The Craziest Member of the Family

This is Feather, AKA Feather the Bird, AKA Mr. Chicken. He has been in our family for over twenty years. My dad got him when he was just a baby. He is, literally, insane.

My dad gave us Feather the Bird, because he has another parrot, a female, and Feather is a male. I love Feather, and I think the feeling is mutual most of the time, but sometimes he reacts to me in very strange ways.

This picture was taken a couple of months ago. I was in the office, as usual, doing something and Shawn was in there with me. Suddenly, Feather the Bird took flight off of his cage. Feather doesn't know how to fly. He has never really flown before. In doing so, he got himself caught up in our dining room light. I knew he was scared, but I had to snap this picture. After I did, Shawn got him down and as we both talked to him and attempted to soothe his ruffled feathers, I snapped the picture of him with Shawn. He seemed fine as he chattered away and we put him back in his cage.

Ever since then, any time I approach his cage, no matter what he's doing, he attacks his toy bell that's hanging from the roof of it. In the morning,when I get up and open the shades, he sees me coming and attacks his bell. As soon as I walk away, he stops. If I attempt to take him out of his cage, he backs away from me with his beak open, pretending that he's going to lunge at me any moment, which he has never done. But if he sees me getting into the cupboard to get him a treat, he excitedly walks around the top of his cage mumbling to himself. If all of us are in the living room and then we suddenly disappear, Feather starts chattering away nonstop: "Hello? How are ya? Whatcha doin? hee hee hee. Hi Feather. Hi birdie. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hee hee hee. Whatcha doin?" until you just have to go back out in the living room and give him attention. He seems to prefer men to women, as my father's other parrot prefers women to men and loves me so much she gives me kisses. Feather wouldn't dream of such a thing. When he's locked up in his cage and I walk by, he snaps at the bars like he's being a bad ass, yet, if I open up his cage and talk to him, he will extend his foot out far enough for me to rub his paw. I don't get him. Also today, I was sitting in my room, recuperating from this god awful sickness I have and trying to sleep. All of a sudden, I heard the frantic sound of feathers and Feather's unmistakable nervous laughter. I went flying into the living room only to find Feather content in his cage, feathers drifting down to the floor, and both cats laying on the couch, looking at him like, What the fuck is your problem, dude? He appeared to be all right, and I was relieved. It does get to be a pain in the ass, rescuing him from picture frames, cupboard tops, and dark hallways whenever he gets the urge to fly. But I love him. He is a Yellow nape Amazon parrot, and very temperamental. We threaten to "cook the birdie" all the time but that would never happen. Feather is a good bird, has endured a lot, and he will stay with me until one of us dies. He is a member of the family.

Look At Me Now!

Final grades were finally posted today for this semester, even though they were supposed to be posted yesterday. I just checked them and the vote is in:

I have a 4.0 GPA!!!


I also made the President's List at my college!

This is a first for me, getting straight A's. I've always had pretty high grades throughout my college career. But never straight A's. So now I get to go to a special dinner banquet held for all the students that made the list. I am so excited. That just made my day. Yay, me!


*Note...after publishing this entry, and re reading it, I realized I spelled "students" in the wrong context. I had originally spelled it with an apostrophe, as in "student's." I never make grammatical errors like that. Good thing I caught it before ya'll laughed at me. Here I am excitedly telling everyone I am on the President's list, and I can't even use the word "students" in a gramatically correct manner. LOL.

Classic Sondra..Rising the Blog from the Dead

This, again, was a post from my Yahoo journal. It is dated September 6th.




I just got the worst phone call of my life. Well, almost the worst. It's right up there with the three phone calls I've gotten notifying me of the death of my beloved maternal grandmother in 1995, my closest guy friend Tom in 2000 (who is in my picture album), and my best friend Heather in 2002. No, no one died. But it's bad enough. Couple that with about one and a half hour's worth of sleep, and you get a very cranky and tired Sondra G. So that got me to thinking about things that irritate me and I thought I would list them here. They are in no particular order, nor do they necessarily make any kind of rational sense. It just emphasizes the fact that I am loony. Which I think is funny and take a rather sick delight in. hee hee.

I HATE, HATE, HATE the ringing of the phone or the knocking sound on a door. I can't stand it when my phone rings, and when it does, I have one objective....to silence it immediately. When someone knocks on the door, unless I've been expecting them, I do not answer it. I hate that sound. I HATE IT.


