I AM NOT ANOREXIC!!

     Yes, I've lost weight. Yes, I've lost alot of weight. YES I weigh less now than I did in high school. But for those who think I'm anorexic, EAT ME (ironically speaking).

     During high school I was chubby. My parents owned a convenience store and boy was it ever convenient to snag a chips, candy bars and sodas whenever the hell I wanted. To make matters worse, I had 6 hours of piano practice a day preparing for my final grade at The Royal Conservatory of Canada, weekend tutorials, band practice (I was a band geek) and cramming 5 years of high school into 4 (Canadians stupidly used to have high school that was 5 years long, and no I'm not a dummy). So exercise was not on my to-do list.

     College was different- I started joining aerobics classes because I gained the dreaded Freshman 15. I managed to maintain my weight but studying was not conducive to weight control! When I started with my doctorate...that was pure hell. Eating and studying with very little sleeping started my chub factor to climb. And after I got my first job, all I ever wanted to do was eat! Living in NYC was absolutely to blame- sooo many great restaraunts to sample every day, SOOO many calories! I got pretty damn chunky and I hated it.

    When I became engaged, I found my perfect dress and you know what my frickin' size was? TWELVE. I ordered an eight because damned if I'm going to be married in a bloody size twelve. I started the Atkin's Diet, lost 20 lbs in 2 wks (I don't recommend anyone do that BTW) and started practicing yoga. I got married in a size 6 thankyouverymuch -they had to keep taking it in and the seamstress started to cry everytime I came in for a fitting.

     There was a Bloom County cartoon where Opus the penguin and Milo discussed various different fad diets to try while a cockroach kept screaming "eat less and exercise more!" - he was ultimately squashed by an irate Opus. But its true- the oldy but goody actually works! Every time I eat, I only eat about 3/4 to half my meal. When I go out and they serve those stupid ginormous portions, I halve it, then eat half of that. Believe me, I'm full. I try to practice yoga 2 -3 times a week and chasing 2 toddlers all day definitely counts as my cardio! But the most important thing is portion control. I still eat chips and sweets but in moderation! And I NEVER FINISH MY MEALS.

     Here's where everyone is now crying "people are starving in Africa!!!" I don't think anyone should be offended if I throw out a portion of my food. No one else is gonna want it so let it GO. Early in our relationship Hubby hated seeing it go to waste and usually finished my meal off with his...he gained 25 lbs in 3 months when we started dating. Now he gladly watches it go to the garbage. If wasting a little food means I get to stay at my ideal weight, then pitch baby pitch!

     I don't barf. I don't abuse x-lax. I don't skip meals or go on banana-and-melba-toast fad diets. I just eat less and exercise more when I start to gain weight. So let's STOP talking about my weight at dinners, let STOP screaming at my pictures, and please for God's sake STOP asking if I have an eating disorder!!!

     Ahhh....I feel better now. :D

I Have Lupus and it SUCKS ASS!!!

     Yes, I have Lupus . . . and indeed, it truly sucks ass. I decided to "come out" in this blog to let everyone know about it since the only people I have as facebook friends are actually only friends! I don't want sympathy or offers of help (cash donations might be accepted! ;D ) but just support during the days when Lupus is kicking my butt.

     Systemic Lupus Erythematosis (or SLE) is an autoimmune disease where my immune cells attack my own cells. I'm lucky in that I have the "mild" version with crippling arthritis, horrible fatigue and sometimes massive hair loss. The bad versions all pretty much involve failures of every organ in your body. My knees sometimes swell so badly I can't walk much less work. The fatigue is really sucky- on bad days it literally feels like I'm underwater and walking through mud. I have to slather on sunscreen because it can trigger a flare (an arthritic attack and a really dandy body rash!) and I was hospitalized twice. I had a patient not much older than me who had kidney failure, heart problems, was completely bald, and swelling so severe she couldn't wear clothing because it wouldn't fit! (Please God don't ever let that be me!) I've been taking multiple medications since I was diagnosed about 9 years ago, with little to no sucess. But it's not a matter of taking meds to get rid of the pain. . . its how much pain I can take on a daily basis.

