag this morning to bring in. I also threw in some granola bars – generic so the package is only white with blue writing. Yes yes – you see where this is going don’t you?

I couldn’t plan this shit if I tried.

I was talking to a manager this morning – while I unpacked my bag. I shove my hand in my bag without looking because remember – I *NEVER* have anything other than papers and food for the day in my bag.

I grab the “granola bar”….I’m waving it around like a Baptist preacher screaming hallelujah. Because yes girls – I am also a woman who talks with her hands – big time.

Only to look down and realize that I am making a point – to him – with a tampon…..not a granola bar. Granola bars are not round for those of you wondering. They are however, eerily packaged in the same kind of white plastic stuff - that feels identical when reaching in a bag when you aren't looking at what you are grabbing.

The man I was talking to doesn’t speak woman so I’m pretty sure he had no freaking idea I was using a tampon as a pointer. And I had to pretend it was normal. I couldn’t very well – in the middle of the sentence when I realized it – go “oh my – let me put my tampon down and continue talking to you.”

THIS is my punishment for only dealing with Aunt Flo one day a month. This is day 3 of being haunted by feminine hygiene products. What is going on?

I’m probably pregnant….and this is God’s way of laughing at me.

By the way – if anyone needs a tampon – my office is very proactively stocked now thank you very much!


I just can't wait for tomorrow.  I'll probably overdose on Midol because I've accidentally mistaken it for sweet tarts. 

How do you guys bring this contraband into work on a regular basis without someone seeing it?  Girls here bring whole boxes???  I try to bring a few and look at what happens. 

Thank you very much….but I’ll take the sticks and stones.

Ah yes…the old saying…

* Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me. *

In Drazil’s head – that’s a load of bullshit. Lately I’ve been finding my power in words. I’ve been figuring out inner demons based on words I’ve heard or more importantly – words I haven’t heard.

I can go way way back….even as a kid on the playground. If some kid punched me and I got a bruise….today that bruise is gone. If that kid at the same time called me some nasty name or was making fun of me – you can bet your ass I remember every word and it can still sting if I let it. Those words shaped me. In the same way kind words held me back then….in the same way no words at all tainted me. Just some syllables and nouns all thrown together – made me who I am and who I am not.

I see this in blog land a lot. We all think we’re writing – for ourselves. And while we’re right – I don’t think any of us understand what one sentence we write can do for someone else. There are bloggers who comment or email me personally – and they change my life. Literally. In one comment or email. They can give me hope, laughter, a pat on the back, an emotion, or a question I neglected to ask myself. I don’t think it’s coincidence. I believe every word any of you have spoken that touched me was put there for me to hear….and that’s powerful.

Many of you reacted to my prodigal son story – saying you were also the “good” daughter…the rock…the one who never went wrong – and got the shaft because of it. God - what a spot for a parent to be in. The one sibling addicted to crack and alcohol who is constantly in trouble and needs to be bailed out – gets 99% of the attention….because let’s face it – they outright need it and half the time demand it. The parents help – as they think they should – leaving the good child in the dust….cuz they’re okay…they’re fine. They are the rock after all. The parents in essence reward bad behavior.

As the “good” kid I’ve often contemplated going down the bad road – just to see if they’d give a damn and give me some knowledge of my existence….how ironic and insane is that? The lesson I choose to take from this….well I pray with everything in me that some day if one of my two girls goes astray that I never ever forget the one who didn’t.

And I got another email this week from a blogger I’m very close to and a few of her sentences struck me at my core. So much that I have thought of her words every day. I question why I can’t let go of the pain in my childhood though it wasn’t sexual or physical abuse and I know many had it so much worse. I question the validity of my feelings about how angry I am still today. Then my blogger friend said this.

To know that emotion from your parents is dependent on not making them look bad in any way to the outside world- is nothing short of emotional abuse.

One sentence. One validation. One life-changing moment.

Just words? I think not.

There are words my husband says to me every day like Baby Doll and Punkin Love and those words can instantly change my day. There are words my kids pronounce wrong that I hope and pray they’ll never pronounce right so I can hear them forever. There are words my father won’t speak to me ever and it changes how I parent every day. There are conversations I’ve had with Jenny that have altered my life in an instant. There are comments you leave me here when I pour my heart out and if you think for one moment they are just words….you are mistaken.

