I think I have a lot of things going on in the background that I've been too busy/too *something* to blog about. So I'll try to catch you up a bit.
Most excitingly, I am having my tummy tuck surgery on 11/12. In just over a month!! Several things happened to make me pull the trigger on this one:
- I have lost hope that insurance will chip in for the surgery. I talked at length with my new plastic surgeon, who said he is only aware of one case being paid partially by aetna, and it was a bad case. While I consider my case bad, in the loose skin scheme of things, it is not horrible, I suppose. They talk about people's hanging pannis (sp?) down their thighs. Mine doesn't. But it still sucks.
|Oh, you might as well see me in my underwear, why not?|
Now, before you go thinking that belly is not that bad, I'm not even showing you the hanging forward pictures, which would make your eyes bleed. :) We'll just leave it at that.
- I got approved for financing with carecredit.com. It will cost me an arm and a leg, I'm sure. I have decided I am willing to pay an arm and a leg.
- I will take two weeks off for the surgery, and a friend pointed out that if I combine my Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving holidays, I'll only use six days of leave for two weeks off. I called the surgeon's office and he's available to do it, so WAH-LAH!!
Needless to say, I am very excited. And nervous. Mostly excited. But nervous. More nervous about the finances than anything. This will require some serious belt-tightening. Which I will be able to do, because I will have no loose skin around my middle. (Hahahaha, I slay me.)
Oh my goodness, is this all I think about?? YES!! I have a generally pretty addictive nature anyway. Oh, who am I fooling - I have a *very* addictive nature. I am pleased that when I was a rabble-rousing carousing sort back in my late teens, I had the wisdom to not try any drugs beyond pot, which makes me sleepy, hungry and grouchy (and thus, I do not smoke pot, haha). But something told me that if I had the opportunity to run around feeling like I was running at hyper-speed, or hallucinating pretty mind-pictures, well, I just wouldn't stop.
So now I am only thinking about cycling. Bike, bike, bike, I want to go ride my bike. I am *this close* to commuting into work, even though it would be a real, giant, tremendous pain in the butt and logistically with children, daycare pick-up times, etc. it is just almost completely unfeasible. But my inner cyclist is hyperventilating because soon it is going to be dark ALL THE TIME here in Seattle and how will I ride, how will I ride? I have been playing "beat the sunset" every day I have the chance, but that is making for a much shorter ride than I want.
I have not yet gotten the craigslist bike, which I might as well link here for you because I don't think you're going to go buy it. The seller has been really wonderful, though, and while I didn't hear from him last night, thus sending me into panic attacks - he did text late about being locked out of his car, etc. I am confident the deal will go down this evening.
I want it. I want to have an operable bicycle for every member of my family, and then I want to toughen up my children's butts and legs so that we can just go ride, ride, ride without care or concern for hills. Oh, so many hills around here. Now, as for me, well, I don't *fly* up those hills, but I don't give them a second thought, either. (Well, I give them a second thought, but I tough them out, haha.) My children, however, will struggle with these.
Linda, you asked about my sore butt earlier. HECK YEAH IT HURT! But it got better quickly. :) I think your sit-bones just need to get used to it. My bike now is a "comfort cruiser" and it is the most comfortable of butt-sparing seats, I'll bet. But even the too-big bike I ride with the kids doesn't bother me that much. I should note here that I am really having trouble with comments on the site, so I am still reading but playing catch-up. I was getting TONS of "anonymous" comments, which blogger is catching and sending to spam, but my email account was being INUNDATED with emails, so I hit "block" or "spam" or something, and now I am receiving very, very spotty notification of comments on the blog. So I am still reading, but since I don't get the emails very often, I also do not really have an opportunity to respond directly. I plan to sort out this problem somehow. :)
MEN/CERTIFIABLY INSANE BLOGGER
I don't know if it's better to talk about my insanity, which I feel in most cases is self-evident, or men. We'll start with men, which will naturally segue into my insanity. I feel I owe this to my regular readers.
I did take down my online profile last weekend. How exhausting. Online dating is an exercise in pounding your own head against a concrete wall. Every once in awhile, someone slips a pillow in between your head and the wall, so it feels good for a second, so you keep doing it in hopes that it feels good again. :) Or I could just be a teensy bit jaded right now, haha.
