Pooping is still funny, just to be clear

My biggest goal for the day is to make sure my poop runs clear so that when the Dr puts the camera up my butt he will be able to see what is going on up there.  This is what 90 % of my life is about; what is going on up my butt.

I don't really mind talking about this stuff, but you need to learn to "know your audience", which I totally don't.  I will tell anyone who asks that I am getting a camera up my butt, which is pretty weird if not put in context first.  Honestly, sometimes I totally forget that for most people, this is not a totally normal, almost mundane, occurrence.  So let me break it down for you: It's like the inside of my butt is a celebrity for Dr's.  Everyone wants to have a look. It's like, no big deal or anything, but my butt is kind of famous. I'm not conceited about it or anything.  That would be ungracious.

Honestly, when you have a disease like Crohns, you can either feel really, really sorry for yourself, or you can remember that everyone poops (apparently with less fanfare than me I grant you) and everyone likes to pretend that they don't, and that in itself is pretty funny, and also gives me another reason to feel smug and better than the masses, which I enjoy.  I mean, I'm totally accepting of my pooping and therefore totally enlightened.

So today I will wait for the precious moment when my poop finally runs clear (I'm so going to pass the "is your poop clear enough" test today, by the way.  Because I got mad laxative skills ya'll) and realize that when all you are expected to do for a whole day is have clear poop, life isn't really that hard after all.  The whole camera in the butt thing (it's called a Colonoscopy if you want to get all technical) is so old hat to me, I don't even care anymore.  I mean, I get put out for it so technically, I don't even  have to be there past a certain point.  This is really the Dr's problem more than mine.  And that is why they get paid the big bucks, because who wants to have that be their day?  Not me, says the girl who has mastered the art of clear poop.  Not me.

Also, you should know that I almost write something like this on Facebook every single day, and that is why I've decided to start writing in this blog again.  Simply so I  don't have to put stuff like this on Facebook and make everyone (who actually knows me) uncomfortable with how hilarious my life/ disease can be.  Your welcome Facebook or Blogosphere.  I can't decide who should be more grateful.

The Funk Verses the French Toast

I have been in a funk lately and have not been getting anything done.  It has been as if I have been glued to my couch or bed and couldn’t find my way off.  I haven’t been feeling well, but more than that, I have just been feeling lazy and blah. 

So, it is time to make a true effort to be productive in all areas of my life, starting with a good breakfast.  I woke up this morning and made French toast for my husband and myself before we drove into work together.  I NEVER cook on a work day, but it made the day start off so well!  Not to brag, but we even had fresh orange juice.  Now to tackle these work assignments… take that Crohns and laziness! 

Beauty comes in many weights, colors, heights, hair types and even shoe sizes. I want us all to be represented!

Open any woman’s magazine and you will likely find at least one article dedicated to helping you “fix” whatever hideous flaw you have that is troubling you.

To minimize a large bust, wear this Jacket.  To maximize a small chest, wear this top.  To make you look like you have a butt if you don’t, do this.  To hide your too big butt, do that.  If you are too skinny, here is how to fake curves.  If you are too curvy, for Gods sakes girl! Cover up with this!   

So basically the rule is, whatever you look like is wrong and you should change it.  Also, the perfect woman is the one who has no defining features at all. 

Then there is the ever popular article telling you to be happy with what you got, right next to the article on how to drop 10 pounds fast without dieting!

What the hell?

Of course the answer is to stop reading women’s magazines, but I love clothes!  Not that I can tell what the clothes I see in magazines would look like on my 5’ 4”, size 8 body from looking at the 110 pound, 5’ 9” models that they will inevitably use to showcase the newest trends. 

Once every two years (if we are lucky), a magazine might feature a so called “plus sized” model, but even then they will fail to put her in an outfit that actually fits.  She will more than likely be busting out of the sample size, looking uncomfortable, with the zipper visibly unzipped to accommodate for her overflowing fleshy bits (this is unfortunately actually something I have seen more than once in a spread featuring a model that wasn’t considered a “strait size”).

“But that is fashion!”  You say.  “Surely you can find inspiration in other media!”  Think again. 

At least models come in more than one color!  Pick any movie or TV show (made for women in particular) and you will find that the plucky heroin is a skinny white girl with long hair.  There are very few exceptions.  Her best friend might be Asian, black or white, have short hair, and may even be above a size 2, but probably not above a size 4.  The heroin may be above 140 pounds (or have a skin color other than white for that matter) only if that is part of the story (think: Wacky “fat” girl finds true love! Or, Black family goes to dinner with white family and chaos ensues!). 

I am unfortunately painfully aware of this problem and it has bothered me for years.  I am not saying that curvy is better than slim, but I do strongly believe that different ideas of beauty need to be represented in the media.  It makes me sad, and it also makes me angry that they are not.  Even more so that it has become so the norm, that no one even seems to notice. 