So if I leave you with something today – it is this. Watch your words – speak them sincerely and carefully. And better yet – watch your non-words. Do you want to email someone and think better of it and then don’t? Do you want to say something but you are fearful so you don’t?

My advice today is - say it – write it – feel it….you could literally change a life……….you’ve already changed mine.  And to say I'm grateful....doesn't really even cover it.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Will I ever stop searching? (oh and Oprah too)

I just read about a new diet.  Promises of great results fast.  Testimonials.  Evidence.  Price tag to prove it. 

And for a good five minutes I contemplated it.  What if it could get to me to goal - just like that?  What could be the harm in it? 

It's the newest latest thing.  The HCG diet.  Yup - the pregnancy hormone diet.  You inject yourself with it - diet lasts 21 days - 500 calories - etc. etc.  Sounds great.

Except that I googled it and it's supposed to be in prescription format from a doctor - not order-able on the web like I saw it.  And it's not FDA approved.  And it's expensive.  And there are risks.

Of course there are. 

When will I stop searching and realize I know the way already?  *sigh*

Also - Oprah has Geneen Roth on today - you know the reason why Oprah swears she will never diet again?  You can read the whole show online.  I might grab the book.  I know some of you have read it.  What did you think?  Did it change your outlook?  Anything helpful?

Haunted by Kotex and pee socks.

Someone is haunting me. I am not making this shit up. It’s not possible.

Remember the pantyliner incident yesterday from my blog? (which by the way I have stopped worrying about what the Prez and VP thought cuz Genie @ Diet of 51 swiftly pointed out that they wouldn’t have noticed the pantyliner cuz all they were looking at was my boobs.  Good point huh?).

Anywhoozle….get this. I keep my lovely monthly stash of toiletries in a cupboard under the sink in the bathroom. It is the only thing under there. No one else goes in there.

My husband gets up at 4am – he is in said bathroom for quite a while each morning getting ready.

I get up around 6am. I walk into the bathroom and in the middle of the floor - like one of you stalking bloggers is trying to mess with my already f*cked up mind – is a cute little square purple package of pantyliners. All by itself. Taunting me.

How did that get there? How did the husband not see it?  Step on it?  Trip over it?  For real. The door to the cupboard isn’t open like someone was even in there. (I have kitties – but no – door is shut)

What the holy hell? Is that not the oddest thing ever considering my little moist towelette Chicken ala Kotex incident? It’s like the feminine hygiene Gods are taunting me. I am haunted for sure.

Leave it to me to get haunted by tampons....while normal people get haunted by dead people and Satan.  Wow - yah - it pays to be different I guess.

And then to top it off – get this. I decide whatever – if the ghosts in my head wanna play with me at 6am fine – I’m too damn tired to even care or freak out about it. I move on.  I sit on the toilet to pee.

I have on 80s socks. By that I mean socks that are so long they could be leg warmers. I like to live in the 80s. I kicked ass at hair teasing and I inhaled enough Aquanet to explain why I’m crazy still today. That whole sock scrunching over leggings thing – I still dig it….behind closed doors when no one can see me.

Okay well – I have on these socks. I am peeing. I start to pull off my socks….cuz I’m a woman and I have to multi-task. I can’t just enjoy peeing you know? I pull on the sock by my toes and keep pulling for what seems like an eternity. Somehow by pulling the end of my sock ended up between my legs – in the toilet – of pee. I did not realize this – because yes ladies – we’ve been over this – I am still comatose – until I am done peeing.

It is not even 6:02 am and I have been haunted by Kotex Gods and now have to deal with a pee-drenched sock.

You guys – what the hell is this karma that is invading my life? I hate butts and vagizzles and anything to do with them and what comes out of them and I nearly heave at the site of a toilet. What have I done to deserve this hell?

Did I mention it’s 6:02am?

You’d be proud of me. No piss karma is gonna scare me. I wrapped that pee sock in my other non-pee sock – and went on my merry way. Turns out all that extra material on my llloooonnngggg almost leg warmer socks can come in handy when you need to wrap something up in them that’s been soaked in pee.

Now which one of you stalkers is going to fess up to the pantyliner deposit you left so subtley for me this morning? Cuz I know it was one of you. I blame Gilly.

I will find you. Remember – I know people who know people and Mama Pimp sees everything. 

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Chicken with a side of Kotex and a little electricity.....

Hello my lovely bunch of coconuts. How are ye?

