2011 Rewind

I've been reminded that it's good to take a look back at everything that made up the year 2011. Now, I'm not really remembering 2011 with much fondness, so maybe it's a good thing to give it a review and see how it sorts out.

So here it is, for my own entertainment, and yours, should you care to come along for the rewind:

Trippiest Parts of 2011:

Vacations were less than in prior years, but still more than most people get. I'm lucky that way. Lucky and childless, hence I can spend-spend-spend on myself and actually have free time to travel without worrying about a college education for someone.

Some vacation Life List dreams were realized when I travelled with Joanne in April. Was it really only this year? It seems like a lifetime ago, really.

I made swimming in a bioluminescent bay a reality, down in Vieques Island, a hop-skip-&-a-short-flight from Puerto Rico. I was a little frightened to be jumping in dark waters at dark, but jumped anyway. I didn't let fear stop me from accomplishing a Life Listable Item, and for that I pat myself on the back. Well done, Me.

The experience itself was neat, but fell a little short from my imagination. Perhaps I had just hyped it too high, it's been on the list since I was a very young teen and read about the experience in a Reader's Digest. That's a long time to nurture a dream.

The second part of that trip also realized a life-long dream, of visiting Barbados. That was also a young-teen dream of mine, gathered from reading my mom's True Romance magazines. Oh, the contests I entered to try to win that trip! Filling out those index cards with perfect print, mailing off my "entries" in the legal-sized envelope...never winning. But, oh, how I dreamed as I slid that stamped mail into the box, visions of frolicking on the beaches of Barbados, the most exotic-sounding destination of a young girls imagination.

True Romance should really be outlawed for a number of reasons, first and foremost because of the promise of "True Romance" bottled up in the title. No wonder I've had grand expectations my whole life of how things should be, I was molded from a very young age - and incorrectly so. Ah well. Back to the point. The point is, I made it to Barbados, and frolicked around. With Joanne, which is much more realistic and less pressure-y than a True Romance scenario. With Joanne, I didn't even have to shave my legs if I didn't want to. I did, but it was OPTIONAL.

Other trips included:

Vegas, twice (Fourth of July, Christmas). Those trips are just fun.

Another Caribbean cruise (October), where I had one of the most fantastical beach experiences in Cozumel.

This is Antigua, one of the other beautiful beaches I experienced in 2011:

That was about it. Two big cruises and two trips to Vegas. I need to branch that out in 2012 expand my world a bit. I see this as an "Area of Opportunity" as we politely call "needed changes" in Corporate World.

Stupidest Health of 2011:

Health is a clear Area of Opportunity for 2012. In 2011, I was beset by:

1. Bad, herniated disc - ouch!
2. Scary-boobie not-cancer cells
3. No weight loss
4. Still not nimble

Here's what I'm celebrating about 2011 in the health arena, though:

1. Had my vagina's health checked out. That's a first in about 6 years. She said it looked fine down there. I said, "thank you, I've been told it's nice."
2. Fixed - sort of - my bad ouchy disc with exercises instead of surgery. Hooray, Me! It still twinges up on occasion (well, daily) but I exercise it back into position.

I shall strive for better health in 2012. I won't bore you with those details, as I'm sure you're about to snooze it up right about now.

That's okay, I'll wait for you.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Okay, back to it.

Saddest Parts of 2011:

We said goodbye to our beloved grandfather, Stanley, my father's brother, Uncle Carl, and my best catpal, Stanley. I won't go on about that, but I assure you that each of these losses are still felt deeply, especially during this holiday season.

You are missed.

(p.s. - I'm only posting pics of The Stanley's because I don't have a photo of my uncle. I don't want backlash that "a cat is more important than an Uncle," that's not the case, I just don't have any on hand. So break off.)

That's such a heavy thing to gloss over, and now I feel like a newscaster who segways from a grim tear-filled story to an upbeat tale of puppies romping in the switch of a minute.