Which brings me to what I call the "incessant ringing of a telephone scene" that seems to be in most movies. You know, where the phone just rings and rings and either no one is there to pick it up or someone is there, staring at it. That just drives me apeshit. I usually hum through the scene so I don't have to hear it. People in movie theatres witnessing this behavior must think I am out on a day trip with the clan from the local loony bin. (Ever seen the scene in the movie "Constantine" where the lady is sitting, working on her laptop, and all of her phones and pagers begin to go off at once? AND SHE DOESN'T ANSWER ANY OF THEM? I clapped my hands over my ears and began rocking back and forth, screaming, "Make it stop!" until my nephew's girlfriend Kristen turned it off. If there is a hell, that's what it's like.)


The sound of soda being poured into a glass. (shudder). I don't know what it is about that sound, but I don't like it. I really don't. It's just so obnoxious. If I have to pour soda into a glass, I tip the glass sideways and hold the bottle or can almost at a ninety degree angle. This eliminates most of that sound. You should try that if you are an enthusiastic, obnoxious soda pourer. You never know who might be cringing around you, ready to take that bottle or can and shove it right up your everlovin' ass.


This isn't really something that irritates me, per se, but I feel I have to mention it just because it is so strange. I DO NOT LIKE ELECTRICITY. I am scared of lightning. I am not scared of it during the day, but at night I am terrified of it. It's not the actual lightning that scares me, it's the BOLTS of lightning. When I lived in Florida I used to see heat lightning almost every night for most of the year, and it never bothered me. Something about bolts of lightning makes me think of evilness. I don't know why. Also, I'll never be the first one to flip on a switch in a new place. I don't plug things in if I don't know for sure that they work. And here, in this relatively new house, we have a whirpool in our bathtub. It's great! Brand new and hardly used. There is a child safety switch on the wall that keeps the power out of it until it's turned on, and in order to get it turned on, that switch has to be up and you have to push the button on the side of the tub. The other night I had every intention of soaking in the whirpool and reading a book, but once I filled the tub with water, I could not bring myself to push the button. I kept thinking, "What if it's not grounded right and I get electrocuted?" I have used it before but I made someone else (SG2--more about that later) get in it and turn it on before I would get in it. I even sat in the water with my finger poised over the button trying to force myself to turn it on. I couldn't. So I called SG2 and he came to push the button, but then I totally freaked out and jumped out of the tub, which caused the jets to spray water all over the bathroom floor and mirrors. Then I made him stand there with his hand on the button for 20 minutes while I tried to decide if I wanted him to push it or not. Finally, I decided against using the whirpool even though that was what I wanted to do in the first place. JUST IN CASE I get electrocuted. Hey, fuck you. I'm not taking any chances.


Here is something that just chaps my ass. And I'm gonna say it like this: To all you stupid fucking people out there that think it's just SO cute to put your fucking kid on the phone with me, to hell with you! God I hate that. I can't tell you how many times I've been on the phone with someone and in the background I can hear loud kid noises. (which is another thing that bothers me, by the way). Almost certainly whoever I'm talking to will always say, "Do you wanna say hi? Say hi," and then put the fucking kid on the phone. Then I'm forced to make conversation with the little monkey. And what do you say to a goddamn baby? I don't have shit to say. Put your mommy back on the phone. I don't want to hear you screaming in my ear. Jesus Christ. Go back to screaming in your mommy's ear.
(P.S. The last line does not apply to L.C., Z.C., K.S., or I.S. You know who you are. I love talking to your kids, and that's okay.)


I really, REALLY hate it when people spell and pronounce my name "SANDRA." It is not "SANDRA", you grammatically challenged, obviously BLIND, peabrain fuckfaces. It's "SONDRA." You see, the "O" speaks for itself. And I cannot tell you how often---several times a day---I get called "SANDRA" or even, God forbid, "SANDY" and I just grit my teeth and take it. Not that I have anything against the name "SANDRA." It's a perfectly lovely name, if a little common. But it's not MY name. MY name is spelled with an "O". SONDRA. SONDRA. SONDRA. If you can't remember that, then just call me Pearl.


