OK, so I'm sitting here on the train on my crackberry next to an aptly spread out south shore businessman (see previous post for comparison to my ass). Anyhoo I just would like to state for the record that it smells like a cross between freshly baked bread and that smell of the old musty marching band uniforms... You know the one on the PVTA bus back to chapel after a game in 70 degree heat in *wool* uniforms... For those that don't know what I'm talking about, boy are you lucky. Ick.

Seriously...

Why is it that on my *last* day of work here at the old job, I am being bombarded with things and questions and answers and requests... I am not a people person right now and I don't care.

Why is it that every time my cube neighbor walks by my cube, he hits his hand on the little space they try to qualify as a doorway. Is it a non-verbal hello or is he just trying to drive me crazy? Considering the goddarn ringtone on his cell phone plays "More Than A Feeling" when it rings (and it rings *a lot*...I'm thinking he may actually be dealing drugs...after all, he doesn't do much else all day) I think the latter as I'm feeling a little closer to the mental hospital each time I come in here.

Why is that for the second day in a row I didn't hear the weather report correctly. I know those incompetent ass clowns can't seem to get even the following day correct on the weather report, but could they at least get the 'right now' forecast? I'm faaah-reeeeezing.

Why is that I want to lose weight, but can only think about what I want for lunch?

Arrrgh...

home saaa-weet home

dudes, i am so freakin excited to be home... it's amazing how much you can miss something, whether it be people or places or memories (or beds with amazing thread count sheets). it was difficult for me to get back to work this week, but i'm actually a bit glad i did. i got back into the swing of things (sort of) but i'm still super tired after doing just about anything, which makes me feel like a little old lady. i am, however, looking forward to feeling better each day.

i *also* hope i can get back into the gym soon because my bum-bum is spreading out like a south shore business man on the commuter rail.

ah, ok, off to watch 'uncle buck.' john candy (rip big guy) is a guilty pleasure of mine :) such an exciting saturday night, don't you think?

more boobie bits

ahh, the wonders of sitting in a hotel room with nothing on... the tv that is (nyuk nyuk)

so, i've been getting emails asking how i'm feeling and how the new girls are faring... i think my favorite is an email from Melissa (love you babe!) that simply said, 'how's the new rack?' to be honest, only in this past week could i really look at them. the gory details are as such:

ok, so breasts are always almost a little different... it's actually very normal to have fraternal twins out there strutting their stuff. mine, on the other hand, were basically a normal boob (albeit big, a D) and then a boob on steroids (a clemens-like tyrannical boob, dead set on taking over the nation... or at least trying to escape most clothing on a whim). living with them was dreadful. they attracted attention in all the wrong ways, they were uncomfortable and buying a bra meant picking a size somewhere in the middle, letting miss normal boob swim around like a lost goldfish, while the other clung to life as a virtual double boob, spilling over like a mini-muffin top... lovely.

about two years ago (although i had been thinking about getting this done since i was 19) i was on this big, awesome healthy thing. i was kicking some serious ass with my step classes and my spin crazy business and my running... ok, running might be inflating it a little... it was more like left, right, huff, puff, left, right, god this sucks, left, right, ooh a candy store... to prepare for activity i would have not only one sports bra, but two medieval-type torture devices. they'd squish all that bulk into one big uni-boob, which would continue to crash around in unison as if i were then just smuggling a ham hock.

then about a year ago, the back and neck pain were killing me. sitting at my desk, driving my car, riding the t, carrying my bag... all abnormally painful and driving me insane. i finally got the courage to go to the doctor and she referred me to a plastic surgeon. i went through all of the gyrations, only to have the insurance company nip it in the bud (no pun intended). they insisted i try physical therapy for at least six months (which seems retarded to me as they probably spent more on the silly pt than it cost for the total surgery). i obliged and then went back to the same surgeon. of course she was in a fairly aptly named posh little town on the south shore who decided that she didn't *need* to take insurance anymore... must be nice. hi, i'd like a facelift and a tummy tuck... oh no, i'll be paying cash... seriously? seriously

so *then* i went back to the insurance company and i asked for a list of approved plastic surgeons. i found a great doc, Dr. Terri Halperin. she is, in bostonspeak, wicked smaht. amazing in fact.

she's also very masterful. i'll write more about my new 'perkies' in due time as they heal, but they do have the potential to be outstanding. high and tight, i say, high and tight! :)

mind the new melons please

for those that don't know, my frontal, chestal (not a word, but so should be) region has been undergoing some fairly extensive renovations over the past month... and it has not been easy let me tell ya. i know that in the long run (oh, no pun intended there...but i will so be happy to not be running down the street smuggling two watermelons in a double sports bra contraption from hell) it will be one of the best decisions i've ever made, but right now i'm only like 56.8% pleased.

{sigh}

i had these rather (and in hindsight somewhat bizarre) visions that somehow the reduction would be a quick heal and be off on my merry way. of course, i somehow also thought that i'd wake up a size 8 or a 10 (excuse me, can you add an ass reduction to my order?)... unfortunately, i think what's happening is that by nipping and tucking one thing is causing other things to look even bigger. damn mirror.

what's worse is i *should* be primarily worried about my health and healing and all that... instead i'm wondering if my bathing suits will fit better this summer and if these bizarre, ridiculous shirts they're selling all over the place (which basically make you look pregnant...dangerous territory for a girl who's married for four years) will fit... god, i'd die if someone was like, 'oh, when are you expecting?' i think i'd positively go all karate kid on their ass.

*a-n-y-h-o-w*

rules, shmools....

after reading (which undoubtedly feels like snooping) other's blogs, i'm feeling quite popular. so, bowing to peer pressure, i now present you with {insert a muppets-animal-style drum roll here} ... my big, bad blog

before we begin, some ground rules:

1) i sometimes don't like using capital letters. perhaps i'm e e cummings reincarnated...or perhaps i have double-jointed pinky fingers that don't like pressing the shift key... or even perhaps it's because my parents (and especially my dad, who up until last year called his computer the 'solitaire machine,' continually write in all capital letters). Reading an entire email in that manner is rated up there with verbal abuse if you ask me... as in, 'HI HONEY!!! HOW IS YOUR DAY GOING??? DO YOU LIKE THE CLIENT THAT YOU ARE AT TODAY???' seriously...

2) i like using the word 'seriously.' i had a handle on it way before meredith grey boinked mcdreamy...

3) i also enjoy '...' you know 'dot, dot, dot' my friends call it way too informal... i call it way too fantastic

hmm, that's it for now... seriously