Drunkiest Night of 2011

"How drunk was she?" the crowd yells.

"She was soooo drunk one night, she had sex and has absolutely no recollection of it."

With My Mister. Or so he tells me.

Foodiest Parts of 2011:

My Mister & I dabbled in a meat-free month of August. It was good and I had some really good poops with the change of my diet. Of course I didn't keep it up. But that's a new goal for 2012!

I had a big Foodie moment in Las Vegas, where we ingested $108 lobster tails. And it was good. Oh, so very good. Sorry, lil' lobster. Worth the price, although it was comped off in Vegas, so technically "free" if you don't count the $$ spent gambling. But I'd rather spend $108 dollars in a video poker machine than on a meal. Priorities.

I made perfect frosting. Yes, that is noteworthy.

Those are the things that stick out for me in 2011 just now as I sipped coffee and typed this nonsense. There's more, much more, all things that make up a life, but that's enough for looking back. I've got to get the kitty tiaras ready, it's showtime tonight!

Expect pictures tomorrow.

Good In Bed

So remember that blog where I hee-hawed back and forth on the thought of to buy $200 sheets or not? Well, I hee-d to the side of buying them. I'm not sure if Kenny's grandma fully appreciates what she'll soon be drooling on, but hopefully she'll like them.

I put our set on the bed last night. I had them before Christmas, but wouldn't put them on the bed until the bedroom was cleaned and dusted and sorted and organized. I did all that prior to Christmas in Vegas, but didn't want to put them on before we left, in case the cats threw up on them while we were gone. Which was good foresight, since the cat threw up all over the bed while we were gone.

Last night? Sliding into those $200 Cariloha sheets? Heaven.....I must be in heaven.....sing-songed through my mind, and then I picked up my parasol and twirled around a bit, before collapsing for good in the delicious softness and cool comfort of these sheets.

One more thing I need to make it more difficult to get out of bed. Because it was difficult, Reader. I had grand plans for today (Friday), while Kenny was at his job training thingie. I was going to Accomplish Things; sort and organize and write a novel and save the world in that four-hour span while he was gone.

Instead? I rolled right back over and hunkered down into those $200 sheets for Round 2 of Sleep, Delicious Sleep.

Even Girl Cat came back to bed after Kenny left and snuggled back down in the middle of those sheets, purring so loudly it woke me up (briefly).

I got up when his training was almost over, around 12:40ish. In the afternoon. And I went to bed at a somewhat reasonable time the night before.

There really is no excuse. There's only a reason. A soft and snugglie reason.

Just Hello

Hello, Reader, and Good Day!!

I'm back from our thumbing-our-nose-at-the-holidays trip to Vegas. It was fun. And fast.

No one cares what we did, so I'll save the recap for my own memories.

Did we win money? Well, some. Did we come home with money? Well, no. I hit a few small jackpots (a couple royal flushes, for a grand each, some other video poker wins), but no hand-pays. I like a hand pay. We never got ahead enough between the 2 of us to be able to stash it away. Mr. Anderson was on a loo-zing streak like we've rarely had before. But he was tenacious and would not give up. Much to my dismay. At one point I gave him $500 more dollars and told him, "Don't find me."

So we were both equal losers at the end. Although we rode in on First Class, and rode back home in First Class, too. We're going to be stylin' in our arrivin'-in, now matter what city it be.

I should be a rapper. Maybe in my next life. I've got a natural ability to rhyme. Agreed?

Okay, that's it. I've got laundry to be a laundry-ing. The kitties threw up on our comforter during our absence. It was good times to come home to that.

Ready for Her Close-Up

I spent a good part of an afternoon applying backgrounds from my new birthday phone to pictures of our little gray kitty, tentatively renamed Ashley.

Postcards-from-the-Edge Kitty:

Vintage Photo Kitty:

Giant Billboard Kitty:

And I wonder why my house is never clean. I spend my usable free time with this sort of shit. I'm altruistic that way, giving back to you, Reader.