I’m not asking for the moon here people!  Just give me one article in a magazine that truly celebrates the beauty in different types of women (just as they are, thanks) or give me just one movie that has a bigger girl in it, or even a leading lady who is (gasp!) a size 8 without even mentioning her weight.  And please wardrobe department, don’t make her wear an unzipped size 2 when it finally happens! 

Who we are, we were, and will be

My ten year high school reunion is coming up this summer.  There is no way in Hell that I would go to that, but it does make me think about how far I have actually come since those days.  If I could talk to 17 year old me, if she could see my life, what would she think?  Honestly, I think she would be amazed that I have come so far.  I am happy with the decisions that have gotten me to where I am and I am proud of my life.  That is a good feeling. 

It is so strange to see how your own life can be blocked off in stages.  I was a happy kid who went to the beach and played with Barbie’s and had no idea that anything worse could happen to me than my parents getting divorced.  Then I was a miserable, sick teenager who needed desperately to get away from her life.  Then I was in college, and getting part time jobs and trying to become an adult. Then I met the man of my dreams, and thank goodness, he met the girl of his dreams in me.  Looking back, it is almost like there is no overlap between each neatly wrapped up portion of my life.  It makes me feel crazy to think that this could be yet another piece in the puzzle, rather than a place that I get to stay forever.  But I am so happy here! 

So where do I see myself ten years from now?  That is a scary question.  Hopefully my husband and I will have our own house.  I would like to have learned French and seen Paris by then.  I really, really hope that I am a mother.  Most of all, I just hope I am even just half as happy and contented with my messy, imperfect life as I am right now.

I think it would make that 17 year old happy to know that this place exists somewhere in time waiting for her.  I bet it would make 38 year old me happy to remember that a time that felt this right ever existed at all.  I hope. I hope.  I hope.   

Dear women:12 Beautiful Rules to Live By

1) If there is something you do not like about yourself, looks wise or otherwise, either be willing to change it or accept it.  Life is too short to obsess about the bump on the bridge of your nose or the exact circumference around your thighs.  If you hate your stomach and you simply cannot learn to love it, live with it or ignore it, then do something about it.  Work out.  Eat healthy.  Figure out what you need to do to get to the place where you are happy, or at least happy enough, with what you have.  Complaining about your muffin top will never make it go away.  If you know yourself well enough to know that you are never going to start exercising or eating better, then realize that a tight tummy must not be as important to you as you thought and get over it.  You are probably the only one who notices it any way.  You are most definitely the only one who obsesses about it. 

2) Realize that focusing on your looks makes you less interesting to others.  If all you think about or talk about is your weight, your hair, or your lumpy fill in the blank, then all you think about is YOU.  Even if you are putting yourself down, if the only thing on your mind is your flaws, then you spend way too much time concentrating on yourself, and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for anyone or anything else.  Being self centered is not attractive to men or to other women.  Which leads me to number 3…

3) Do not complain about yourself to others, and do not buy into others complaints about themselves.  Stop playing the, “no I have a worse body then you because…” game.  When a friend constantly talks about her double chin she is looking for reinforcement.  She is expecting you to say “no you are lovely.  At least you don’t have these stumpy legs and fat thighs!”  This is a dangerous game.  Do not play along.  It may feel like bonding, but it is actually a way for us to continue to perpetuate self doubt in ourselves and others.   Eventually your friend will stop coming to you for reinforcement if you refuse to give it to them, and you will have more time to talk with them about your respective life goals, and all of the other things that really matter.  Which leads me to…

4) Recognize that if you constantly point out your so called flaws to others, they will reinforce negative thoughts in you while also making the things that you do not like about yourself more and more obvious to others.  Worse, it may even convince people that the flaws that you see really are as disgusting as you make them out to be.  When you say, “my eyes are too close together,” you make it your friends job to say “oh no they aren’t,” but what they are really thinking is, “wow, how did I not ever notice how fish eyed Janis was before?”  If you constantly tell people how terrible looking you are, they just might start to believe you.   

5) Putting someone else down will not make you any more attractive.

6) For some reason, no matter what you do or who you are, some people are just going to not like you.  Sometimes people really do hate you because you are beautiful.  Sometimes people really are just jealous.  Sometimes people just don’t like you for no reason.  Then again sometimes people don’t like you because you are a mean crazy bitch.  Learn to tell the difference. 

7) Recognize that men are not all the same any more than women are all the same.  Just like not all women are looking for a tan, muscle bound meat head, not all men are looking for a tall, thin, blond with huge jugs.  Of course, some men are looking for a tall, thin, blond with huge jugs, so you girls are covered too!  There is someone for everyone.  Possibly a lot of someone’s.  I know I sound like your mother talking, but honey, there is someone out there who is looking for someone just like you.

8) Any woman anywhere no matter what can find someone to have sex with at any time.  It’s just the truth.  You might have to have really, really low standards, but it can be done.  This is not true for men.  That is the reason that men who sleep around are called studs while woman who do the same are called sluts.  Men are just jealous because we don’t have to work as hard for it.  Also, before you call someone else a slut, you might want to make sure that your house isn’t made of glass first. 

