I'm registering for classes today and then I have to go to the doctor. Very exciting. I've been so tired lately. I think my body is just used to the amount of sleep that it was getting while I was sick, and now that I'm a normal functioning member of society again, I don't have time to sleep all day.
Anonymous, thanks for the notes, I'm pretty sure I've figured out who you are, and thanks for stopping by. Your not the first, nor the last person who has/will tried to talk me out of the surgery, but I don't need to live with anyone but myself, and it is my choice.
Bobby's landlady stopped by yesterday. I never found myself referring to an old woman as a cunt until now, Jane is a cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Sorry, had to get it out of my system.
Jane just knocks on the door once and barges in. For all she knows, one day we'll be fucking on the couch, I'm sure that will be a fun suprise for all members involved. Regardless, after letting herself into the apartment, she hand Bobby a piece of paper (typed on a typeriter), saying that whenever she decided that the water bill is too high, Bobby has to pay it. She wanted Bobby to sign the paper and give her money. I told her no. In the lease agreement it clearly states that we pay heat and electric, and she will pay the water bill. It ended up turning into a rather big arguement, manly because she is scenile.
We have three fish tanks at the apartment. Two of those tanks are filled with lizards who are used to living in the desert, hence, the have a small bowl of water in the tank for when they are feeling extra hot. No more than 2 cups of water per lizard. We have a third fish tank that we have been trying to sell since we bought it, that has never been filled with water. Jane started claiming that the last time she was over all of the tanks were full of water, and that's why the water bill was so high. If the lizards tanks were full of water, we would no longer have lizards, they can't swim that long. Anyway, she got mad because we refused to sign the paper, and told her she couldn't do that, but if she wanted to leave a copy of it, we would have a lawyer look at it, and then we'd get back to her.
That just made her more mad. She started bitching about she had just spent all this money fixing the roof. As if that was our fault, her cheap roof was leaving above the $2000 TV and at the opposite end of the house on top of the brand new computer. Really? That's our fault? She's lucky we have renters insurance. Then she just stared for almost a whole minute before I walked her to the door, as she bitched about how we're slobs, which is ironic because the apartment is damn near empty. The second she got to the door, she turned to make another smart ass comment to me, and I closed it. Cunt...cunt...cunty cunt.
February 27, 2009
Update, Anonymous, Landlady
February 26, 2009
Roux en Y (part 3)
I met with my nutritionist again, and this time she sees that I am willing to make changes in my life, and she supports my decision. I'm working hard, I changed my eating habits, I'm eating more fruits and veggies, and I have cut back dramatically on my smoking. The meeting went very smoothly. The doctor is now submitting to my insurance to see if they are actually going to pay for it, now that I went through everything else.
I also feel the need to comment to my anonymous commenter... first, I'm sure I know this person well, but I'm surprised at myself, that I can't think of who it would be...
"hey, so it's not really my place to say this, but you should really consider life after that surgery.
Dumping syndrome will make you feel like death if you eat too much food, or if you eat the wrong things. Dumping is like... the worst acid reflux that you could ever imagine, combined with diarrhea and vomiting. and- eating too much isn't like binge eating. Eating too much after you've had this surgery is about as much as a well balanced meal. You won't be able to eat more than... oh... half a chicken breast and some vegetables.You are so young, and you are a culinarian."
I am young, but now is the time to get the surgery before I get any life threatening illness. I have spent a lot of time thinking about this, and I know the risks, and I know what life will be life after. I know that I won't get to gorge myself on creme brulee and truffles, but I got the opportunity to go to culinary school and to eat some amazing food, expensive food, and exotic food. It was like touring the world every meal. I also can still enjoy amazing food, just in moderation, like a normal person would eat it.
You won't be able to enjoy food nearly as much. Rich foods, spicy foods, large meals... I don't know what other health issues you have that are forcing you to make this decision, but if they aren't life threatening, i agree with the nutritionist. You haven't exhausted other options.
what happened to the Claudia who "would never get lipo or weight loss surgery, because it's a cop out- because i can do it myself"? That's what you used to say.