You're welcome.

The Magic of Christmas Eve

For Christmas, I leave you with this:

I am on my way to bed. Wearing a beauty-potioned-filled Jason-Mask that's supposed to make me purtty.

Kenny's in bed. He's going to roll over and see this face. I laughed out loud in the bathroom when I saw myself with this on, and imagined his surprise / shock / horror-movie-moment when he rolls over and sees me.

I had to wear it tonight, because for the past 14 nights I had been applying a "system" of beauty and after the final night, you're supposed to wear this magic-soaked mask for at least 15 minutes, and tonight - Christmas Eve - is that night.

I shared the ridiculousness of this with you, Reader. It's your gift. You're welcome.

Touché, Neighborhood.

Well played, Neighborhood. Well. Played. ~three slow claps~

THIS greeted me as I walked down my driveway to my car this morning:

WHAT. THE. FUCK. Is a CAR doing in the backyard of the house (rental property) next door??

The good news is, I finally found the cause for Lady the Dog's (Timmy's dog) barking her fool head off this morning. Something tells me they realized the error of their way, parking on a rain-soaked lawn.

Or maybe they plan on burying a body back there.

To provide some perspective, this is how close the Backyard Car is to their house:

And to think the city inspector fined us last summer because our trash can lid had blown away.

And also? I am officially the fucking Annoyed Old Lady of the Neighborhood, because if that gol'darn car isn't outta there by the New Year, I'll be calling the city inspector.

If you need me, I'll be in my rocking chair listening to the oldies station.

Get Off My Lawn, You Damn Kids!

I've officially crossed the threshold into OldLadydom. Yes, yes I did. At the ripe old age of.....clears throat...coughs.....well, age doesn't really matter, does it. It's rhetorical, hence the period instead of the question mark for all you Punctuation Judgers. It was intentional.

Now. Back to the story, before I wander completely off like a dog chasing squirrels.

Upon arrival to my humble home after a day at the office, to what 'fore my wondering eyes did appear? A crappy red car with three troublesome yutes. I know it doesn't rhyme, I'm aware; I'm aware. Move along.

They were just parked in a car in front of my house, creating a gol'darn ruckus. And then? The rap music started, so loud I could hear it through my closed car windows as I was parked in the rear of the house, next to the squirrel-free garage.

I walked up to our side door and peered around to the front of the house, trying to figure out exactly who the heck was hosting the rap party, and who this car full of yutes belonged to. They had the dome light on in the car, and they were out and about near it, hootin' and hollerin' and rappin' and dancin'.

I'm too old to be a-putting up with that at dark (I don't care if it's only 5:30, it's still dark out!), during the winter, at Christmastime.

Asking Timmy from downstairs, "Who the hell are these people, and how long has this been going on?" I got the response of, "I don't know who they are, this has been going on for an hour."

Oh, nosiree. No.Sir.EE. I will not stand for that nonsense.

I marched upstairs and promptly called the local police station where I filed my Official Complaint of Loud Noise and Miscellaneous Shenanigans of Yutes Unknown.

My police complaint consisted of telling the policelady on the phone, "We have old people in the neighborhood, and I'm sure they don't appreciate the shenanigans going on, and I realize right now that by complaining about the loud noise I'm officially the Old People in the Neighborhood." To which she laughed and said she'd send a squad car right on over.

How quickly did they respond to the Official Complaint of Loud Noise and Miscellaneous Shenanigans of Yutes Unknown? Well, my tax dollars were hard at work. In the time it took me to poop, two police cars were in front of the house questioning said yutes. And it wasn't a long and complicated-magazine-reading poop, either, just a basic-business business.

I'm not sure what transpired, as I watched out of the corner of the window lest these yutes see me lurking and decide to ambush me later, but flashlights were flashed around and identifications were presented and then? The yutes started up their red car (that was my official description to the policelady when I called) and left.

Just like an episode of Scared Straight, it was. Only without the stories of anal rape. Probably.

