A little word play with "I say ___ , you think ___ .

1. What women want :: Mel Gibson in pantyhose, holding a bra -- a scene from "What Women Want".
2. Epidemic :: EEK!
3. Taxes :: Al Capone's downfall
4. Hello :: Hello, it's me - Todd Rundgren
5. Confidential :: The National Brotherhood of It's None of Your Damn Business
6. Lights :: Turn off the lights, the party's over
7. Summation :: Denny Crane
8. Hard feelings :: fester, fester, fester
9. Electric :: ELECTRICFYING!
10. Fresh start :: do over

Don't be shy ... get your mutter on here or mutter in my comments.

On the phone with my sister ...

Me:  I have to go for a mammogram on the 6th.

Sister:  What a deflating experience.

Me:  Clever, sis.  You speaking from experience?

Sister:  HA!  I've had three kids,  What's you're excuse. 

Me:  My excuse for what?

Sister:  Sagging.

Me:  Did I say I was sagging?

Sister:  You're 54 ... I'm assuming your breasts are as well.

Me:  Sure, they're 54 but we ... and by we, I mean me and my breasts ... we don't look our age.

Sister:  Suuuure, you don't..

Me:  No .. really.  I mean, they're not as perky as they used to be, but it isn't necessary for me to tuck them into my pants either.

Sister:  When you're in bed, laying on your back, do they try to roll on to the mattress or do they stay perched on your chest.

Me:  For your information, my doctor said that my breasts are fine.

Sister:  Really? Fine as in "They're okay"?  Or fine as in, "DAMN, GIRL!  You should have those bronzed!"?

Me:  *giggle*  Hmmm ... well, she did seem to get a little enthusiastic with my nipple during the exam. 

Sister:  Reeeeally!  What's your doctor's number?

Me:  *laughing out loud, blowing soda out my nose and then choking*  You're a sick wench.

Sister:  It's why you love me.

Me:  It is indeed ...

Today is Friday.  For many it means, "I've made it through another week.  Here's the weekend.  *sigh of relief*"  For me it means he will be "going across the river".  Lately, his little treks have landed him in a bar, partying with strangers and then home to be ugly to me.  We'll see how today ends.  He happens to be in a good mood right now and very happy with me.  Don't ask what I've done to deserve such favor -- I haven't a clue.  Blows like the wind, doesn't he?  Of course, he hasn't left yet so he still has time to get mad at me before he leaves which would give him permission (in his warped mind) to be a "bad boy".  It dosen't help that the entire city is in party mode right now with Mardi Gras.  It doesn't really exacerbate the situation but it doesn't help either.

In other ways, this day looks good for me.  I get to ...

• send a king cake to my precious friend,
• buy a king cake -- probably the last one of this season (apple filled),
• buy fixins for Super Bowl Sunday,
• have a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte (which I haven't had since I was ill last week),
• have the house ALL to myself for a few hours.
• work on my Valentine layout
• practice cartooning
• and .... maybe ... watch Happy Feet (which I haven't seen in over a week)
• and last but certainly not least, I'm expecting a phone call from someone I care for very much, someone that I haven't spoken to in several weeks, someone who feeds my soul and makes my heart smile.
  

The bad things about today?

Meecie and I are doing our weekly shopping separately this week.  Horrors!  And, waiting to see what the end of the day brings.  A happy drunk or a mean drunk.  Or ... and I know this is stretching it ... not a drunk at all.  Hey ... it could happen.

On the Multiple Sclerosis front ...

It seems that the Copaxone injections haven taken their toll on my arms.  I now have a hole or rather a "dent" on each tricep.  The doctor says it's common with frequent injections.  She says I should stop injecting in my arms and use my stomach twice in a week.  Since my arms are the most painful to inject, I'm very okay with that suggestion.  And the desire to prevent my arms from looking any more butchered is pretty good motivation as well.  I can handle getting old -- I'd like to avoid getting deformed in the process.

By the way ... contact methods are enabled.