Um…can you tell Draz-ee is back in a good way? It’s raining here – which I love and I’m sitting at my desk eating peanut butter straight out of the jar (um yah – I know about 99% of you are drooling now), drinking a Pepsi and it’s not Monday. If you can’t see the beauty in those four things – well you’re probably a man or something. Every woman knows peanut butter straight from the jar is nearly orgasmic. I do feel kinda cave-man-ish though. I mean I suppose it’s not very professional to eat peanut butter out of the jar at your desk with a butter knife like you don’t know bread exists. At least I’m not using my fingers or exploding at my desk for that matter.

It could be as unprofessional as pantyliners and frozen Lean Cuisines. What??? Yes I shall tell you how my day started. Each day I get to work, I make the long walk to the kitchen to get my ice for my Pepsi and if I can’t fit something in my fridge in my office, I take that with me to put in the big fridges in the kitchen. Today I whipped out my frozen dinner, grabbed my cup and headed to the kitchen.

On the way there I stopped and talked to the VP and the President of the company. No biggie right? Well not usually. Not unless when you get to the kitchen you realize you have a pantyliner stuck to your frozen lunch….all in it’s pretty pink flower wrapped splendor screaming “GET OUT OF HER WAY – SHE’S HEMORRAGING RIGHT NOW”.


I don’t know how it unfolded from it’s package and stuck there but my Lean Cuisine read “Chicken and broccoli with a side of Kotex” today. Any chance the guys I talked to might have thought it was some fancy moist towelette with microweave and fresh scent built right in?

My God. How does this shit happen to me?


Rambo (aka husband) got in bed with me last night and tried to be Conway Twitty. He looks over at me and says, “Hello Darling.”

Forget it man – no one can ever be Conway. Try again. So he says, “We’re gonna do it tonight aren’t we?”

Why the hell would you think that? Did you hear that? That was me snoring a second ago.

He says, “I can feel the sexual tension…it’s electric.”

I don’t know what you’re feeling but all I’m feeling is comatose.

I am now laughing so hard I can’t contain myself. Did you say “electric” – like out loud? As in you’re trying to turn me on somehow? Nu-uh right? 

Then he says, “Your legs must be so tired baby – you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

I nearly fall off the bed doubled over in laughter. And he’s so smooth – just like a real James Bond – that he’s laughing so hard now too that Mr. Winky couldn’t work out right now if he had to.

Once again I bet you all wish you were me.

This is me slowly leading up to my every day sex and faking it blog….God that will be fun to write huh? I cannot wait……..can you?

Monday, May 10, 2010

The prodigal son is home....should I let him in?

I’ve been MIA for a few days…so unlike me huh? I’m the blogger who can talk so much you quit reading after the 16th paragraph and the blogger who has been known to post like 16x in a day. (What’s up with 16? Weird.) And really – I only took two days off and I never quit reading your blogs BUT….in my heart I was gone.

I’ve got nothing to say and I’ve got everything to say. The thing is I keep thinking why the heck would anyone even care? I wonder if I can’t be funny – would anyone even read this? When I’m normal and just living – is it even worth writing?

I don’t know. But here I am – because I missed you all. You are not rid of me yet.

Nothing much is new. Except me in general. I am different. I can feel it. Most of you don’t know I’m painfully anti-social, very shy – literal social anxiety. I normally don’t even pick up the phone to talk to people who call me – except Jenny. But this weekend I picked up for other people. And it was good – I didn’t even have a heart attack.

I have joined a book club. I actually left the house and had fun there. I’m going to girl’s night out this week….and I’m sure I’ll have fun there too.

These seem like normal daily activities don’t they? Not to me – to me they are life-changing.

I’m going on vacation this year – first time ever. Out of state. For longer than 2 days. I’m scared shitless but I’m going to do it. I’m going to drive to Jenny’s house – by myself – first and longest trip driving by myself ever – but I’m going to do it.

I am changing. I don’t know why – but I feel it.

I am also not a very nice person – for realz. My brother is the prodigal son I referred to in my title. He’s come “home” so to speak. An entire half of me is deliriously happy about this. The other half is something but I have no word for it. My mom is so hopeful that this time – this is the time he’ll finally be okay.