     For the last year and a half I've been on chemotherapy consisting of IV infusions once a month and they've definately helped! Yesterday was my first infusion of a brand new drug called Benlysta which is the first IV infusion specifically for Lupus. Even though my rheumatologist warned me I wouldn't feel better until at least a month, I'm hoping I'll feel some improvement soon. I have my good days and my bad days, ranging from feeling almost normal to feeling like I was 87 years old. Good days means I can play with my kids at the park. Bad days have me crying in bed at night hoping Hubby doesn't hear.

   One of the hardest things about Lupus is its deceptiveness- I don't LOOK sick. I don't have a gross things growing out of my skin (cancer), I don't turn another color (liver disease) or lose a finger (diabetes). I look perfectly fine but on a pain scale I could be off the charts. I tell people at work I have to go home early and I can tell in their gazes that some wonder if I'm really faking it. Having a disease is hard enough without having people judge you for it! That's why I've only told a few friends and family in the past . . . it was a burden but it was my burden to share. Poor hubby has the short end of it. . . he's the type to attack a problem until he fixes it but there's no fixing me. Sometimes I think he feels quite helpless but he deals with it by bullying me into taking care of myself. Alot. There are times when I've told him that his bids to decrease my flares are so stressful it might trigger a new flare! But that's love, I guess. :D

     I was in denial for a while when I was first diagnosed (boy howdy was I!) but its hard to deny a fact when its beating the living crap out of you! Now I take better care of myself, eat better and exercise regularly with yoga. Stress is one of my flare triggers so I try to surround myself with calmness and family and friends (which doesn't always go hand in hand!), and attempt to live my life the way I want to live it: with happiness and joy. I am not going to let Lupus define my entire life and hopefully this new therapy will allow me to have it be a very small, inconsequential part of my life.

     Lupus can kiss my ass!

Bugs Love ME

     I hate bugs. I hate everything about them. I don't care that they feed pretty birds and cool animals like the aardvark - they're repulsive and gross and have waaay too many legs. What do they need all those legs for I ask you? I'll tell you . . . to chase after me while I'm running all over creation screaming like a little girl. Bugs are the one thing that my world could do without.

     I don't think I'd have such an intense dislike of insects if they weren't so weirdly attracted to me. I am a mosquito magnet- everyone will want to stay near me because I'll get bit by every damn bug and they'll be bite-free. If there is a huge, hairy, nasty wingy thing within 1 mile, I'm the one they'll call on. Once, when Alan and I were in Washingston State, we were having a romantic walk along a pier at sunset. It was beautiful...the sky in blues and greens, the water quietly lapping against the beach, Alan gazing adoringly into my eyes! It was one of the most romantic moments in my life . . . up until a mutant roach with wings dived into my hair. I started running in circles screaming "Get it out! Get it out!" and the disgusting little bugger wouldn't get out! Alan was wrestling with it and the more he tried, the deeper the thing burrowed into my hair! I swear I think the thing took up residence and was buying throw pillows or something. Finally, just before I was about to lose it and jump into the water, Alan pried it out of my locks. I spent the rest of night traumatized, twitching at random times and thinking it was still in my hair.

     Another time I was getting up for work at 6am and walked into the bathroom to wash up. I came face to fangs with the most humungous spider I have ever had the misfortune to meet. It was literally the size of a golf ball and it had an alien intelligence in its 50 billion eyes. Every single one of those eyes followed me as I slowly backed out of the bathroom and slammed the door. I then proceeded to scream shrilly, ran to the the bedroom where Alan was sleeping and shook him awake. He jumped up, thinking there was a fire/burgler/earthquake/end of the world and then I told him to go kill a big spider in the bathroom. He got pretty mad. After telling me what to do with the spider (which was anatomically impossible), he went back to bed. I decided I really didn't need to brush my teeth or my hair and went to work hoping the eight-legged beast bit Alan's ass when he sat on the toilet to poo.