When my niece was in town, Mr. Man and I took her and her husband to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets.  As does every conversation, whether one is talking to a native or a visitor, the main topic became Katrina.

In a nutshell, my niece, who has always known me to be fashionably dressed, asked me if I had lost my designer clothes in the storm.  I told her I had lost every bit.  "Shoes, too?" She asked?  "Shoes, too." I grinned.  I could see the shock in her face.  I told her I have four pairs of tennis shoes, dozens of flip-flops and one pair of open-toed heels.  Also in my wardrobe, jeans, jeans and more jeans -- fat jeans, skinny jeans, ripped jeans and lots of t-shirts, tank tops and a few jackets /bIazers.  I told her that for my life style, I didn't need anything other than what I had.  Mr. Man didn't hear that. All he heard was, "He's a bum.  He's not providing for me."  Do I need to say that I didn't mean anything like that?  He felt ashamed.

Well, as I always say, if you don't want to feel ashamed, then don't do anything to be ashamed of.  In all actuality, he doesn't provide for me.  Financially, I pull my own weight around here.  But I digress.

Several days later, I received an email from my niece.  "Dear Tia -- I hope you don't mind.  I'm sorry, a girl has got to have shoes!"  With it was a link that directed me to a gift certificate for Zappos.  I wrote her back and told her that it was very sweet of her and totally unnecessary.  She replied that when I had it to give I was always lavishing gifts on the family.  She said she wanted to do it for me now since I was her favorite aunt and she inherited her love for shoes from me.  I couldn't pass on principles or values to her, right?  I had to pass on my shoe addiction.  *chuckle* 

I told Mr. Man about it and again ... he felt as if we were all saying ... "Mr. Man is either a bum who can't buy shoes for Friday or Mr. Man is a jerk because he won't buy shoes for Friday."

That was the main thing that he's been rolling around in that brain of his like a B.B. in a boxcar.  It was all he could think of.  The more he thought of it, the angrier he became.  The more he drank, the more infuriated he became and began to add further fuel to the fire with my many "sins against Mr. Man".

Low self-esteem and booze will definitely twist a person's perception.

Like I said before, all his anger was misdirected.  It wasn't about me at all.  This doesn't give him license to be abusive but it certainly explains plenty.

on the exam table - my POV

The following conversation is not verbatim but very close to what was said and done during my doctor's exam yesterday.

I was on my back, dressed in a "one size fits all" paper gown and covered with a paper sheet.

Doctor:  [looking over my file] When's the last time you had a pelvic examine.

Me:  I don't know.  I couldn't tell you.  I can tell you this though. The last time I had a pelvic examine, y'all had cloth gowns and real sheets.

Doctor:  Okay.  A while then.  When was your last mammogram? 

Me:  In spring of 2002.

Doctor:  You're really due.

Me:  Yeah, well ...

Doctor:  Okay, well, let's get started.

Me:  Any way I can talk you out of this, doc?

Doctor:  No.  I know it's not pleasant but it will be over soon.

Me:  I've heard that before.

[The doctor chuckles as she disappears at the foot of the examine table.  I notice that the way she folds the sheet back reminded me very much of a groom lifting his bride's veil.  It makes me laugh out loud.]

Doctor:  Okay ... just relax.

Me:  I've heard that before, too.

[nurse giggles]

Me:  Doc, as long as you're down there ... I can't remember ... do I have my cervix?

Doctor:  No ... no cervix ... no ovaries ... no tubes ... no uterus ...

Me:  So what you're telling me is that if you were to yodel right now, you'd get an echo?

Doctor:  [chuckle] Not quite.  Okay ... you're going to feel some pressure now.

Me:  Wait!  By pressure you really mean pain, right?  I'd respect you more if you were straight with me.

[I see her head, from her eyes up, peek over the edge of the sheet]

Doctor:  It may be uncomfortable. [disappears again]

Me:  Okay ... I'm ... [sudden, deep intake of air ... moan]

Doctor:  Okay.  You're dong fine.  It's almost over now.  Breathe deep through your nose and out slowly through your mouth.