I know I'm fat. Please don't stare at me. I went through my sensitive stage and got all weepy about the way people looked at me. Well, not anymore. I'm over that shit now. I weighed 135 lbs when I got pregnant with my first daughter. I know what it's like to be on the other side. And I know the difference in which I've been treated. When you're as big as I've gotten, people really do look right through you, or they avert their eyes because they're thinking something that's not so nice and they feel guilty. Hey, it's okay to be disgusted by fat people. I am sensitive to the fat cause, but don't ever label me a "BBW". I am no "BBW". What I am is a sick person whose thyroid has failed to function, and I have no metabolism. Couple that with a little bit of an overeating disorder and a great love of food, and you have a 300 lb disaster coming right at you. But you better watch what you say about me or other heavy people in front of me, or all 300 lbs of me will be on your chicken neck ass at breakneck speed and you won't know what hit you. Be sensitive. Save your comments for when you know you won't be overheard. It's okay to be appalled, just handle it gracefully. Fuck what's politically correct---I'm apalled at myself sometimes---but use a little discretion, common sense, and maturity. And keep in mind that there is a sexy bitch underneath all this fat. And when it all goes away the only guys I'm gonna talk to are the ones who talked to me when I was fat. The rest of ya, well, I have no use for ya. Just be careful, is all I'm saying. It COULD happen to you, and remember, karma IS a bitch. Oh, and one more thing...don't assume that all fat people have low self esteem. I certainly used to, but I don't now. Actually, I really like myself and the person I have matured into. I just don't like the way I look.


The show "Gilmore Girls" gets on my nerves. It's cute and sometimes funny, but their manner of dialogue gives me a headache. I can't stand how fast they move and talk. It makes my head hurt. Sorry, R.C. I'll do anything for you, but I am not watching a Gilmore Girls marathon with you.


The number one thing that irritates me, infuriates me even, is when I am whining about something or in crisis over something, and need a solution QUICKLY. Some asshole will inevitably say this phrase, which is equivalent to throwing boiling oil in my face and wrapping me with cheesecloth: "I don't know what to tell you." I HATE that. If you don't know what to tell me, then don't say anything in the first place. That's kind of like the phrase, "Needless to say," which doesn't bother me as much. If you don't NEED to say it, then don't.
Well, that wraps it up for the things that irritate me. I am too tired and too hot to think of anything else right now. I am so tired. And so hot. And needless to say, if you don't like my complaining, then I don't know what to tell ya

To Aunt Sondra's Tim-Tees...I Love You

This is a post I originally wrote for Yahoo concerning my great nephew. I miss him so much I can't stand it, and I hope his mother reads this. I love her, too. This post was written on September 6th.

This is a letter to my great nephew, Timothy Lee. Most of you know the story, and those of you that don't, well, maybe you soon will.


Dear Tim-Tees,

I am writing this because I want you to know that I love you so much it makes my heart hurt, even now. The fact that I haven't seen you in seven months is devastating; not knowing if you are okay is even worse. I miss you so much, and long for the days when you used to live with me and I could come to you in a matter of seconds if you needed me. I miss the way you used to baby-babble and pull yourself up on my pant legs when you saw me making a bottle or getting your lunch ready. I miss the terror tantrums you used to throw when you were tired or when you weren't done eating yet and I made the grave mistake of taking a break to clean up your face. I miss the way you used to frantically crawl after me as I went to bathrom; and when I closed the door on you you would cry as if your little heart would break. I miss taking you to Wal-Mart and laughing at you as you slouched down in the cart, unable to hold yourself straight up yet. I miss packing you up to take you everywhere with me. I miss waking up to the sweet sounds of your laughter as you woke up in the morning, always content to play for a while before demanding attention. I miss your fat little feet, your big beautiful brown eyes, and even your stinky diapers. You were like my own child, and even your mother and father acknowledge and understand that fact. Even though I don't know when I will see you again, I am still grateful for every day that you were around, from the time you were two months old until you were almost nine months old. We were very close, and though you may not remember that now, I do. I have pictures to prove it, and video too. I miss you as if you were my own child, and my goal is to someday be reunited with you when you are still a child so that we can re-bond. My love for you will never change, Timothy, and I think about you every single day of my life. I wish I could hold you and kiss you, and I will someday...just not today. And there is NO ONE on this earth that could ever replace you in my heart. You hold your very own, very special part. No other child will ever be as close to me as you were, and that is a fact. I have every reason to believe that I will be able to see you and hold you and smell you and love you again. That's the hope that keeps me hanging on.