It's Time

Time to get my Christmas cards filled out or there will be no point in sending. Time to do my last-minute shopping for my lovah, or he won't have anything 'neath the tree this year.

Time marches on, ready or not.

Does Santa use google?

I miss my Mac. The iPad is just no good for blogging and I've had words going to waste. Words you'll never get to read. Sad face. For you. Ahem

So I've been much more productive in the evenings without a computer.

Cooked meals from scratch-ish. Did laundry. Vacuumed. Baked Christmas cookies. Went to bed early without an overload of reading depressing blog stories. I read several blogs that are tearjerkers involving sick babies. This week I don't know whats happening with the babies and I'm a little less teary as a result. That's kinda nice.

We went shopping tonight for some kids who are part of some "kids in distress" place. We bought for 2 kids, a boy & a girl. I yelled at Kenny for being too generous. He called me a Scrooge. But he bought the one little boy, who wanted "WWE men" a hundred bucks worth of men and accessories. We're only supposed to spend about $25 per kid. So now? Our kid is going to hit the jackpot while the other kids get one thing.

So that makes me a Scrooge.

We bought the other kid in our list one thing only, a pretty nice MP3 player. The rest of the shit on her list was either sold out or a gift card and I'm not getting the kid a gift card. For some reason that irks me. Like they think "this fat old lady obviously can't be trusted to buy something good, just give me the money so I can do it myself.". That's what a gift card wish list item says to me and I'm not biting. Put an actual item on your list, Kid.

So now's the part of the story where I tell you A) either what a Christmas Asshole I am or B) what a genius I am. You decide.

There was a "tree" at work with a bunch of names and wish list items, we could pick a name and buy for that specific person. There were a number of separate families on the tree.

So. I decided to check the court docket and see if anyone listed had a criminal background before I choose their name. Don't get confused with the kids we purchased for, that was a completely seperate endeavor. You can't search for the juvies. Or who am I kidding, I probably would have.

Did my Christmas-present-buying background check yield any results? You betcha it did. And their name stayed right on the tree and I picked the lady who was in the court system with only a foreclosure against her name. She obviously is having a bad year.

Santas not the only one who sees if you've been naughty or nice.

Adrift

The charger for my Mac is broken. We took it to Best Buy last night for a new one, as we paid for the $400 3-year warranty, and I want my covered $80 charger. Good deal we brokered there, huh. But anyway. They of course can't give me a cord they have in stock, they need to order one and have it shipped to my house. Irritated. Shoulda never bought the warranty. It was against my better judgement, but then like many things I did it anyway. So that should arrive in a few days. In the meantime I'm interloping on My Mister's when I can, or using the iPad, but that's no good for lots of typing of words, such as now. That's really only useful for playing Bejeweled Blitz (highly addictive). Today is Saturday. I hate how fast the weekends go. Here's some brief recaps of the week: 1/ Kenny began his training for the casino job. He's up and out of the house at 8:00 a.m. I had my moment this morning when HE had to get up for work and I rolled over and slept for 2 more hours. Delicious sleep. He only has training fro 4 hours per day, 9:00 - 1:00, and he really likes it, but he is NOT a morning person. Another reason we belong together. 2/ Speaking of not being a morning person, I recently purchased a Philips blue light thing-a-ma-jig that promises to transform my life and maybe even make me a morning person. I began using it on Thursday. I felt pretty peppy Thursday & Friday, but then I had no troubles at all sleeping til 10:30 this morning. No troubles at all. And while it's supposed to make me happier and sunnier dispositioned, I was a little on the Bitchy McBitchypants side today, for no good reason. I was feeling contrary and not very smiley. Maybe the light has to pull all the bad feelings out and make room, before the good feelings can settle in. 3/ Went to a cooking demonstration today to make a vegan meal of quinoa, black bean burgers, squash soup, salsa and caramelized pears. It was good. The best thing that came of it was the discovery that the chef will cook for you. She will make a week's worth of personalized meals for the low low price of $140/week. Now, while that may seem like a lot at first, considering we spent $60 at Bonefish on Wednesday, $50 at Mustard Seed on Saturday, $50 at Olive Garden last night, and $30 at Bob Evans one night this week, $140 would be SAVING us money and be providing more healthy meals. I'm going to contact her and give it a whirl for 2012. So we're going to see how that goes. She doesn't just cook vegan, she'll tailor the menu to your needs. I'm sort of excited as I really do not enjoy cooking when I get home from work, which is why it doesn't get done. 4/ Did a smidgen of Christmas shopping tonight. The problem with shopping is that I see all sorts of things that I like, and that gets expensive fast. I bought a couple things that I already want to return. I just don't love 'em once I got them out of the bewitching lights of the store. I have no idea what to get 92 year old Margie (Kenny's grandma). I was going to get her (and me) a set of Cariloha sheets, that are supposed to be the best sheets EVER, but can't pull the trigger on $170 for a set of sheets, especially that she may not like. And then to get us a set, too (because I can't order them and NOT get some for myself), you're talking close to $400. To snore and drool and fart on. On that note, I'm going to finish my cuppa rum and peach iced tea and find something to eat. My quinoa wore plumb off.