Me:  [hyperventilating]

Doctor:  I saw on your chart that you've had multiple pregancies.  Did you carry any to term?

Me:  Can we have this converation later?

Doctor:  Okay ... that's over now.  Nurse, can you get me the rectal speculum?

Me:  [bolting up into a sitting position]  Excuse me?

Doctor:  We have to extract a stool sample.

Me:  Doc, all you had to do was ask!  If it's a stool sample you want, I can oblige!

Doctor:  This will be quicker.  Just lay back and relax.

Me:  [groan ... moan ... sob]

Doctor:  Okay ... just a little further.

Me:  [sob]

Doctor:  I'm sorry.  It's almost over now.

At this point all I could think of was the movie Amityville Horror when the house says, "Get OUT!"  If my poor little rectum could have said anything with it's mouth full, I'm sure it would have sounded just like that.

Doctor:  It's all over now.

[note ... the rectal speculum is still inserted]

Me:  Well, if the lease is up, can we evict the tenant, please?

Doctor:  [chuckle]

Me:  I'm glad I'm so entertaining.  You're lucky I like you.

[doctor begins to pull the rectal speculum out and with it comes a blast of ... erm ... well, there's a blast.

Me:  It's fussin' at you.  I like you but my rectum is none too happy with you right now.  You didn't tell me that you were going to have to do a rectal.

Doctor:  Well, I thought as long as I was in the area ...

Me:  You'd just drop in?  Doc ... that's just rude to drop in unannounced.

Doctor:  [folding the sheet back down]  I'm sorry.  I guess I should have warned you.

Me:  Yeah ... just saying "rectal speculum" isn't much warning.

Doctor:  Hmmmm.  You stool is testing positive for blood.

Me:  Well I guess so.  It's from the speculum.

Doctor:  No.  We're going to have to do further testing.

Me:  Oh no.

Doctor:  We're just going to send you home with a little kit.  Let's examine your breasts, now.

Me:  There's no speculum involved here, right?

Doctor:  No, just my cold hands.

[she sets about examining my breasts.  When she begins to roll a nipple between her fingers I notice a strange sensation.  I'm thinking, "That shouldn't feel good, should it?" I'm embarrassed and I just want her to stop.

Me:  Okay, what are you looking for?

Doctor:  Lumps, masses, etc.

Me:  Could you go easy on the nipples?  My nipples are very sensitive.

Doctor:  Hmmm.  There are several things that can make your nipples sensitive.  Caffeine will make your nipples sensitive. 

Me:  I don't do caffeine.  But I'll post that on my blog for all those poor girls who don't have sensitive nipples.

Doctor:  Oh ... you mean sensitive, not painful.

Me:  No, had I meant painful, I would have spoken your language and said, "pressure". 

Doctor:  [laughing out loud]  I'm done.

Me:  You done?  Can I buy you a drink now or would you like a cigarette first?

Doctor:  [laughing out loud]

Me:  Okay ... so where are we?

Doctor:  Well, I'm going to send you home with a stool testing kit.  No anti-inflammatories for seven days before the test or the three days of the test.  No red meat for three days before or during the test.  Same for citrus fruits and juices.

Me:  [groan]  What are we looking for.

Doctor:  Well, blood in your stool could mean nothing but it could be something that needs to be taken care of.

Me:  No kidding? <--sarcasm  What are we looking for?

Doctor:  Well, it could be several things.  It could be from diarrhea or it could be a tear in your colon or rectum.  It could be a number of things.

Me:  Oh goody! <-- more sarcasm

Doctor:  I'm going to schedule a mammogram and a bone density test, too.

Me:  [silence]

Doctor:  You okay? 

Me:  I'm fine.  I'm just thinking my beasts are too old to "rebound" from that sort of abuse.

Doctor:  You breasts are fine.

Me:  Well, maybe you should tell them that.

Doctor:  You're not thinking about breast enhancement surgery, are you?

Me:  No.  For that they'd have to remove and reattach my nipples and well ... I'm kinda fine with them just as they are.  The nipples are just fine ... my breasts could use a lift.