He called me to say Happy Mother’s Day. I haven’t spoken to him on the phone in over 2 years. I literally picked it up thinking this was the end – there’s no other reason he’d call. That phone call was monumental….I told my mom he called and I could literally “hear” the pride and hope in her voice. All I hear is “he’s doing great, I think he’s going to make it”….and instead of being happy I remain doubtful and I remain jealous. I have *always* been okay. I have never faltered. I have never made them wonder if I would live another day. I have been successful. He has done unspeakable things – horrific things – things you can never forget….and yet – we will – for the sake of him now being okay. For sobriety. So we can pretend we’re a happy healthy family. For now. As if hope will heal all his demons and ours. I’m having trouble forgiving, letting go, forgetting and not being angry. And yup – I’m fully aware that makes me a horrible person. I get that.

As a mother I see things differently. I know as a mother – if one of my girls ever did the things he did – just like the father in the prodigal son, just like my mom with my brother – I’d welcome her home. That’s how it’s supposed to be. What I don’t know about – is how it makes the other siblings feel. It is difficult to process…and that’s all I’m sure of.

Lastly – Mother’s Day. I live right next to a cemetery. Yesterday was awful. I was outside in the yard most of the day and all day it was like a parade. People – young and old – visiting their mothers – in a cemetery. Gone. I’d hear a noise and be startled and look up and it was a woman crying. I’d see a shadow and look up and see a high school girl sitting on her mother’s grave talking to her. Her Dad killed her mother just a year ago….in a fit of rage. I saw numerous families who I know lost their mothers to cancer and I pretended not to see them. I saw a family whose mother died just days ago – and I felt like I was intruding in their sorrow. You can’t watch something like that all day and not be reflective and grateful and intensely sad for all those people. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

I plan to do a blog for Band-Babe on faking it. And a follow up to sex every day cuz my God – your comments were a riot and bear more discussion. Soon. This heavy stuff is for the birds. I gotta get back to funny.

Friday, May 7, 2010

BYOC Friday!!!!! ♥♪ Bring Your Own Craziness ♥♪

BYOC Friday! For any of my new followers this means we answer 5 questions you wouldn't normally blog about – some fun, some serious – in an effort to get to know each other better. You’ll see BYOC blogs all over blogland today so join the party if you wish!

1. Do you have any nicknames? (Thanks for this question Joey)

• Sadly I do not have any nicknames. The only thing that came close is people adding extra E’s on the end of my name. Those of you who know my name know how this would be pronounced. I will say however, as an adult with my husband – he never calls me my name. Rarely. Which I love. I am baby doll, baby love, pumpkin, lambchop….etc….

2. What was your “last straw”? The incident/situation that made you decide to get a lap band or commit to losing weight via any plan this time?
(This is for anyone on a weight loss journey and is from Heather who will recently be lap-banded.)

• While I do not have a lap band (until I steal one), I have lost about 70lbs. I was not overweight my whole life. I was athletic and average. I’m pretty sure I’d never really even dieted before in my life. BUT during my second pregnancy I had gestational diabetes and high blood pressure and generally felt like hell. I vowed the minute my daughter was out I’d get healthy again – and I did. 10 months of needles and tests and meds and massive migraines was enough to convince me it was no way to live at just 30 years old. My highest weight was 226 and I started tracking calories and ran every day. I have 10-15 lbs to go until I hit my ultimate goal.

3. What’s your favorite joke or funny story? (This is from Sandy – she needs some laughter to start the weekend and requested this one.)

* My fave joke is:

If you’re American when you walk in the bathroom and American when you come out – what are you when you’re in there?

Eur – a – pean. (European)

DUH! Clean but so cute huh?

4. If you could be a TV dinner – what flavor would you be?

* I would absolutely hands down be pizza with a side of French fries and an ice cream Snicker bar thrown in for good measure. Can you imagine how many of those I’d sell if I marketed that? * I didn't say "healthy" TV dinner....

5. The question we do every week so everyone can be a little famous without having to do an official blog award….what blog or comment stuck with you or spoke to you the most this week and why?

• As I sit and think about this I have to say Jess over at Big Girl in a Big World. She opened up about a very real fear I’ve had myself and I haven’t even commented on it yet (sorry Jess!)….but it was a great post and I’m glad she put it out there.

And my best friend Jennifer posted about Ruby’s season finale this weekend…..and I agree with her – that episode was amazing after the women in her “Fat Club” went to a 6 day intensive seminar and all opened up about their childhoods.

And for comments – it was all of you who commented on my post about my contractor’s comment that threw me into a tailspin. They meant so very much to me…… all have a way of making things that are difficult…..less difficult. So thank you.