As for your mom and dad, well, right now I am not very happy with your dad. He and I are very, very close, much like brother and sister, and he senses that I am not happy with him. We will work it out, though. And your mother...I love your mom as much as I love you. She is a special girl, very smart and very funny. She is also a good mom to you, and wants the best for you that she can give. I have to remind myself that's why things are the way they are now. She doesn't like it either, I know, but when the time is right, things will change. Your mom will always be part of me, and be close to my heart. It's hard for people to get close to your Aunt Sondra, but she did. I trust her to make the best decisions for you. She loves you more than anything, little man. Maybe someday you'll realize how lucky you are to have so many wonderful people who love you. Or perhaps we love you because you are so special, and you just can't help it. At any rate, you are loved more than you could ever imagine.


So, with that in mind, Tim-Tees, I am going to end this letter now. Writing this is extremely painful, and it's hard to make other people understand what I am going through. When you are old enough to understand, I will show this to you so that you can see that you are never going to be completely off my mind, not even for a minute. I love you, baby boy. Give your mom hugs and kisses for me and try not to forget about me.


Loving You,
Sondra

Classic Sondra--Rising the Blog from the Dead

This is an entry from my old blog at Yahoo that I started when I first moved to Michigan. I thought my few readers would like it. (I love y'all!) The date on this is September 9th.

Since I already composed a list of things that piss me off, I thought I might now write a list of things that make me happy. It took forever. (Fuck you. I'm kidding.)

These are not in any order, by the way.

* Food. I love food. Any kind of food that I like makes me happy. Not for very long, because after I eat I berate myself up for about an hour. I should be eating salad.

* Listening to my XM radio instead of that jacked-up, bling bling, tuneless, talentless drivel that is on the radio. Matter of fact, I would probably shoot myself in the fucking eye if not for Ares and my XM.

* The song "Shiny Happy People" by R.E.M. I call it "liquid happy in a bottle." How the hell can anyone listen to this song and not feel like dancing, even if its in the car? I always bounce around when it's on. Plus, I LOVE that woman's voice. I don't know her name, but she also did "Candy" with Iggy Pop and sang with the B52's. I am attracted to her because of her voice. It's amazing. The only other voice I have ever heard that compares with hers is Amy Lee from Evanescence. Plus, she's hot.

* Traveling makes me happy. I love to get out and see new things. When SG2 and I got married in Vegas, the wedding was merely a pause in what was nothing but a little vacation. I had never been there before so we spent most of our time there doing touristy things instead of gambling. I know better now. (R.I.P. Biloxi).

* Getting money in the mail. I love that, since I am not working right now. It's like Christmas when I open the mailbox and sitting there is an envelope with my name on it with MONEY INSIDE. I love it. And then I always go out and buy something that I don't need and that I can't afford, just to remind myself that life is short and I DESERVE THAT FUCKING NEW TOASTER, DAMMIT.

* My friends. My friends make me happy. I got the best damn friends in the world. Most of my friends have known me well over ten years, and it's fun kicking back with them and discussing the old times and reliving the past. Not that my past was all fun and games. It really wasn't. But these people know and understand me in ways that even SG2 doesn't. But I love him, too.

* I'm running out of things to say because my attention is being stolen from Ares. I am downloading a bunch of songs and I keep pausing in my writing to play them. Then I lose my train of thought, so then I try to remember what I was saying, and I can't, so I have to reread what I previously wrote, and then I remember, and then.....what the hell was I just talking about?

This is me, by the way, taken last summer.

Moving on.

Last night, even though I am coming down with something horrible, Lynn and I decided to go to the mall and do some Christmas shopping and then head out to the bar for a few drinks. The shopping was fun and I was able to get my daughter some really cool things. Then, we went to the bar.

Feeling old, we couldn't even decide where to go. For one thing, we usually go out with our husbands so it was kind of fun and new to go out by ourselves. Not that we haven't done it LONG before James and Shawn existed, but it has been a while. Anyway, we decided to check out Bubba's, a new "bar and grill" that just sprouted up in our town.

We knew we made a mistake the minute we got out of the car because we could hear the music thumping and we both began giggling like crazy. Lynn said, "One drink! We can do it, one drink!" I agreed, and in we went.