I almost remember saying that. It still is a cop out. After all of the diets, the personal trainers, and the stress, and the endless failure, some people just have to admit they can't do it on their own.
You are depressed, and feeling shitty. So it's easy to give in to the visual imperative of our time. But it won't make you happy. No it won't. The pain pills may help for a while, but I believe in the girl who used to throw for track. I believe in the girl who was the only one on the team who could do their 100 leg lifts. I believe in the girl who would drop it like its hot and drop down and get her eagle on (you do realize that those dance moves are strength training exercises?)
I am often depressed, which of course is pretty shitty, but my unhappiness does not stem from my weight. I have spent a good amount of time having a shrink explain to me that losing weight isn't going to solve my problems. Luckily for me, my depression stems from abuse, not weight. I have never really loved my body, but I have liked being a thick girl, not a typical tiny girl.
I loved doing track, being the strong girl. I still can do a disgusting amount of leg lifts, and I can lift hundreds of pounds with my calves. I can still do all those things, but the muscles that I have from track, and dancing, and personal trainers, and everything else, is unfortunately, covered in fat.
Well, i hope you read this, although i know that the process has started and it won't be stopped. I'm sorry things are tough for you right now, but you can get through it!
The process hopefully won't be stopped. It's incredibly hard for some people to realize, that the hardest part about getting weight loss surgery isn't the tests and the doctors, it's having a personal realization that you just can't do it on your own. You spend months feeling like a failure, and trying harder and harder to do it without help, and you can't. You'll try starving yourself, and weird diets, and maybe, like me, hire a big mean black man to force you to work extra hard every time you exercise. Except nothing works, and that sucks, and that is when you hit that low, low, where you finally come to terms with the fact that you need the surgery. That doing it own your own isn't an option, because you've repeatedly failed doing it your way.
To my anonymous commenter, I know I must know you, and I know it must be well. I can't imagine anyone remember when I did track, or that all the girls on my team were weak (they couldn't even do real push-ups), but I'm glad you spoke your mind, but I'm sorry I don't agree. And if for some reason you decide to leave me a note saying who you are, that'd be pretty sweet, because I kinda feel like an idiot not knowing someone, who I actually know well.
Devil Dog
My dad had decided long ago, that if he ever got a dog, he wanted a big, mean dog, that loved him, but would sit next to him and growl at people if they came near him. After my mom got our little dogs, he decided he wanted a big dog, a great dane. He told Diane that he wanted to rescue one because he figured there was no chance that the SPCA would ever have a great dane.
Diane would buy my dad collars and leashes for Christmas, with tag's on them that said "Loring's Dog." [Loring is my dad, pronounced like boring, but with an L] One day, Diane is going to the SPCA because they recently got some horses and Diane wanted to take them hay. My dad knows the area, and told her there was no way she was going without a small arsenal, so my dad went with. While there he asked if they had any great danes, and in fact, they got one the day before, and my dad took him home, and named him Gunner.
Now that my dad had his dream dog he was happy, but Diane wanted a dog too. While on one of the many vacations, in the Virgin Islands, Diane saw a dog that she wanted. My dad wouldn't let her bring it home, but after coming home and some tough love, Diane convinced my dad to let her have the dog. The dog was a while dog, an outdoor dog. It had a pack of dogs that it stayed with and fought with. They were never inside, but had a house that fed them.
Not to long after my dad gave in again, and as usual, which I only think is good, if I'm the one reaping the benefits; arrangements were made to get the dog. My dad flew both of my brothers to the Virgin Islands to get the dog and bring it home. The dog did not do well in house. It had a giant cage for when it was home alone, and after attacking various family members, he spent most of his time outback.
His name was Sprout, and then, it was Sprocket. Sprocket seemed loving an innocent, he was lay his head on the fence and whimper like he wanted you close, and wanted you to pet him and give him lovies. The second you came in his range, his kind demeanor changed, and he was doing his best to bite you. My dad has scars and scabs from where the dog has bit him, and Sprout only seems to love Diane. Just the other day when I was over he almost took my arm off, and if he hadn't been held back on a leash, he probably would have.