And the comments on having sex daily – those were to die for – I was laughing my ass off all day yesterday. I’m going to have to blog more about that tomorrow!

Thank you to all the BYOC contributors! Keep ‘em coming!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Tooth Fairies, liver stealing and 365 days of "dessert"......

Drazil's in a thinking mood....beware....

• Okay - who the eff invented the Tooth Fairy? I’m guessing it’s the same MAN who invented high heels, pantyhose, those “things” all men love – ack, and lingerie. The Tooth Fairy at our house is a lazy good for nothing slacker. He should be stripped of his wings.

Yesterday my daughter lost 4 teeth – yes 4 – so it was a pretty big deal. Of course we go to bed and Rambo (husband) is sleeping. Snoring. Pissing me off. I’m going to cut his weiner off any minute. BUT THEN – I was saved by the Tooth Fairy. I woke his snoring ass up and said, “Hey – go be the Tooth Fairy would ya? And be careful flitting over those legos on the floor while you do it. They can be a bitch on twinkle toes.”

Crisis averted. Rambo saved the day again. Didn’t even need wolf pee on his shoes to do it.

• Also today I just want to say I want a lap band. I want to borrow a band or steal one…I’m not above doing either. I want something in me physically that stops me from inhaling that whore Little Debbie and all her cohorts like I haven’t seen food in 16 days. I’m on the lookout for a vulnerable lap bander who won’t notice me stealing their lap band right from under their nose…you know – like those crazies who steal people’s livers and stuff.  Did I mention I’m desperate?

• Last – I have NO idea why I keep thinking about this…other than I can’t seem to post a blog without mentioning something that will surely offend someone. It’s part of my charm.

Did any of you guys ever watch the Oprah show with the couple on there that has sex EVERY night?


Get up off the floor. Pick your jaws up. Stop choking on your water. Cuz apparently it’s possible. Now no – they are not porn stars. They both work full time and have children.

I don’t get it. I think they lie. A. lot. The wife said in one year’s time there were probably only 2 days they didn’t. The audience was dumbfounded to say the least. Can you imagine – through stressful work days, pissy days with your in-laws, tiring holidays, trips, time of the month hormones and all that……they do it anyway?? I think they are part rabbit and insane romantic.

The wife said it’s part of their routine now and it brings them closer and they love it. My question is can it be good every day? Doesn’t it get old? Doesn’t the vagizzle need a break? In reality I guess prostitutes and porn stars probably do it every day but that’s my point – they can do it cuz they don’t have to love the person they are with – it can be just physical and they’re allowed to fake it. They’re supposed to fake it. (I should do a post on faking...that whole thing intrigues me....what the hell is wrong with me?)  This couple is expending emotions along with the physical demands of dessert that are involved. Can you imagine?

Does anyone else think this is crazy talk? I’m just thanking God my husband didn’t hear it’s even possible. I’ve told him many times that women can’t do it every day – if we try it – we’ll break for good and you can never do it again. How in the world do they keep it new and fresh 365 days a damn year? I’d rather spray bug spray in my own eyes I think. No I take that back. My mind wants to do it every day. My body is too freaking tired. That’s more accurate.

Okay – no point to this story – it’s just interesting. I wonder how many couples do this. I guess it’s not that odd. When Rambo and I were dating and not married it was every day or 12 times in a day really. The thought of that now with 2 kids and full time and part time jobs amuck seems impossible. Could any of you do it? You don’t have to answer that. Unless you want to cuz you’re pervs just like me!

BYOC tomorrow! Anyone got question suggestions you want asked?

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

It’s a list-y sort of day in Care Bear Land.

1. Thank you to all of you who commented on my post about the comment my contractor made. I am always stunned by how many of you can relate. It amazes me that though so many of us have felt “less than” or felt we were neglected – that today – here and now – we are good, caring people, friends and parents. We are systematically breaking the cycle and ensuring the hurt isn’t repeated in our family’s lives and that’s just huge. Really we could be hosting daily pity parties for ourselves and using our pain as an excuse to never be better – but we are not. That speaks volumes about all of us and I am proud to call you my friends because of your strength and for your willingness to tell me how you get through the pain when I know it’s hard to talk about.

2. Um….apparently most of you didn’t listen when I told you NOT to tell me stories about pooping in non-toilet scenarios. However, it is slightly comforting though to know I am not the only person who lives with a barbarian.