Doctor:  [small laugh] Okay, can we be serious for a second here.

Me:  You just had your fingers up my rectum ... that wasn't serious enough?

Doctor:  [scolding look] 

Me:  Okay.  serious.

She discussed with me several gynecological matters.  I told her my shoulder and back have been bothering me for two weeks.  She examined my shoulder and told me I have a torn muscle in my shoulder.  Don't lift, pull, etc. and use heat for the next two weeks.  She gave me a prescription for Oxycotin, Ambien and hormone therapy cream.

Mr. Man drove me home.  I spent the rest of the night in my recliner with the heating pad on my abdomen, sitting on my hip [not my poor bottom] and trying to think of anything other than specula.

Later in the evening, Mr. Man and I discussed several things.  Among those things ... what infuriated him so much on Friday.  I was right ... it's all about him, but he put it on me.  I'll post more later.  Mr. Man went across the river this morning ... we'll see what this day / night has in store.  Hopefully, not a replay of Friday.

Here is a phrase and a word that will make most women shudder down to their very core ... the phrase ... pap smear.  The word ... speculum.

What is a speculum?  This is a speculum.


click image to enlarge

A speculum is a metal torture devise used in a gynecological exam and was invented by James Marion Sims -- a man. Doesn't it figure?  No woman would invent such a wickedly, evil, invasive devise. 

Okay, maybe i'm going a bit far.  The speculum isn't a torture devise but that doesn't mean having one thrust into my nether regions isn't torture.  "Once inserted, the speculum is locked in the open position.  The doctor then gently rubs the cervix with a special collection devise".  Gently?  Stop it.  It feels more like having a piece of the cervix ripped out with a pair of tweezers.  This is called having a pap smear.  Or what I like to call, *SHRIEEEEEEK*.

Men have no idea what a gynecological exam is all about.  It's a mystery to them ... a woman thing.  Believe me, gentlemen, a pap smear ain't nuthin' nice.

I honestly thought that when I had a complete hysterectomy it was a "Get Out Of Pap Smear Free" card.  Not so.  It turns out that there is a danger of cancer of the vaginal wall -- so, the pap smear is still in my future.  As of this moment, in my immediate future -- tomorrow at 12:45PM. 

There are also other things to guard against, besides vaginal or cervical cancer.   If a woman wants to have sex later in life ... believe it or not, some women don't -- a woman must guard against vaginal atrophy.

atrophy = Wasting away with diminution in size of cell, tissue, organ or part.

Wasting away ... isn't that another way to say rot?  My doctor says that since I had a hysterectomy at the age of twenty-two and haven't produced hormones since then, it's possible that is the case with me.  Just freakin' lovely.  The symptoms are:

vaginal dryness, buring, watery discharge, burning with urination, urgency with urination, frequent urinary tract infections, urinary incontinence (oh, great!), bleeding after intercourse and painful intercourse.

Well, considering my current domestic situation, I don't think I have to worry about sex for now, but come on!  a girl has got to pee ... without pain would be nice too.  Oh, and I'm not ready to start wearing a diaper ... yet.  *sigh*

I don't mind saying ... the crap that happened this weekend ... that didn't scare me.  This pending pap smear ... it scares the beejezus out of me.  It's only my opinion, but I think I should be sedated for this.

I'm nearly certain men don't have to regularly go through this sort of torture.  Isn't it a matter of just turning their head and coughing?

"Balls", said the Queen, "if I had them, I'd be king"

What's next?  Well, the dreaded mammogram, of course.  Shouldn't we be more medically advanced than this?

to allow anyone to drive me out of my own home or make me live scared.  I won't do it.  I'm an adult.  I'm not a child.  I've been his life partner for ten years -- not his tenant.  If he wants me out then he's going to have to man up and talk to me like an adult and a human being.  I'm not playing the "who's afraid of the big bad drunk" game.

Truly, I'm okay. 