Only days after Sprocket attacked me, he attacked someone else at a dog training class. He also did it in front of a lot of people, and hurt the person. Now, he is considered "a vicious and dangerous dog" and has to be put down. Ironically, I was saying to Jil, days before, that I thought that he would attack someone and have to get put down. On top of the fact the Diane is already a mess about the whole thing; on top of the fact that they have to put it down; they have to get it's head cut off. The only way to test the dog for rabies is to test the brain tissue. It's really a shame, and that dog is the devil, I feel bad that he has to get put down, because he could be enjoying himself with the rest of his pack in the Virgin Islands.
February 20, 2009
EP Murder
She graduated from Abington Senior High School in 2004.
She graduated from Penn State in 2008, with a BA in Psychology.
She was going to Chestnut Hill College, to get her masters in Psychology.
good taste in my opinion, small, chic, sexy, and perfect for a ladyWhen "Black Friday" rolls around, Marc is passed out on the couch in the apartment that Christina lived in with him. He had recently lost his job, he's lounging in his shorts, and was out cold by 11pm when Jeff came over. Christina hands him her sexy pistol, he walks over and shoots him in the head, execution style.
The love birds decide to lay low for a few days, a week techinically. They rent a hotel room at the Holiday Inn in Horsham. This is where the couple first passes under the radar. One of them decides to make a call down to customer because one of them shot hole in the bed. That isn't there story to the front desk, they just called to complain about it. The front desk manager calls the police and they come to check out the situation. The police confiscate her .357 (the murder weapon, helllooo) as well as some ammunion and a tazor. When asked why they were staying at hotel since they live so close, they claim that their apartment is being fumigated for bugs. The cops make no arrests that day.
The couple goes back to the apartment with a chainsaw, and employ the services of another local boy. They attempt to cut the body up with the chainsaw. They manage to get through the first leg, but get stuck on the second, when Marc's shorts get ripped up into the chainsaw. Seeking a new plan, they go to a liquidation store, and purchase I large sectional rug. They rap the body in trashbags and roll it up in the rug. The three of them carry the body down from the ninth floor of their apartment building.
After loading the body in the car, they make a very early morning roadtrip to New Jersey, the armpit of America, where all trash goes. They arrive early with a bag of cement to make some concrete to sink the body. When they arrive at there destination, they attempt to rent a boat, but unfortunately they are too early, and they can't get one. Another plan foiled, and they head back home to glorious Pennsylvania. On the way home, Christina has an idea, they pull over at a random location, and toss the body into the woods.
In an ill-fated turn of events, this perticular day, was the first day of hunting for white tail dear. Hours after the body was dumped, it was found by a hunter. Since Marc had no criminal record, and there was no other way to identify the body, the Hamilton County Police removed his hands and sent them to the FBI to see if they could identify the fingerprints of the body, this was about December 5th.
On December 10th, Jeff was down by K&A trying to cop drugs. He gets carjacked (because he's a white boy in the hood). He calls the police to report his girlfriend's dad's car missing. It's a 1997 Oldsmobile Cutless, license plate MOBBUFF, and registered to one Marc Rubin. Remarkably, this doesn't get him arrested. The identy of the body has not yet come back, but Jeff is now closely tied to Marc in the eyes of the police.
Jeff and his hired accomplace are arrested on January 7th in Cheltenham township. Not for murder, they both had outstanding warrents for theft and other criminal activity. The very next day, the FBI gets the identity of the body. When police realize that Jeff had recently reported the same man's car missing, they ran his prints to compair to the finger prints lifted off the body and the trash bags, and it was a match. Busted.
I would like to add, that even though the police are saying that it's just because Marc yelled at Christina, but in fact Marc abused her, often, and for a very long time.
"Christina was in my Psychopathology graduate class at Chestnut Hill in the fall of 2008. She gave a presentation on Oppositional Defiant Disorder in which she stated that she personally had ODD and talked about how her father had physically and mentally abused her every since she could remember. She even told the class that her father had broken her arm in two places once. " Stated a Classmate
February 19, 2009
Roux en Y (part 2)
My cardiologist, took a fun filled background of me, involving where I went to high school, how many siblings I have, and where I go to school now. He did another EKG, and after struggling around my boobs for sometime, though never actually touching them, thankfully, he managed to hear my heart. He decided that the root of my problems is that my boobs are too big, but made me get an echo of my heart anyway. An incredibly nice woman performed my echo. She came in joking and smiling. Considering that I was pretty exposed, I like that she kept the door shut and the lights very dim. When it all was done, I felt less violated than I expected, and wiped off all the goo off of my stomach, chest, and boobs.