3. I rocked yesterday – and I’m not afraid to say so. I lost 3 lbs of the 5.5 I gained in April. One more good day and it should be gone and I’ll be back on track. I ended with 40g of sugar (10 over) and 1060 cals for the day and an hour of working out. My slip will definitely not become a slide! How are you guys all doing?

4. I almost went to the ER last night. Migraine meds didn’t work. The range of emotion I feel when I’m in the throes of a migraine are so intense…usually deep sadness to rage. I’m so tired/sad from the pain and it makes me want to cry but I don’t knowing that’ll make it worse. I never cry so the feeling of wanting to cry scares me. Then the rage. I’m so angry I feel this way, angry that an ER trip may be the only thing that fixes me and worried they’ll think I’m a woman looking for drugs. And then I become someone else entirely – I pray over and over to my Grandma and beg her for the strength she showed during her cancer and then I beg God to make it stop. It’s exhausting to say the least. Today I meet with a woman who sells natural oils and herbs – I’ll try anything at this point. Do any of you use oils/herbs/creams (non-prescription) for what ails you?

5. I booked mine and Jenny’s hotel room for B.O.O.B.S. I talked the lady into giving us a jacuzzi suite with free robes and chocolates on our pillows and a male Swedish masseuse at our disposal for free. I’m just that good. Turns out even the big city Chicago folks are afraid of the Mama Pimp. Well maybe not – but it sounds good right? Thank God there’s no limit to how many bags I can pack. I’m planning to have a whole suitcase full of food…since I have to pretend to eat like a bird when I’m around all you tiny lap-banders. Julie isn’t banded either and she has promised to eat massive amounts of food with me. HA!

Smooches and hugs to you all!!

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Drazil and Sheniqua kicked ass and took names in April…

I’m so pissed that I’m surprised I’m even typing. Everything in me wants to hold this frustration and disappointment in but yet I know if I do I’ll feel like I betrayed you all. And the fact is we all fall…we all have to crawl before we can stand up and walk right?

Well in April – I fell and I crawled for most of it.

I weighed myself today.  I nearly started sobbing.  The denial is over.  I saw the number.

I’m not sure how I justify letting my health go. I’m not sure how saying, “well we’re doing a home remodeling project” makes gaining back weight and feeling like crap okay. How does “my jobs took so much out of me and were extra swamped this month” make it okay to negate all the work I did January through March? How does scheduling the tiniest details of my life get done every day without fail – yet a workout is not on that schedule? When will I stop being angry that this is a DAILY journey? When will I make me and my health a priority…when will I let myself have that and not feel guilty?

I can do this. I know how. I’ve done it already. I’ve succeeded in the past.

But I slip back and I get angry. I don’t like re-work…anywhere in my life. I don’t have time or energy for that.

I feel like the poo my husband took in the woods. I could try to deny that but I’d be a liar. I’m having more migraines, I can’t sleep, I’m exhausted to the point of sleeping in the bathroom at work, I’m lethargic, I’m pissy and emotional……

But I’m so tired of this journey. Just so tired. I want it to be easy like it is for my brothers and I want it to end. I don’t want to have to run 5 miles a day – and I don’t want to face the fact that if I don’t – I gain weight fast and I feel like crap.

I often wonder why I care? Do you guys ever wonder why it matters so much? I mean when I’m 60 do you think I’ll give a good damn about how I looked at 35? Will I? Will it matter if I was hot or if I turned heads? Today – right now – as is – I am loved. Why does it matter if I don’t lose another 15 pounds?

I saw an overweight woman walking this morning and I thought to myself – I’ve known her all my life – she’s never been thin or gorgeous. She’s a wonderful, pretty person with a great family. Is she any less happy because she didn’t kill herself like I am doing in my quest to be thin? I will never know. Part of me hopes if I could ask her she’d tell me she wishes she’d taken better care of herself and that it does matter and even today she wishes she was healthier….so I’d know right now that it’s worth it.

Because today – right now – it just seems hard. One of my favorite sayings is “Fat is hard. Thin is hard. Choose your hard.”

Being unhealthy and feeling like this is definitely hard – it downright sucks. So I’ll choose the thin hard today. And every day after. Because noone ever drowned in sweat right?

I started tracking cals again today. I tracked my weight. I am sugar detoxing. I am counting calories with the same vigor I countdown the minutes to quitting time. I vow to give as much energy to this health quest that I give to everything else. I will make May exercise goals. I will meet those goals.

This journey isn’t over for me. It probably never will be. I can either accept that and live better or resent it and feel like dirt every day.