9) There is no one way to be beautiful, and there is no beauty without so called flaws.

10) Don’t forget that your daughters can see and hear you.  They are learning to be women by watching you. And don’t forget that your sons can see and hear you too.  They are learning how to treat women by watching how you allow yourself to be treated (by yourself, and by others).

11)  Don’t forget that chances are, your daughters are going to look something like you when they grow up, and so when you put yourself down, you are putting them down too.

12) Lastly, have fun with fashion, your hair and your looks, but realize that in the end the way you look is not the most important or the most interesting (hopefully) thing about you. 

Fear of the Tiger

When I was learning to drive, I assumed that the horrible fear that I felt behind the wheel of a car would eventually dissipate, and I too could become one of the billions of people who mindlessly get in their cars each day, and get from point A to point B without much of a thought about the process at all. 

In my imagination, other people get in their cars, and a feeling that the car is one with their body comes over them.  It is a parasitic relationship in which we as the driver have become a mind controlling parasite that temporarily takes over the brain of the car until we no longer need it.  When a person wants to turn left, the car goes left.  When we want to go really fast, the car goes fast and when we want to stop, it stops.  Simple.  Lovely. 

No such luck for me however.  Yes, I can get a car to go from point A to point B at varying speed over varying distances, but in no way do I feel the comfortable, mindless sensation that I was hoping for.  Even after all these years, my car and I feel like separate beings who have to work together, but we sure as Hell aren’t going to like it.

And unfortunately, instead of gradually getting more and more comfortable in the driver’s seat, I seem to becoming more and more afraid.  I live in constant fear of changing lanes, getting lost, or somehow accidentally getting on the freeway, having to change lanes, and then getting lost.

Recently I actually did accidentally get onto the freeway (this can happen only to someone who is as spatially unaware as I am), and as soon as I realized what was happening to me, my armpits got all itchy and I felt my whole body begin to shake.  I thought to myself, “What am I going to do?  I can’t do this!” but the answer came and it was, you will keep driving of course.  You can do this because you have to do this.  The only alternative is to slam on the breaks and kill someone behind you, which doesn’t sound like a good alternative at all, now does it? 

So I drove, got off at the correct stop, and kept driving until I reached my destination where I existed the car and went on with my day as if nothing horrible had happened at all. But it had, I tell you!  It had!

Although I know that the rest of the modern world sees my fear of driving as an irrationally one, comparable to a fear of puppets or overly fluffy clouds, I’m afraid I have to respectfully disagree.  In my opinion, it is the rest of the world that is crazy.  A car truly is capable of killing several people at once, at any given time out of the blue.  It is capable of maiming and causing catastrophic harm.  Honestly, when I think about it I am surprised that I have let the rest of the world peer pressure me into driving at all.  It is so much more likely to kill me than drugs, or smoking or even skydiving (All activities that I have never had any interest in ether, but my point is still just as valid). 

Worse yet, my fear of killing myself is wildly eclipsed by the fear of killing someone else, especially when I am forced to have a passenger in my car (horror of horrors!).  Cars are horrible death trap time bombs that we pretend are fancy mettle pets that we have ultimate control over.   Never forget that Siegfried and Roy felt safe around there tigers too, and look where that got Roy. 

I do however wonder what it is in me that will not allow me to be blissfully ignorant, just go with the flow (of traffic), and be just like all of the other people in the world who say to themselves, “yeah, I could kill someone with my car, but I probably won’t.  I need me a Big Mac,” and off they go again, risking their lives and the lives or others for greasy fast food.

I wonder too, why two of my three sisters share my fear to varying degrees, when nothing but our obviously (some might say overly) fearful bloodline to connect us in our plight.  It is true that each of us possesses an unusually horrible sense of direction which makes the fear of getting ridiculously lost on a trip to the grocery store never to be seen again a very real possibility for us.  But I do wonder if our issues go deeper.  Are we simply a family of weenies, afraid to make a move that might be out of step, or are we really just more highly advanced than the general population making it impossible for us to turn off our highly in-tune sense of very real danger long enough to join the unwashed masses on the roads of our respective cities?

All of that being said, I do recognize that my fear paralyzes me in many ways, keeping me from experiencing things that I want to experience (unless I can talk someone else into driving me).  Also, I believe that it doesn’t say anything good about me that I would rather let someone that I know is worse driver than me drive for me rather than take the responsibility on myself.  I don’t want to let anyone else control my destiny, let alone how early or late I have to leave a party.  I do know that letting fear control you is never a good thing, no matter how justified, and it might be time that I figure out how to finally concur mine. Easier said than done of course, but if I know one thing it is this: everyone should be the driver in their own life.   

Beautiful Scars

Look who else had a scar on her tummy!  She had just had her gallbladder removed before this picture was taken. Unfortunately, this was not long before she died.  Somehow this picture is so sad, beautiful and strong all at once.