    The worst part of bugs in my universe is that I am completely incapable of killing them. Not that I don't want to...oh dear Lord I want to smush those horrid things into paste...I can't kill them even when I try to! Everytime I swing to smack them, I miss. And then I see them pointing and laughing and mooning me. Last night I brought M2 into the bathroom to brush his teeth when a very large, very hairy, very vomit-inducing fly buzzed in. I started shrieking and danced around while M2 starts laughing his little butt off. I decided to sacrifice my Cosmo magazine to kill the thing and thanked the Lord it was slow. I took a swing and got him!...but he buzzed off. I hit him again . . . and he gave me the finger. I smacked again . . .  and he started doing his nails. I managed to find the fly version of the Terminator! This thing had kevlar or something, I swear! Alan came in and made a few disparaging remarks, and while he was mocking me took a swing with the flyswatter. The SuperBug still lived! After 2 more hits Alan finally sent to him buggy hell, but it was scary how die-hard that thing was!

     I don't like bugs but bugs looove me. Maybe that explains the multitude of low-lifes that I've dated . . . I seem to attract the lowest form of life in every species! Every single creepy, crawly, nasty, slimy climb-in-your-ear-when-you're-sleeping-and-knit-slipcovers insect needs to die . . . unless you're cute. If you're a butterfly you're okay (I just have to look the other way while you're a caterpiller).

Which is probably a sad statement on how I see the world. Whatever. :D

The F-Bomb: Its Uses, Mis-uses and History!

F*ck : to engage in coitus with. Origin: akin to Dutch fokken: to breed (cattle). First known use before circa 1500 in a satirical poem "Flen flyys" = ".non sunt in coeli, quia fvccant vvivys of heli, which translated means, "They are not in heaven because they f-bomb wives of Ely".      

    The F-bomb...what a powerful word that is! Saying it as a kid guarantees an energetic response from your parents involving punishment and/or pain! You whispered it under your breath at your boss, and yelled it out loud when you hit your funny bone. Sometimes you used it to replace every other word! There is no other word in the english language that is used so freely or so diversely!

     According to Wikipedia, the F-bomb can be used as a verb (they're f-ing in bed), a noun (you f-bomb!), an adjective (you f-ing jerk), an adverb (he ran f-ing fast) and is one of the only english words that can be used as an infix (abso-f-ing-lutely). Logically, you can use it in every word of a sentence = F-bomb the f-ing f-ers f-ed! Its used as an exclamation to denote anger, disgust, surprise, pain, arousal and sometimes complete and total joy. But it is a universally known word, and its known to be a vulgar profanity. Tell someone in Nuk-Nuk, Alaska to "f-bomb off!" and dollars to donuts you'll get punched in the face.

     On the other hand, a study reported by Scientific American showed that saying vulgarities such as the F-bomb when hurt or stressed lessens the pain. Its thought that our brain circuitry is linked to pain, and when our flight or fight response is activated, our tolerence to pain increases. Simply put, when we swear, our heart rate increases thus triggering the ability to feel less pain. Therefore, yelling the F-bomb is good for us! Science has proven it!

     Personally, I chose this word to blog about today simply because I have kids. Rather than have 2 toddlers running about screaming "F-bomb! F-bomb! F-bomb!" at the top of their lungs, I have been trying to cut the word completely out of my vocabulary. Like the bloody elephant in the bloody room, it is almost impossible to do. During the era of BC (Before Children) it was a word that was interjected without pause or thought, used everyday in every way! Now, when I trip on one of their Legos on the floor I have to yell "fargendargen" or "motherlover" or just go with the ever popular "gaaaahhhhh"! Somehow, it just doesn't feel the same. Its not that I miss swearing, no not at all! Its that I miss the freedom and the ability to swear. I resent having to catch myself at every vulgarity, and the guilt that comes with every lapse! I may not have liked having a potty-mouth, but I liked being forced to clean it up even less! But I will do it. I will endeavor not to spew filth since my kids will repeat it ad nauseum, guaranteed. Like selective tape recorders, they inherently know which words are naughty and they will commit it to memory, the little buggers. Do I give up the F-bomb to preserve the innocence of my little angels?

F-bomb yeah!