The choice seems pretty clear.

What do you choose?

Let me introduce you to Mr. Drazil…..

Also known as Rambo – for his ability to dress up just like Rambo. He has painted his face, poured wolf pee on his boots, bathed in dirt shampoo, strapped knives on both his legs and holstered guns across his back at times – all in the name of hunting.

Also known as Tarzan – for his ability to care for his woman (me = Jane) and for dragging meat home for the little family to feast upon.

And now…….he will also be affectionately called “Man born in a barn” (MBIAB).

Do you really want to know why? Are you sure? I can barely type the words.

Please remember I warned you.

I was sitting at home – in Care Bear Land – living the good life cuz I was reading blogs and MBIAB walks casually by me and stops and says……

I took a poop in the woods today.

WHAAAAAATTTT did you just say? I stopped typing. I stopped reading. For a moment I’m sure I blacked out. You should have seen Drazil's head spin around like he was possessed.

Poop in itself makes me sick. But you pooped in the woods? And he wasn’t hunting alone people!!!!

So the barrage of questions start. I could have rivaled an FBI investigation.

Where was your friend while you were pooping? *He wasn’t near me.
Thank God – he’d never recover. *Yes he would – he’d think it was cool.
You’re right – I forgot he has a penis.
What did you wipe with? *Grass
Grass? What kind of grass? *Grass – just grass
How does that work? * People do it all the time
No people don’t – cavemen do. We have toilets. *It was fun
FUN? That’s fun? *Yah – it’s manly
Is that even legal? *Um yes
You cannot get clean using grass. Do not come near me.
Don’t ever tell anyone you did this. *I’m putting it in my Facebook status.
NOOOOOO. *Yup – I was one with nature today.
I’ll show you one with nature – when I bury you in the ground.


There you have it….I am married to and have to sleep with the MBIAB.  *hangs head in shame*

God help me.

I swear to God if you all reply here with stories about peeing and pooing in the woods I’ll just die. Please don’t. I cannot bear to think of you all that way. One with nature and all.

I would not have done well in the caveman days I tell you. I could have worn Adam and Eve’s leaf bikinis and been fine but ask me to poo in the woods and use grass to wipe …, I think not. If you’re tempted to unfollow me after this little story I don’t blame you. If I could un-follow myself – I’m pretty sure I would.

Oh look – there goes Explosive Man by my office. My life is a sewer.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

One tiny insignificant comment = hours of heartbreak.

How do I stop wanting something more in a relationship that can never be?  When do I let go of the picture-picture fantasy the little girl in me still believes in? 

The littlest thing happened this weekend - and me and my brain made it big.

A contractor is working on my house.  He's a great guy...has kids and grandkids. 

He was speaking about his one year old grandson.  The pride in his words and in his eyes was immense.  That's when I felt the first twinge of pain.  I ignored it.

I tried to focus on his words and feel his joy for him.  All I could really think is "my own father will never and has never spoken of my girls in that way.  He never will."

God - how my heart wants that.

Then my contractor said, "I cannot wait until he gets a bit older and can talk more.  I told my wife when he gets older he's coming to work at job sites with me every day.  She cannot hog him all to herself."

And he meant every word.

I had to turn away. 

The thought of a Grandpa wanting to spend time with his grandson is so foreign to me...taking him with him all day...taking dibs on time with him vs. the time the Grandma gets.  I can't fathom.  I can't understand.

I can't stop wanting it. 

And yet every part of me knows it's too late.  At 4 and 9 - my girls have already learned to live without a Grandpa.

I'm so angry that for a moment - and still now - I can't get his words out of my head...and I can't stop the pain from coming each time I remember.

My father is what he is.  He is not evil.  He is goodness. 

Admitting that's not enough is difficult because I think I know it means I'm the one with the problem.  I'm the one who can't move on.  I'm the one who can't accept.  I'm the one who is too selfish to just be happy with what he is.

And I'm the one who can't let go of what he isn't.

How do I do that?  It'd be so much easier if I didn't have reminders like my contractor...but that's part of life.  I wish I could pretend I was strong enough to handle what someone else has and I wish I was the kind of person who could just be happy for that family and what they have.

But I'm not.

I'm the little girl who was never enough. 

And today I watch secondhand as I see my little girls aren't enough for him to change either.

And some day what I feel today - they will feel about him.

How on earth am I not supposed to be angry about that?