Did I ever tell you that Greg and I humored one evening of possibly reconciling? I doubt that I did, because I was embarrassed, which quickly turned to anger, and then, just as quickly as anything, my lingering feelings and longing for Greg evaporated into nothing. Seriously, just gone. I'll recap quickly, because I think you need to see how Greg fueled some serious insanity fires inside my poor battered psyche. NOW I see that. Before, I could not.
So, Greg asked me out, this was several weeks ago now. He missed me, he was terribly sorry, he said all the right things to gain access to my company for an evening. What he said to get me out really doesn't matter, because as you will see, it's what he said later that mattered. We actually had a wonderful evening. I liked being in Greg's space. (Jeez, DID I blog about this? Forgive me if I am repeating.) We went on a motorcycle ride, which is a key to my heart - although, I gotta say, now that I am bike riding, I do believe that motorcycles may not pack the same thrill. I have yet to test this theory, though. We went to dinner, and we had drinks on my patio on a beautiful late summer evening. And here are some of the things he said over the course of the night:
- Hey, did you wash your car recently, it doesn't look that dirty.
- What condition is your house going to be in when we go in there?
- (Turned a scrutinizing eye on the hanging flower basket he bought me for Mother's Day, which had a lot of brown stuff. Cast me a knowing look.)
- You've got cigarette butts in your fire pit (duh, those are yours, a'hole)
- I see you stopped taking care of the tomato plants.
Okay, those are just annoying. But when we sat on the patio, admittedly having a couple drinks, he really let fly. WITH TEARS IN HIS EYES, that man looked me in the eyes and told me that he loves me but he could not get past how obese I used to be. That if he had met me then, he wouldn't have given me a second look and that is so upsetting for him. I pointed out that before he lost 60 pounds and had a mustache, I also would not have given him a second look. (SRSLY, it would take quite a man for me to look at twice with a mustache, I am not a facial hair fan, although I loves me some gristly stubble. Which he then shaves off.) He told me that by not FOREWARNING him about my loose skin, he was just so surprised and he could not get it out of his head. And that he was so sorry, because he didn't WANT to be bothered by it, but he just doesn't like it. Umm, I always forgot to ask him AND WHAT THE FREAK DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT - he knew I was having plastic surgery at the first possible opportunity, for crying out loud.
Somehow, this revelation still turned into a positive (??) ending for the evening, although at dinner he did comment that it also bothered him how little I eat.
I feel like I should say here that I am not a stupid woman. :) When I read this, and read how much bullisht I put up with from Greg, how much I let him utterly DESTROY my self-confidence over a not-even six month period...well, I don't feel like I'm reading the words of a smart woman. I liken my time with Greg to being wrapped in a warm, protective hug with so many positives and it feels soooo good that you do not even realize that you are being slowly sliced to death with razor blades, and before you know it you have bled to death, even while you are clinging onto how good it feels. Except for the bleeding to death part.
But it worked, see, because Greg's many subtle criticisms of me were the very things I criticize about myself, all day, every day. My house and car *are* a mess. I did kill the tomatoes (partly out of hatred, haha) and I am a slob. And with every waking moment, I hate that loose skin and the havoc that morbid obesity wreaked on my body. I'm an easy target if you want to criticize me because I'll just jump right in and agree with you.
It was on a Wednesday night that I went out with Greg. And on Thursday, I was profoundly, profoundly sad, when I should have been happy. We were going to see each other again, right? And so I spent the day reflecting on how really, really full of despair I felt. And I thought about the last time I had felt that way, and I knew it was when I was with Greg.
Friday I took the day off and I went for my at the time longest bike ride to date. It was sunny. I was utterly blissed out. And I text broke up with him. For good, this time. I told him, and now I'm paraphrasing, "When we were together, I felt lucky to be with you. I was proud of you and proud you were my man. I don't think you feel that way when you're with me, and you should. All you see are all my flaws - I need someone who makes me feel on top of the world, and you make me feel like I'm being run over by it. I hope you find the perfection you seek, but we both know you won't. Good luck, Greg."