We were then greeted by an overzealous security guard who locked eyes with Lynn and declared that he knew her from high school. He kept asking her if she remembered him, which she didn't. He was holding on to her license, staring at her and saying stupid shit, while I stood next to her holding out my license. Which he never even looked at. He told her, "You're just as pretty as you were in high school," which I thought was a really cool thing to say, even though the fucker was ignoring me. (See previous post. I am used to it.) He made comments about her being married, etc and finally we got a seat. He had shown her his ID so she knew who he was, and she said, "He doesn't look anything like he did in high school, but I can tell he's still psycho." I nodded and we sipped our beers as we watched young 18 year old girls in barely a stitch of clothing dance and strut around each other. It was painful for me to be in there, because I cannot say how much I absolutely despise that scene. She does too, so we were both kind of giggling and giving dirty looks and trying to drink our beers really fast when Security Guy came up to Lynn again, talking to her and interrupting our conversation. In restrospect, I should have said, "Excuse me? We're trying to have a conversation here and you're being a rude fucker. Would you kindly go away before I let your boss know you're harassing the customers?" I didn't, but Lynn and I have an unspoken rule about going out together that we have always followed: Thou must have thy girlfriend's back at all times and at any cost. That means that if someone is talking to her, I am on the lookout and pay very close attention. She does the same for me, and I will get to that in a minute.

So anyway, while Security Guy was drooling all over her and disrespecting the fact that she had on her wedding rings, I watched him closely. Call me paranoid, but I trust no one. Eventually, he went away and we rolled our eyes and finished our beers. We left that hellhole and went to a Cheers type bar that is right across the street. I like it there. There's not a lot of young kids and the people there are pretty much regulars. The owner tends bar and is strict with her rules,which is good. There is a pool table, a jukebox, and a way to play Keno. That's it.

So, we go in there, sit at the bar, and order a couple of drinks. Sitting at the end of the bar is an older lady that Lynn has talked to before. We talk to her for a minute and I like her immediately, even though I can tell she not only has a drinking problem but probably mental health issues as well. I'll call her Karen. We talk to her for about fifteen minutes and then this guy bursts in, loudly declaring that he got kicked out from the place next door. Lynn asks him if he means the barbershop, and Karen and I start laughing. The guy, who I'll call Keith, starts laughing too and says no, it was the VFW and they were having a private party, but he didn't think it would be a big deal because "they love him over there." Lynn and I start laughing and she asks him if he is a VFW member, and he says yes. She asks him his name and he tells her. She then laughingly demands to see his VFW card. "I think you're lying. I think you tried to crash the party," she teases.

He produces the card which is legitimate, and then we kick back and have good conversation, Karen, Lynn, Keith and I. Everyone is laughing and I start to relax. Just as this happens, this old, old man comes and sits down next to Karen. Lynn and I introduce ourselves and he says his name is Tim. We like him at first, because he's older than my father (68) and because he appears intelligent. He tells Lynn how beautiful she is and she tells him she likes his hat. The jokes go on and we have a good time. Suddenly, I notice that Keith is sitting awful close to me, kind of pushing against me, and since we are on barstools it's almost impossible for me to scoot over. I try anyway, and then he starts telling me I have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, I am just beautiful. I say thank you and blush. Lynn hears the conversation and starts giggling madly because this guy is a lot older than me and obviously intoxicated. It's funny because this always happens to me. The weirdos and drunks always hit on me, without exception. I don't know why. I just seem to draw in those kinds of people.

Then he starts hugging me and pulling me close to him and I keep trying to pull away. It's still funny and I am still laughing, but now I am pretty uncomfortable. I don't like strange people touching me. Lynn, who, thank God, was sitting right next to me, told him he had better knock it off. He then declared, "But I love her. I love people. I love real fucking people man, and she's real." We both started laughing hysterically which made him laugh, but he did not understand why we were laughing. "I'm serious. She is so beautiful. She's so damn pretty and a real woman." We were practically pissing in our pants we were laughing so hard. I know I was crying at this point, laughing so hard I was crying. He was like, "What? She's a beautiful woman. A big and beautiful woman." At this point I stop laughing and Lynn makes a sound like, "ooooh," under her breath. He keeps going. "She's beautiful and she's big! She loves it! You know you love it," he said as he pulled me closer to him. "I just want to kiss her. I just want to stick my tongue down her throat, in her ear, everything."