Except for a few people, no one really knows who I am or what I've been through. Those who do know me, know that I'm not going to curl up in a ball and give up.  I'm a fighter and a survivor.  Situations may be similar but they're not the same.  There are so many variables and contributing factors to this insanity I'm living.  I know all this isn't about me.  It's about him and how miserable he is.  What's he's lost.  What he can't fix.  What he feels about his worth.  It's very difficult to bait me and I won't be baited into turning tail and running or leaving in a huff.

Do I deserve better?  You betcha!  But it is what it is.  If I had my way, plenty things would be different.  Believe me, if I had my way, .... well, it wouldn't be this way.

I appreciate the supportive email I've gotten.  Please know I'm not trying to shut anyone out.  I know those who care for me have a way to contact me and will do so.  I disabled all contact methods because I was a little rankled by people who feel that just because they read my blog, that they know me.  What people read on my blog is only a fraction of what goes on in my life.  The only people who know me are the people who have made an attempt to know me.  I'm not pointing fingers ... I'm just saying, I'm not blogging to have anyone advise me or tell me what to do.  I have to work this out.  I've been through much worse than this ... believe me.

My blog is my haven, my outlet, my soapbox, my safe place to rant, my playground, my love-fest central.  I have blogged about this because I am doing my best to stop hiding and to keep it real.

For those who care, be patient ... more will be revealed.  Eventually, I will enable the contact methods.  For now, I need love and support.  Those who are willing to give that to me, know how to reach me.  The people who really know me, will have the faith in me to know I can and will handle this.  I will do my best to be a part of the solution and not a part of the problem.  Those who want to pass judgement on me and question my intelligence for my decisions can voice them elsewhere.  If I want that sort of crap, I'll just go in the other room and get it from Mr. Man.  Trust me ... I don't accept it from him either.

Ladies ... you know who you are ... I adore you.  Thank you for being there for me and for the love and support you so freely and graciously give me.

.... more later

I'm posting this in the spirit of no more hiding and keeping it real ...

This is so difficult to reveal.  There's so much good in my life.  There's so much heart break as well.  I don't understand why, when two people are no longer right for each other, there has to be so much hatred and anger.

Who knows if this is real or not.  As per his usual, he left the house on Friday in the AM.  When he wasn't home before supper I knew he would come home drunk.  God only knows when that would be, but I knew he would be drunk.

Sure enough.  In he comes, starts screaming at me about a myriad of things ... to which I don't respond.  Most of it was about what a selfish, self-centered bitch I am and about how I think the world revolves around me.  My Happy Bunny penchant pisses him off.  I wanted to tell him that everyone's world revolves around themselves -- how could it be any other way.  I know the world doesn't revolve around me.  But how do you talk sense to a raging drunk?

Then, it came down to what it hasn't come to in a long time ... "Get out, motherf*cker!  You have until the 26th of February to get your ass out of here."  There were other choice words but those were the most surprising.  As per my usual, I calmly said, "I'm not going anywhere" and left the room.

He doesn't usually follow me but he did last night.  He climbed in bed and wouldn't stop, so I went into the den.  Thankfully, he just continued his vitriolic muttering and passed out.

It would be different if it broke my heart to hear such words, but it didn't  It would be different if I cried.  But I didn't ... didn't even feel like crying.  It would even be different if I had any viable alternatives ... but I don't. 

I know people worry about him becoming violent with me.  Last night I wasn't sure what was up with him.  The minute he started screaming at me, I made sure my cellphone was on.  I don't really believe he would hit me ... in ten years, he never has.  But I do know this ... if he dares, his ass is going to jail.  End of story.

I'm going to wait until later tonight to see if he remembers and if he does, if he's serious.  If he is, I guess I'll start seriously thinking about where to go -- which I guess I should anyway. 

So many people have offered me help and I do so appreciate it, but let's be honest --  it won't be easy for me or anyone else where ever I go.  I have MS ... my life is sometimes ruled by that.  "He" says no one else can live with me.  I happen to think that he might be right -- I'm not an easy person to live with.  This makes it doubly difficult because I'm well aware that after the events of the last two years, I'll never be able to live by myself again.  Monetarily, I put everything back into this life.  This means several things ... Section 8 (scary in New Orleans), roommate -- which can ruin relationships -- rent a room.  Anywhere I want to be here or California, the rents are ridiculous ... out of my reach.