My pulmonologist seemed to me like a waste of time. I came in, the listened to my heart, asked a few questions, and said I was good to go, and sent me on my way with a prescription for nicotine patches and gum. Unfortunately I did not get off that easily. He also set me up with a another list of tests. I'll let you know how that goes after next Friday.
My favorite appointment thus far, has been the nutritionist. First let me just say, who the fuck wastes their life getting a degree in nutritionist, I mean really, your gonna spend your life explaining the food pyramid to people, that's a joke, her life is a joke. Anyway, upwards and onwards. I arrive after being sick for several weeks, I had taken the day off of work because I felt like death, but managed to roll out of bed for this appointment. I sit there and she asks me if I ever tried dieting and all that (even though I've explained them to everyone else already). I find she has a bad attitude from the jump off, she doesn't think that I've tried other alternatives enough. She tells me that what I eat isn't good for me, she doesn't think that I'm ready to make changes in my life and that I'm not ready for the surgery. I look at her and kindly tell her that I have been to more doctor's appointments over the last 3 months than most people go to in years, I've been sick as a dog, and I'm sorry if I'm not super excited about the food pyramid.
My tolerance for shit at this point is pretty low, I've been dealing with these people for quite some time and this wench is the last person I have to get through before they ask my insurance company for the money. She makes me want to kill people. I wanted to jump across the counter and jam trans fats of any kind down her skinny little throat. Regardless, I kept myself calm for the most part and she told me that I should come back in two weeks. You have no idea how excited I am for this. Her other issue with me is that I don't like mushy foods, and after I get my surgery I have to eat mushy foods for a brief period. I think I can handle a week of mush, god forbid, and they have sugar free water ice at Rita's, what more do I need in life?
Roux en Y (part 1)
I started this process when it was still warm outside, I don't remember the exact date, but I remember the beautiful weather. I had finally decided that it needed to happen, I'm so unhappy with my body that I have spent a lot of time crying about it.
So for starters...The mental process of getting to a point where you know, in your heart of hearts, that you have put forth a good effort to loose weight. You have done everything in your control to lose all those extra pounds. I've tried diets, weight watchers, Alli, and I even got a personal trainer. Some of us just weren't meant to be thin. My dad weighted over 300 lbs when he got his surgery around the age of 30, which was in the 1960's, so his gastric bypass was much different than what mine will be. My mom's idea of losing weight is a strict diet of running, grilled chicken and vodka. She went from a very large woman to a zero, until she busted her ankle, and now she's fat like me.
grilled chicken.
Either way, that first step, is the hardest, when you know that it is all out of your control, and you have no other choice. It's a hard truth to come to.
My first doctor appointment consisted of me finding out that I was two inches taller than I thought I was, and therefore, I fell just under the minimum weight requirement. I cried and balled hysterically, I'm not sure for how long. My dad's response was much more relaxed. He felt that it was the greatest thing that could ever happen to me, because I should eat milkshakes for days until I got my weight up those few pounds I was short. I quickly learned that that particular doctor would not see me again for another 6 months, so I gained the weight, and found a new doctor.
You sit through a long, long drawn out presentation on all of your surgery options, you mentally decide which of the surgeries your interested in, and make an appointment to meet with one of the nurses. At that meeting, you chat a little bit, she gets some history from you, and then hands you a lovely stack of prescriptions for a day of tests.
This is another fun part of the process. You arrive at the hospital and are poked and prodded. You show up with your stool sample, they take blood, multiple times from different parts of your body, you get an EKG, probably the easiest of the tests. The chest x-ray isn't too bad, followed by an ultrasound of your stomach. So after you feel kind of violated you head back to your doctor with the results. This is actually the first time you meet the man whole will perform the surgery. My doctor, was awesome. He came in and told me I was going to have to see a specialist for a variety of the test results that came back abnormal. Then he told me that I was a perfect candidate for any other surgeries, so I was excited to hear that I was getting the Roux en Y, just like I wanted.