Lynn said, "Keith, if you don't let go of my girl, I'm going to kick your ass and I'm not playing with you. I am not joking. Let her go." He started arguing with her and Lynn was like, "She's a beautiful woman, not a big beautiful woman, and what you just said was rude and wrong and I'm telling you right now to let go of her. I mean it." He apologized and let me go and to tell the truth, I wasn't really mad at him. He was just some pathetic drunk guy that happened to come to the bar the same night I was. It's just that I know a lot of people put me in that category, and I can't tell you how much I hate it. When I get hit on, it's always by some asshole that has to make a comment about "liking big women." I cannot describe to anyone how much that hurts or how humiliating it is if you do not embrace that label. Like it or not, "big woman" is my master status right now. Lynn understands because, as I said in my previous post, she lost 80 pounds a few years ago on her own. She has always been beautiful regardless of her weight, but it was a personal decision for her. So she knows how that feels. Thank God she was there.

I wanted to cry but didn't, and Keith felt bad although he didn't know why, and I didn't bother to explain. I just told him not to say things like that unless he is sure that the woman he is saying it to will not be turned off by it. Just then, some other guy showed up, I'll call him Lee, who planted himself next to Lynn. He was a business owner and he and Lynn began having a business conversation which I found boring so I talked to Karen for a while. Tim was standing up at the other end of the bar, ordering a beer. Lee got up to go to the bathroom and when he did, Tim went up to Lynn and started, again, telling her how beautiful she was, that he loved her eyes, and began kind of tickling her. She was laughing but told him to stop. He was a drunk old man, and after telling him a few times to (laughingly) quit it, I grabbed her and pulled her close to me, away from Tim, and made a few lewd comments about us spending the night together. Tim left and Lee came back. I tried to join in the conversation with them, but every time I said something, Lee dismissed me. I got very pissed off but said nothing. People continued to play pool and the jukebox, and I talked to Karen some more. Keith left me alone for the most part, but stayed friendly without being touchy feely. At some point, I overheard Lynn say, "Well, you see, you can afford to hire me." (Long story but she is awesome business minded person and is also very successful at it.) Lee replied, "I can't hire you." Lynn asked, "Why?" Lee said, "Because I'd be thinking about making love to you all day long." I snorted into my beer and Lynn took it like a champ. I think she just totally blew the comment off. However, I think that comment creeped me out more than Keith did.

Just then, a ruckus between Keith and another guy erupted over the use of the pool table and Keith, who was obviously well known, was told to sit down at the bar and go nowhere else. We began talking about his daughter (who is 25) and the fact that she was going to have a baby. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I could see, and I told Lynn this later, that in his sober mind he was probably a pretty good guy, a smart and fun one. Unfortunately, that's what happens when alcohol takes over.

After a few minutes of conversation, he threw his arm around me again and attempted to kiss me. I cringed and turned the other way, toward Lynn, who saw it happen. His sloppy kiss landed on my neck. She smacked him as hard as she could on the hand---it was loud, everyone in the bar heard it. He was like, "Oww! What the hell was that?"

"That was God," Lynn said ominously.

Eventually, we left, but not before I had to listen to that fag Lee whine about Lynn being married. Her wedding band was on the whole night. He kept talking about how depressed he was about that. She called James to check in, and this rude asshole kept saying, "Is that your husband? Is that your husband?" over and over again. Now, if you know James, you know that is the wrong thing to do. As with any person, he has his faults but he is seriously protective of his family. He didn't make a big deal out of it, since he knew we were going to leave soon. But not before Keith got kicked out of the bar for telling the owner she "can't fucking tell me who I can and can not talk to." He stormed out and we left. I got home at the ungodly hour of sometime after two, and my sweet and loving husband made me something to eat while I lay in bed. He wasn't happy about me being mauled, either. I wonder how he's going to feel when I lose 150 pounds. LOL.

Lesson Learned: I am old. I am not fun anymore. I would rather drink beer with old friends than new ones. Drunk guys are dumb at any age. I love jukebox music a lot better than shit like, "My Humps." God help us all. The End.

This picture above is me about a year ago, when I still lived in Florida and was visiting friends from Michigan. This is a pretty accurate depiction of what I look like now, minus the long hair. Oh, how I wish I wouldn't have cut my hair!

First of all, let me say that I am happy with the response I got from my Barbie story. That kind of had a life of its own. I found the picture and began writing whatever came to mind. I'm glad my readers don't think I've absolutely lost it. I have found more Barbie pictures and I will be writing more. I really enjoyed it and the response I got. Kas, you probably think I'm nuts. LOL.