Do I feel stupid?  Absolutely.  What have I been thinking?  Why have I invested so much time on a man that has no regard for me whatsoever?  I know that's the booze talking but it isn't any less disturbing.  Why do I still cling to any hope that all this is going to get beter.  Maybe it's because he's an expert at making me think it will all get better.  Then this happens.  Maybe it's because I'm stubborn and I hate to give up.  I'm still pretty numb ... although my mind is going a million miles a minute.

I lived on the streets at one time ... I don't want to go back there.  But it's happened to a lot of people who had much more than I do now.  No one can rescue me -- I have to rescue myself.

I'm disabling comments ... and the tagboard and contact link.  I'm not beside myself or anything like that  ... I'm embarrassed more than anything.  My cell will be on for text only.  Needless to say, the home phone is best left alone for now.

I understand that when one is sitting in their own shit for years, when they finally get up, their ass gets cold -- it's very uncomfortable so they sit back down in the warm familiarity of their own shit.  I'm not a stupid person ... I just make some ridiculously stupid choices.  Continuing to sit in this shit is one of them and I admit that. 

I have to have a plan.  I should have made one a long time ago.  But, plans are easy to make and by the time one needs the plan, the viability of the plan may change.  It's always so much easier to think about when you're not right in the middle of the storm.  When the storm hits, you're never as prepared as you thought you were.

Whenever something becomes popular, I'm always resistant in the beginning.  When I first started reading about Twitter, I just wasn't impressed.  Then I saw it on another blog.  It seems they've made some upgrades.  I was intrigued. 

I've been playing with it for the past week or so and I'm just fascinated with it.  It's pretty much blogging on a much smaller scale.  In fact, they even call it microblogging.  Entries are limited to 140 characters.  You can post via the web on the Twitter site, by IM or (my favorite) your cellphone.  Sheesh, I'm such a nerd! 

They have several badges - all of them configurable.  I put one in the sidebar over last weekend that's very basic.  Here's a screenshot of one I like because it's cutesy. I can't decide which I like best -- cutesy or clean and streamline.

IMHO, Twitter is an app for the narcissist in the blogger and the voyeur in others.  It's unbelieveable how many tweeters [users] there are.  Some are very serious about their twittering and some are very amusing.  There's even a presidential candidate Twitterer.  Then there's Twittervision which is a real-time geographical visualization of posts to Twitter.  It's a time sucker.  There's also a "TwitThis" button you can install on your browser toolbar.  When visiting a site you like, you can press the "TwitThis" button and it will send that url and a short message to your Twitter feed.  It's Twittermania, I'm telling ya!

I set up a Twitter feed that's less decorative and allows more entries -- about 50.  I entitled it, "Where's Friday, What's she doing, with whom and just what's in that head of hers?  Inquiring minds want to know ... "   Oops, is my ego showing?  All in good fun you know.  Who knows -- twittering just might come in handy one day.  Especially if one has my cell number ... (hint. hint).  I'm not sure I'm going to use that feed though.  It would almost require it's own column so I'd need a three-column layout in order to use it.

A three-column layout?  That's a little too daunting for me to tackle any time soon.  My brain is too dull.  In addition to this flu / cold thing, I have a serious case of MS brain fog this morning.

I played with a bunch of widgets during the week.   I ended up adding a couple in the sidebar.  A bookmark widget that I'm using for my blogroll and another for my plethora of Amazon Wish Lists.  I can't help it ... not only am I a nerd, I'm a widget whore.  Widgets give me nerdgasms.

Okay, enough blogging, I have to go Twitter now.

My first attempts at cartooning.  I need lots of practice and then I can make up my own instead of following a tutorial.  I just have to remember not to get frustrated and have fun.

click to enlarge