The Three Types of Gay Men (or Why My Gay Clinic Manager is Such a Bitch)

     I grew up in catholic schools by a typical Tiger Mom so I've never actually interacted with a whole bunch of gay people. In point of fact, I've never actually interacted with a whole bunch of anything (how could I when I wasn't allowed to leave the house until my thirties??). However, in my admittedly limited life experience, I've found that there are 3 types of gay men. The first is the One Man Crime Against Womankind - he's gorgeous, he's clean, he's sensitive and a killer dresser. He drinks wine, not beer, and knows how to cook. He likes art. He leaves the toilet seat down! He's dress you better than yourself and is the bestest girlfriend you will ever have the pleasure to shop with. He's perfectly perfect for women...but for that teeny, tiny "will only sleep with guys" issue. When women learn that truth, they sigh and say, "well of course he's gay" in resignation, then plod back to their beer-belching, butt-scratching, raised-by-wolves men, more depressed than ever. Its like being shown a big, thick, juicy steak when starving and then given some smelly beef jerky. I love this gay type but they're totally infuriating.

The second gay type is the Man in Shining Armoire - he's the guy who stays in the closet and possibly in denial. Some of them pretend to be straight in order to live a "normal" life. They often have a "beard" or a girlfriend to further this illusion, and the poor chmucks don't realize that the only person they're kidding is themselves. Everyone more than likely KNOWS he's gay and just looks on him with pity as he stumbles through his bad, bad act. No one believes you're straight when you undress my husband with your eyes, dear! Some of them hate themselves to the point that they actually become homophobic, which in my opinion is just fu*ked up. It makes me want to throw a Gay Intervention where we lock him in a room with his friends and beat on him rainbow flags until he admits he's a Friend of Dorothy.

The third type of gay man is the absolute worst: The Mean Bitch. This gay man takes ALL the worst characteristics of a woman and makes it his own. He gossips and bad-mouths you behind your back. He's vindictive and petty and will get you back if he thinks you've wronged him. He's manipulative, loves to play mind-games, and god help you if he's your boss! He will go out of his way to belittle you, your clothes, your hair and your dog...while trying to convince you that he's your best friend.

Guess which gay man I have as a Clinic Manager?

 As I am the only female doctor in my clinic, he seems to single me out for his bitchiness. Perhaps its because I'm prettier, perhaps because he's insecure... or maybe because he knows I hate his freaking guts. Regardless, he makes it his personal mission to put me down at least once a day. I once recieved the Employee of the Month award at the hospital (complete with a gorgeous wooden plaque), and when I happily showed it to the Chief of Ophthalmology, the creep said, "they give those out to everybody". See? A total gay bitch. But I believe he's this way because he is also the second gay type- in the closet. He's told everyone about his girlfriend the dancer, but whenever he gets a cell phone call we all hear a man's voice. He's also got the typical gay trappings that set off anyone's gay-dar such as calling everyone "girlfriend", snapping his fingers when he thinks he made a cutting remark, and using the word fabulous. And don't get me started on his mincing little walk. At work he's in the closet...but honey, we all know he's in there. He's frustrated about hiding his sexuality at work so he takes it out on the only person he doesn't want to bump uglies with = me. I am his competition for male attention and jealousy makes him mean.

     Whatever. There is only so much I take before I politely tell him to suck it. And publicly. He'll then tell everyone I'm having my period and then things quiet down before he'll pick on me again. What can I say? Its a job.

...but if you hear about a doctor who stabs a gay man in the eye with a sharpie, bail me out of jail, would you?

My Quiet War Against My Reproductive Organs.

The universe is conspiring against me. I swear it.

     My two boys are the light of my life. I love them more than I've loved anything in my entire life. I would literally set myself on fire before I do anything to hurt either of them. BUT...they're boys. They love to wrestle, punch, roll around in the dirt, smash anything/everything to bits and do it while constantly running. They are unable to speak without screaming and will only play with things that have wheels. I just cannot relate to them on a molecular level as I do not like to be hit, hate getting dirty, like my eardrums the way they are and have never played with cars/trains/planes in my entire life. They are my mystery, wrapped up in a conundrum, surrounded by an enigma. BOYS.

    I've always wanted a little girl. I loooove the frilly little pink dresses with the darling little foofy underpants and sweet little shoes! I've dreamed of playing Barbies and dress-up and having little tea parties with a gorgeous little version of me (a Mini-me, as it were). Girls are soft, quiet, sweet and smell good. They love to cuddle, and giggle and give kisses like they were candy. And every little girl seems to know instinctively how to bend their hapless fathers around their pudgy little pinkies from Day 1. I love little girls!