Anyway, I wanted to write about this a few days ago and decided to wait until I had enough time to do so. It is not 10:00 AM, I've been up for two hours drinking coffee, so I guess the time is good now. As you can see, I was not heavy. I was always a few pounds overweight but it never bothered me in the least. I had my first child when I was 16 (a story for another day, trust me) and I put on some weight but still not enough to really bother me. Through the ages of 17-20 I would say I was pretty comfortable until one day, when I was about to turn 21, I stood on the scale and it said "222." I was so upset but immediately started dieting, taking pills, walking, and watching what I ate. I didn't lose any weight. In fact, between the fall of 1998 (while this was going on) and the spring of 1999, I gained 45 pounds, putting me at about 270. I desperately began walking and exercising. Don't get me wrong. The exercise was great, made me feel so much better. I also didn't get colds as often as I normally did, so I knew I was doing something right. But the weight just would not come off. In the summer of 1999, I went through a phase where I didn't eat much and instead drank alcohol every single day. I lost twenty five pounds or so, without even realizing it, but didn't want to continue doing it that way. I gained it all back in a few months.

In January of 2001 I moved back to Michigan from Kentucky and decided I'd had enough. 265 was just too close to 300 for my comfort. I worked as a server at a local restaurant, which put me on my feet all the time, and I had no money to join a gym, so I walked two miles a day (even in the blistering cold, and I didn't mind it at all), ate a lot of vegetables and healthy soup, avoided soda, and did Tae-Bo every single day. I enjoyed Tae-Bo because at the time, I did it so often that it felt like workout without me feeling like I was going to die. I did this for a few months and successfully lost about fifteen pounds. Then I went to Kentucky to visit Ray over Spring Break and ate all kinds of food, and gained all the weight back plus more. Discouraged, I quit trying for a while. Then, after Shawn and I got married, we weighed ourselves. I weighed 289, and freaked out again. Once again, I went on a diet and exercise regimen that included cutting down my caloric intake and walking for exercise. I lost,again, about 15 pounds. Then gained it all back.

In January of 2004, we decided to join a gym, as well as modify our caloric intake. I bought some diet pills and committed myself to working out. I enjoyed it. I started out walking on the treadmill 2 miles a day at a medium speed and then doing some water aerobics. Over a few week's time, I was walking up to 6 miles a day, weight training for forty five minutes, and doing the elipticals for a half hour, and then swimming a few laps before soaking in the hot tub. I have to tell you, I never felt better or healthier. And even though I was still obese, I felt like I was in the best shape of my life. I probably was. I successfully lost about 45 pounds, my biggest loss ever. Then we went to California to see my dad through heart surgery, and we both kind of fell off the wagon. When we got back to Florida, we continued our diet and exercise regimen, but it was too late. We gained every pound back, plus more. After that experience, I was discouraged but not quite ready to give up just yet. I wanted to go back to the gym, but I was so tired all the time I couldn't quite do it. Finally, I went to the doctor in the fall of 2004. She made me lay down on the table and she poked me for a few minutes. She said, "God, you're swollen." I said, "Swollen?" She said, "Yes. You have a bad case of edema." Then she asked me, "Have you ever tried to lose weight?" I said yes and explained all that I had done over the years. She nodded and then asked me if anyone in my family had thyroid problems. I said I didn't know. She then ordered me to have blood tests. I did. A few days later, I called her at her office to find out about the tests. She told me she was shocked to discover that not only was my thyroid dysnfunctional, it didn't function at all. (The thyroid is the gland that produces the hormone that regulates your metabolism, in case you didn't know.) She then explained to me that all thyroids produce a hormone they call T3 and T4. T4 is the one that regulates the metabolism, and sometimes people produce very little T4, which can cause them to gain weight easily. That seemed obvious to me. No metabolism, no weight loss. Then she told me, "Your thyroid gland produces NO T4. There is not a trace of it in your blood work. None. Which explains why you are so swollen, tired, and unable to lose weight." I said, "But I can lose weight. I've done it before." She explained to me that yes, I could lose all the weight I wanted, but I was jump starting my metabolism by doing so. In other words, it was like walking on a treadmill that's not turned on. You can walk on it, and make it move, but as soon as you stop, it stops. I was like, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Suddenly it made perfect sense. Working out was great, but my metabolism stopped as soon as I did, which is why anything I ate after working out would hardly be metabolized. No wonder it was so hard to lose it and keep it off. She prescribed some medication that I have to take the rest of my life and referred me to an endocrinologist. The endocrinologist prescribed a stronger form of the medication. Now, I am at 297 pounds but I have not gained any more, thanks to the pills. I'm not losing any either. When I moved to Michigan, I became very aware of how miserable I was. I started seeing commercials on TV for the Hurley Bariatric Center. We've all heard of gastric bypass surgery, but now I started paying more attention. Now that I have insurance, I called the center and asked them to send me some information, which they did. I sat down on my bed and read every piece of information included in the packet. I was so choked up by the time I was done reading that I had to fight back tears.