Feats of Strength

It's beginning to look a little like Christmas....

The white light strands really showed up obnoxiously in the picture, but in reality they aren't as obtrusive. The tree actually looks pretty good and sparkly. And before you judge, I am well aware it's not a traditional tree, but with 5 cats, I had to make adjustments and get something with a wide, solid base that will sit on the table. I could get all ho-ho-ho-ie and put a tall tree in front of the window, but that would involve moving furniture and if you have ever read anything here, you should be well aware of our lack of extra storage space. So we festive-up where we can and move along.

I anticipate a number of ornaments will be on the floor by morning. Toby already tried to give it a stretch and bat, but I batted him first.

My big attempt at festivus is stringing the lights up around the window. They almost ran a little short (just bought 'em, didn't know how far they'd go), but I managed to finagle it.

We also put some stuff outside, some light up lollipop things that follow the walkway. We need to get another set tomorrow, we only bought one set to test 'em out. They are pretty cute. Cute enough.

Kenny & I were proud of ourselves. While we like festive-looking homes, we don't normally do much of it ourselves, so baby steps.

Reader, if you're interested in a cat update, well, here she is:

Powder Puff (that's her name this week, because her fur is very dense and powder-puffy) couldn't resist all the living room commotion and hesitantly came out of our bedroom. She hangs out there pretty much all day, it's too dangerous in the living room, apparently.

But she bucked up and helped me decorate, and posed for a picture. Well, sort of posed.

She keeps a tight eye on the other cats. Maybe she'll calm down in a few years and join the rest of the family on a regular basis. Maybe.

Does he see me when I'm sleeping?

Convincing Santa to take me off the Naughty List....

A Day In the Life

I must be "life unobservant" lately, I haven't noticed any nonsense that has prompted me to write it here for the annals of history. I actually had to just now Google the word "annals" because of course I typed "anals" and that came up wrong. Maybe, though, it's exactly right for this blog. All this stuff just MAY be more suited for the "Anals of History."

On to other Things About My Life.

Today, I embark on putting up the Christmas tree, and ho-ho-ho'ing, and fa-la-la'ing. And cleaning up the house.

Tonight, we have plans to go to Stan Hywett Hall and get our jolly on there.

So that's my day. Now you can move on with yours.

Things On My Lips

Dragos famous broiled oysters:

Local brew:

To wash down local flavors, including goat meat stew(ish) type food:

I will admit, I was pretty tentative on the goat meat, but then recognized that I've had far more questionable things in my mouth at some point in my life, and ate it. Also included in the meal was jerk chicken, a Jamaican staple, which was spicy deliciousness, crafted by this dude:

The dude in the hat, not the dude in the Bazinga shirt.