Now, Sabrina and my main man (what do I call him on the blog?? Argh, I cannot remember) say that I am just enough of a control freak that I could not handle it that Greg broke up with me, so I had to get him back in order to break up with him. Eh, there may be some truth to that. Regardless, the texts were sent, he wrote back that I am a wonderful person and he wishes the best for me. And like steam escaping a pot, he was gone. The pain, the wistfulness, the longing...pretty much disappeared on that long, sunny day bike ride.
The insanity, however, did not. See, I hate my belly soooooo much, and Greg hated my belly so much, that he painted a very clear picture for me that men hate my belly. Eh, I'm sure men don't love it. My recounting of my experience with Lance Armstrong was painted more by my own self-loathing and insecurities than actual facts, I should say. I expected Lance Armstrong to hate my flabby skin, and so therefore I made him, at least in my mind.
Really, we went out that second time and again, we had a blast. A very nice man. Over the course of knowing him, I had not-so-artfully worked into our conversations twice that I had wrecked my body and needed plastic surgery and had a tummy tuck planned. Once was by text (SRSLY I think all dating is done by text now, how lame) and once as I was running defense to keep his hands off my body. Neither time was he outwardly fazed by my Horror. But what had been a full-court press to talk to me and spend time with me turned to a brief text the next day and a largely-grumpy call that afternoon. He is a commercial painter who had done a big side job that day that had not gone well. Regardless, my intuition told me we would not be riding on Sunday, as planned. When we were on the phone, I gave him a pass on it but he said it was going to happen. I told my girlfriend at dinner that night (Saturday) that no way it was going to happen. So when he texted Sunday something along the lines of "hey, I forgot about my daughter's cheer thing that I want to go to so I can't ride, sorry," I didn't respond. It was as expected, and by then my insanity, my Greg-voice screaming in my head, was like a runaway train. It was the Horror, he had touched it and hated it as all men and everyone in the right mind does, most especially me.
Wednesday was his 40th birthday and he texted me first thing in the morning. Asked me if I was going to break my silent treatment long enough to wish him a happy birthday. I said of course I wished him a happy birthday, but I hadn't expected to hear from him again. I told him we should talk again in a few months when I've had my plastic surgery and was further along in my own fitness journey. He said that wasn't it at all, that he was tired and in a bad mood and hated turning forty. And would I go out with him this weekend?
Anyway. I think in many ways, Greg came along for me at the worst possible time. And maybe the best possible time. I had lessons I needed to learn, and Greg pounded them in like a stake through my heart. I did go out with Lance Armstrong last night, and he's not boyfriend material but he will be fun to spend time with now. It's like a switch flipped in my head when I had the Lance-Armstrong-hates-my-body-too psychotic break. I am man-weary. I don't want anyone beating the proverbial isht out of me while I am making all this wonderful progress on myself and having such fun.
I'm not quite to the point of turning down time with men with bodies carved out of marble, but I wonder if my mind and heart have finally sync'ed up to the point they need to be. I don't *need* this, I will enjoy myself and my life and we'll just see how it plays out. There was a desperation or an urgency that I am just not feeling anymore, starting with my razor-blade revelation about Greg and ending with my wild leap to assume that Lance Armstrong hated my body as much as me.
Oh - there is another man. I had been talking to him online, very, very, very slowly for weeks. This guy is in no freaking hurry. We had texted and talked a couple times, and he called me again after my profile was gone, so he was grandfathered in. This one is pretty hilarious, because he is a recent Oregon transplant who is an electrician for the county, who lives in Federal Way. (Greg was a recent Oregon transplant who is an electrician for the county and lives in Federal Way. Both moved here for the jobs.) Like Greg, he is a big motorcyclist. He was married for many years but has no kids. I met him one day early this week for coffee and he is taking me for a motorcycle ride on Sunday. I might be going simply because I find the parallels hysterical. Ladies, if you are single in the Seattle area, move to Federal Way, or at least grocery shop there. I would, but I lived in Federal Way for years and hate it with a purple passion. Although I might start grocery shopping there. :) Of the men I've dated, no less than four have lived in Federal Way, including Retired Navy. All these men have had great jobs and some serious coinage. And toys.
Right now, it's all about me and my bicycle. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike...
|Here's what crazy looks like all dressed up.|