I am so sick of being fat. I hate it. No one looks at you, they look through you in most instances, and I feel so ugly and unattractive. I feel ashamed when men hold doors open for me. I wish they didn't. I don't feel like a real woman, but rather a second class citizen who doesn't get the same rights and privileges as other people do. I hate going shopping, I hate doing anything in public. I can't breathe right half the time, and if I fall asleep on my back I'm in for serious trouble, as I cannot breathe at all like that. More than once I have felt like I was strangling myself in my sleep, lying on my back, semi-conscious and unable to turn over to save myself from asphyxiating. I have huge, deep abrasions all over my body that look like gigantic pimples. They hurt. My skin is terrible. Half the time, I don't even bother doing my hair or putting on makeup. What's the point?

So, I called my insurance company and asked them if they covered the procedure. They said they would, if it was deemed medically necessary. Then I called the center back and they answered some of my questions. I will be unable to get the lap band surgery, because my insurance won't pay for that. They will only pay for gastric bypass. They also informed me that my insurance requires that I be on a physician supervised diet and exercise program for SIX MONTHS before I can get a referral for a consultation. That part I didn't like, but I'll do whatever it takes. I am serious. I am going to have that surgery. I've read up on the risks associated with it, and have concluded that the risks are worth taking. If I don't, I'm going to die anyway. My heart is under stress, I almost certainly have diabetes, and I just overall feel like hell. I am so excited about this that I have called most of my family members and discussed it with them. My sister Michelle, who is tall and slender and beautiful, said that she understood why I made that decision and even though she has never been heavy, she wouldn't want to imagine what it's like. Lynn is a little more nervous about the risks, but she also understands and supports me. (She once lost over 80 pounds herself.) My husband is supportive. My father is supportive. My grandmother is ecstatic. (The woman is 84 years old, about 5'4", and weighs a healthy 105 lbs. She also plays tennis competitively and excercises every night.) My cousin Andyro is right there with me. Everyone is. If what the center says is true, and I have to wait six months for a consultation, then I will do that. That means that right around this time next year I should either be reuperating from surgery or just returning to normal after the surgery. I don't know how long the period is between the initial consultation and the actual surgery, so I am estimating that the surgery will take place sometime in September. The healing time is 4-6 weeks, not unlike a C-section, of which I've had two. Anyway, it was the center that told me it would take six months. The insurance company didn't mention that, they just said they would pay for it if it was deemed medically necessary. I don't think I'll have a problem with that. All you have to do is look at me. So, hopefully, a year and a half from now, I will be posting pics in this blog of how different I look. Of course, the blog is not going to revolve around my weight loss. That's boring. I will continue to talk about everything else. But I wanted to share it with everyone. Because I want to be feel better. I want to be healthy. I want to look good. I want the attention I used to get. I want to be able to wear clothes that don't have puppies and kittens and bowls of fruit on them. I want to spend thirty bucks on an outfit, not go to a specialty store and pay $65 for a shirt.

That's it for now. I'll be back later, I'm sure. I have developed this really nasty cold with a sore throat, so I'm going to go lie down for a while. I've been keeping track....this is the 4th time I've been sick with infections (even though the cold is not an infection, I'm counting it because I have a sore throat) since September. I have a few weeks where I feel fine, and then I'm sick again. I can't wait for this shit to stop either.

So here are some pics I think you'll like, me in various stages of growing up. It took me forever to load these stupid pictures but it was worth it. Enjoy!

This is me, on the left, my awesome grandmother, and my even more awesome sister (not the mean dunk one). This picture was taken in 1998.
The picture above is of me and my nephew Ricky. Somewhere else in this blog is a picture we took together last year. He was making a funny face in that picture, too. Not much changes. I was about 12 years old, maybe 13, in this picture.
The picture above is of me at about 14 years old and a friend of the family, and I have no idea where we are. Only that I am personally responsible for a gigantic hole in the ozone layer.
The picture above is me in 1995, at the tender and all-knowing age of 18.
The pictures above are pictures of me in the 7th and 8th grades. (8th grade is the yellow sweater and the rather frightening hair.)