More local brews, with a splash of tequila floating. Beer + tequila = yumbuzz!

Shrimp cocktail tasted that much sweeter when eaten underneath a tiki hut on the beach:

And in Grand Caymen, it was my own damn fault. On the rocks.

Which I blame for clouding my good judgment, leading me to say "YES!" when I maybe should have said, "I'll think about it" when looking at new diamond earrings.

The new earring is the lower earring. Purchased only because I lost the mate to the earring in the top hole on Day 1 of vacation. Woke up in New Orleans and I faced a naked lobe, and I was sad. They were a really clean, pretty pair of 1/2 carats that I've had for a number of years (at least 8, I don't remember exactly, but they were a Christmas gift from Fucksteve, so at least that old).

So I had a couple margaritas, went in to the jewelry shop to try and find a single 1/2 carat replacement and the next thing I knew, I was dazedly walking out with new almost-a-carat-each in my lobes.

That was an expensive fucking margarita.

Kenny is a horrible shopping Wingman, by the way. The Caymen brew caught up with him and he was slumped over on a couch while the deal was being done. They kept him lubed up with glasses of champagne, and was trying to push a $16,000 (beautiful!!!) engagement ring his way, to make an honest woman outta me, instead of the loose floozy slutbag that I am. He said he was fine with the cheap (much, much cheaper) slutbag version of me.

One night of very fine dining offered this:

And it was good.

Soft words were also on my lips:

And big smiles, especially from this view:

Dedication

Look what I found for you, Rob!

29

Happy Birthday to ME!

I'm feeling pretty lucky to know me. And I celebrated me with a few bites of red velvet cake. My mouth appreciated me.

Do the Hustle

I give up. On the celebration that is supposed to be Birthday Month, that is. It has repeatedly turned out to be a sucky month, more than once, and now I'm tired of the disappointment. Yeah, I said it, and sound like a big baby crying about the unfairness of Life and wants to take her ball and bat and just go home. Well, Birthday Month, you can sort of suck it.

A few examples of shitty birthday month:

One year during the start of Birthday Month, my Fatass-Ex-husband's dad killed himself. Shot himself right in the head, he did. I remember it distinctly because it was the year I was turning 35, and we had to go to Texas and take care of bidniz. And we had planned a trip to Memphis for my birthday, which I distinctly remember because we had really angry hotel birthday sex that year, as he was feeling distraught and took it out on my vagina. My vagina had to pay the Piper for the dad's deed and act like a wailing wall or a crying towel. Or something.

Then another year, right at the start of Birthday Month, my Fatass-Ex-husband was discovered to be a cheating fatass-husband and got thrown out of the house, complete with a hillbilly-white-trash-moment police escort (which was ironic, as he IS a policeman!), and earned the "Ex" part of his title. My vagina was sad that birthday, until it found someone to cheer it up, but that didn't happen until well into the holiday seasons, and by then Birthday Month was a memory.

This year? I've had my fair share of troubles this month so far. None of it can be linked back to my fatass-ex-husband or my vagina, which is a step in some direction. In fact, Kenny is doing his part to ensure my vagina does not suffer. But really? Times seem to turn to suck this time of the year, as if somehow The Universe does not understand the rules of Birthday Month.

How did this month start? Oh, with my boobie-non-cancer surgery - that's right! That morphed into the ol', "you don't have cancer, but should take some cancer drugs" discussion, which is weighing heavily on my mind because I don't want to be making the wrong choice and have to pay the Piper later, because I hate the Piper. He is pretty bitey.

I've had more family drama, as hard as I try to avoid it. It's too much for a stupid nonsense blog, but it's not helping me age gracefully. I thought my fucking Clean Karma spray would help out, but it doesn't appear to be living up to the promise.