Unfortunately, it was not over yet, I had a rectal exam coming. Of course they tell me this about an hour before it happens so I get to sit there and think about for that whole hour, not cool.
February 17, 2009
Sick and Lonely
The thing that makes me more depressed than anything is doing nothing. When you're sick, the fastest way to get better is to sleep, rest and pretty much just lay in bed, until you feel better. I've been sick for almost a month now, and my doctor first thought I was just sick, then she thought maybe it was allergies, then I came down with pneumonia. Today I got a call from my doctor saying that I am allergic to everything. F'ing sweet.
Since I've been sick, I lay in my bed and watch "Bones" on my computer. Occationally I can sleep, usually for only 3 or 4 hours at a time. Sometimes I can't sleep at all and I just lay there for hours until I become so madly unhappy and depressed that I drug myself up until I pass out.
I just don't want to be sick anymore, it makes me so depressed, I just want to be with Bobby watching TV and cuddling. That's not so much to ask....
Cigarette
So since I came down with pneumonia, I haven't really smoked. I think I've averaged one cig a day, and one day I think I had one and half, because I couldn't make it all the way through the second one.
I'm so f'ing sick of being f'ing sick that I might just go crazy. I don't understand why I'm the most unhealthy person ever.
February 5, 2009
25 Things...
I've decided to add this here too, because I never right anything as it is...
...Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. (It's really not as hard as it sounds). At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.
To do this, go to “Notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.
- Sometimes I regret leaving the food/cooking industry
- I'm afraid that after my surgery I'll lose to much weight, lose my boobs, or become one of those crazies who after they lose weight become obsessed no matter how thin they get they still "see themselves like they used to look"
- I get depressed sometimes...a lot...but I've taken myself off my anti-depressents...in November
- I miss Culinary school, it was soooo much better than hanging out with nerdy engineers
- I don't think I have an real good friends anymore, I barely see/talk to anyone
- I want to go to Vegas for my honeymoon
- I can't wait to get my surgery (maybe next month if I'm lucky!) and I'm going to keep a photo-log of my weightloss
- I'm afraid I won't be able to have kids, but I want at least 3, mostly boys, if possible
- I'm greatful that I found the one person that I want to spend the rest of my life with
- I didn't think it would be so hard to come up with 25 things
- I love dancing, even though I suck at it
- I miss highschool sometimes, just because at least back then my girlfriends and I would go to clubs and stuff
- I want to live in Arizona, Southern California, or anywhere south of the mason/dixon
- If I live in the south, I want to own a plantation, like a huge one, with a cool name, and seperate guest houses, and all that shit
- I want to make enough money in my career that I can retire early, or if anything happens I can take care of myself and any children I might have
- I'm conservative, like really really conservative, and I really don't care that people are bothered by it. When I have a plantation I will keep a shot gun in case someone comes on my property and exercise my right to bear arms, just for fun, because that's the kind of person I am, hehehe...
- As conservative as I am, I support gay rights
- I didn't vote for Barry Obama, I think it's ridiculous that he was raised by all white people but black people think he's special or something. (and don't worry, I assure you my kids will know I didn't vote for the first black president, because it's not about race for me, it's about politics)
- I still cry everytime I get down to pray at church when I think about all the friends and family I've lost, especially Tim, and my aunt Gerrie
- I wish I was more adventurous, Less shy, more outgoing...and mostly, less self conscience.
- I want to work with women who have been abused, for some sort of shelter or something
- I love country music and hip hop, and that's about it
- Even though it's 7:35am, I'd kill to be in a bar with a white russian and a cigarette
- I'm going to quit smoking... I got the patches and the gum and everything, I just need to actually pick a day, and start using them...because I don't really wanna quit, I'm procrastinating.
- After I get married, I want to get lots and lots of tattoos, lots of tattoos, but I want wait until then so I can look nice in a wedding dress...and I want something like this for my next one, on my calf or my side...