     My boys are energetic, and these days its all I can do to keep up with them. I cannot even IMAGINE having another baby right now. I don't think we can even afford another one right now! But I seem to be surrounded by little girls. My BFF Liz has 3 gorgeous girls. My brother has 2 gorgeous girls. My friend in Spain, Vicki, just gave birth to a DELICIOUS baby girl. My brother-in-law has 2 fabulous girls. Everywhere I look I see ruffles and lace. And everytime I see a sweet little girl smile at me . . . something very strange happens...

My uterus twitches.

I swear to God I'm not kidding you, its like my womb tries to lunge for the baby girl to grab and run! It must be a physiological response that has an evolutionary basis to perpetuate the human species but it really is disconcerting. And that's not all, Ladies and Gentlemen! My ovaries start to do a little dance (I think its the Macarena) and don't even ask about what the rest of my reproductive organs are doing (suffice to say they are having a party)! My head says "NO NO NO" but my baby-bits are saying "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE". Its like the universe is trying to mess with me by constantly throwing all these wonderful baby girls at me, drowning me in estrogen and longing day in and day out. And people wonder why I'm bitter.

     I am not giving in, so stop asking when I'm gonna try for the little girl. Its just not going to happen. I try to make myself feel better by remembering that these beautiful, sweet baby girls go through puberty to become snotty little bitches who dress like tramps and hate their mothers. Today's girls hide razors in their hair and get pregnant and go on reality tv shows. I am grateful I have boys. Viva los ninos!

But I can dream a little . . . can't I?

Please, Sir, May I Have Some Boobs?

Last night at dinner (after the kids were abed, of course), I told Hubby that I'd like breast implants.

"NooOOoooo!" He whined. I expected this. For the last year we've been having an ongoing battle over my boobs, or the lack thereof. I am a girl with what's known as "Asian Horizons" . . .  flat as far as the eye can see! My shirts bag in the front. Bras never fit right. Worst of all, I look like a little BOY in a bikini. I can deal with the flat ass since big butts never did it for me. But I WANT BOOBS. It's my body and I have a right to have knockers if I want'em!

Hubby disagrees. He believes that breast implants will look and feel fake. This is the guy who won't let me wear earrings because "they're distracting and annoying". He doesn't like too much make-up (it's gross) and hates it when I wear heels (to save my feet from bunions). Hubby is they guy who likes the all-natural, girl-next-door who apparently doesn't need to have boobies. I think he has this idea that I'll roll over in bed and crack open his skull with my rock-hard, triple-D jugs. I earnestly assure him that I only want a modest B-cup (something NORMAL for Pete's sake!) and the surgeon came highly recommended by our oculoplastics surgeon in my clinic. Even better, it would incredibly low-cost since I work there and they would be doing me a favor while treating me like a queen! Its perfect!!!

AND YET. . . Hubby likes my itty-bitty titties. He wants the glorified mosquito bites, the radio-knobs, the nothing-but-nipples-there chest! He thinks I look lovely with fabric sagging in the chest on my dresses and totally thinks my training bras are sexy. I know what you're thinking- he's faking it. Hubby really wants the boobs but knows the wife will resent him for it and chooses a happy marriage instead. But believe it or not, we've actually gotten into multiple fights over this! He insists he hates the huge, fake breasts and will not give me permission (excuse me?) to ruin my perfect body. Jeez. How do you fight with someone who loves you just the way you are??? He's fighting completely unfairly, which is why I still have no boobs. I'm not going to go ahead and have the implants without his approval, then have it be a focal point for resentment for the rest of our married lives. Its not like me buying an exorbitantly expensive Louis Vuitton handbag without his permission- I could hide it and use it when he's not around. Breasts are RIGHT THERE, ALL THE TIME, right in your face. And he'd hate them forever, even if they looked and felt great. He'd hate them because we didn't make the decision together as man and wife.

And so, like Oliver, I find myself begging "Please, sir, may I have some boobs?" every other week. And like the mean headmaster at the orphanage, he cruelly refuses.

O well. Maybe I'll go get me that expensive handbag.