On a positive note, I met my mother's friend for drinks and chats on Saturday night. Now, that was a good time! And it was full of a lot of stories. Fifteen years worth of words came out of my mouth. She is a funny woman. And she knows several unladylike things about me - that, coincidently DO involve my vagina - so if I'm ever running for president, I'm going to have to have her as my vice president so she doesn't sell out to The National Enquirer and give them pictures of me in my teensy-weensy bikini. When I was 16, so yes, it looked a lot better than images of Current Me in a bikini would look.

Perhaps if she has that picture I will scan it in. In fact, that just inspired me to do a whole cringe-worthy photo series of myself through the years. Now that could be an interesting look-back to celebrate birthday month! If it's going to stink anyway, I may as well provide you, Reader, with a laugh at my expense. Laughter is the best medicine, at least when you're out of Vicodin.

Unearthed

Look what I found while walking Lady the Dog at 8:00 a.m. on a chilly-but-bright Sunday morning:

A ripe tomato hanging from a very sad looking vine next to the backporch.

Over the summer a couple of plants were thrown into the ground, and then pretty much forgotten about. They didn't mind the insult and bore fruit anyway.

I shall enjoy that on a slice of toast Monday morning.

Winter's On The Way!

Snow clouds moved in over the city this morning, making an impressive backdrop against the Fall colors. Impressive way to start my Friday workday.

Good Thing It Was Nothing.

So I had my follow up appointment with the boobie doctor. And I'm not too thrilled with the outcome. I need to do a lot of research.

I do not at this time have any cancer. I had abnormal cells. Now I am high risk.

They gave me a little chart that factored in my age, the age of my first period (which is a guess, who the hell knows if I was 11 or 12, or whatever). That's something all mothers should mark down for their daughters somewhere, because apparently that's info you need when you're in your 40s.

My risk is 35% that I could develop cancer. I didn't think that sounded too bad (considering all the shit we encounter on a daily basis just living life), but then she told me that the Average Woman (who is this average woman, anyway?) has a 12% risk. So I'm a triple threat.

They recommended I take tamoxifen for 5 years, which is normally what you take after you have cancer.

I wouldn't care too much except it would probably throw me right into menopause.

I'm not ready to be in menopause.

I'm just not. I'm forty-fucking-four. I don't want to get a dried up vagina and sweats and more hairs to fight, not to mention more risk of weight gain (hooray, like I need that).

And oh by the way, the tamoxifen can increase your risk of uterine cancer. Maybe.

I guess I'd be more accepting of the fate of this if I had cancer! But I just have some shitty cells, that they scooped out.

And oh, by the way, I also get to get a titty MRI in May, which is where I lay in an MRI machine with my titties in a cup and they do an MRI on 'em. And even more exciting, she told me, "Don't be surprised if we find a lot of stuff we have to biopsy after the MRI, because that thing picks up every little thing and we have to check it all out." WTF. REALLY?

So that's when I started crying and told her that let me get this straight, I didn't at this time HAVE cancer, but I've been worried for the past three months, and now every six months I get to go through this all over again, and worry for three months? So for six months out of the year, I'll be getting biopsies and waiting for test results. Hooray.

Now don't get me wrong, I'd rather be making these decisions than scheduling chemo appointments, and far far too many women are in those shitty pair of shoes. But I cannot imagine that poking around inside my titty every six months - not to mention my mental strain - is going to do me a bit of good in the long run.

I am going to request an estrogen test. I want to know what my levels are, and if they are high, and if I can decrease them naturally over the next six months through diet and exercise and Juice Plus. That's my call back to the doctor tomorrow. She never even told me about that, Almighty Google did.

And one last oh, by the way, she also shared that another option is to have a bilateral mastectomy, and that will reduce my risk of developing cancer to 1%. Why don't I just get all my fucking potentially troubling body parts removed, just in case? What would I be left with? My hair?

Like Madonna sang, I'm keeping my boobies, oh yeah, I'm going to keep my boobies. For now. I'll hold off on the bilateral mastectomy for the moment, but thank you for the option.