pow, right in the...

College is closed, having us a snow day, although there's not a whole lot of snow out there at the moment. Tomorrow is already a "remote operations" day, which in my case means simply another day of no testing center.

I do have a couple of tutees to zoom with later, so not a total day of langor. It IS Pi Day, afterall. I've showered. 

And we have a few signs of spring already. I snapped this pic a few days ago along the creek path.

So, yesterday morning I was at the gym and doing some of my PT exercises. Now, I'd gone to the PT originally because of a fritzed foot, and the foot feels fine now. But the issue exposed hip weakness as the likely cause.

I say weakness, and "Dr. J" countered with opportunites

"I'm a tutor, I play those same word games", I made known. 

Dr. J is a super nice guy and knowledgeable physician, quick to establish rapport. I've learned lots from him and am glad of my decision to give PT a try.

One area we've been working is my TFL muscle, which I'd never known of before. If one is wearing a pair of girl jeans with teeny girl pockets, and puts the finger tips in the teeny pocket, their fingers are on or very close to the TFL. 

I had dry needling in the TFL at my last appointment, and Dr. J was very keen on how that might be an emotionally/mentally sensitive area for him to be accessing - getting my reassurance, letting me tuck the drape into my elastic waist band, etc. - before him going in. 

Seriously, I had no qualms. He's a doctor, plus I knew from other dry needling sessions on other areas that this would be helpful, and it was.

So yesterday, I was at the gym, working on my opportunities, and I guess I stood up weird or something and felt a little *tweak* right near the pubic bone, right in the cooch.

It was at that point I wished I had a female PT. Although I'm sure the structure of whatever I'd tweaked is present in both men and women, how to phrase it if I asked Dr. J about it?

"... right in the vag/ cooch/ cha cha/ girly bits/ etc..."

Thankfully, it improved as the day wore on, and I've no more sensation of "it". But this is the main reason I typically prefer a female doctor. My PCP is female, and I have an annual checkup coming up shortly.

We'll probably talk briefly of "sensitive" topics - like allergies and stuff - before moving on to her updating me on her kids.

busted!

A friend of mine shared this photo she took today.  These mountains have some relevance to my blog post, so I include the cultural piece.

           The Spanish Peaks are a pair of prominent mountains located in southwestern 

           Huerfano County, Colorado. The Ute Indians named them Huajatolla 

              (pronounced Wa-ha-toy-a), meaning "two breasts". The Ute name translates as 

              "Breasts of the Earth"

Anyway, these beloved boob mountains are near my hometown and are a familiar landmark.  I visited my facebook feed, and there they were.  I'll take it as a sign.  A summons.

Yesterday, I came home and grabbed the mail.  Included was an envelope from my doctor's office.  Recall that I met my new(ish) doctor a few months ago.  I'm not a regular enough patient to know why my previous doctor left, and while I am a bit curious, I'm okay with not being a familiar enough patient to know.  

Anyway, so I finally got around to meeting her when I went for my checkup.  I like her, she's friendly and thorough and accessible.   But I couldn't figure out why I'd be getting mail from the office.  So I opened it to find that I've been busted.  Pun intended?

Dear Abby (got a ring to it, no?),

It has come to our attention that Dr. Hooburtz (not her real name) previously ordered the following procedure for you and it has not been completed.  Please call the phone nmber provided to have it scheduled...

Yikes, really?!?  Busted by the mammogram NSA!

They're watching?  My other doctor didn't watch, because I totally slacked the mammogram when she ordered it too, so I know!  But I got to it.  EVENTUALLY! 

Okay, I guess I'd better call.  I mean, if she can know these things and even invoke the spirit of the Huajatollas, that's pretty powerful.  

*gasp* I feel so exposed!  

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nice package?

I nearly Rock Chefed yesterday.  But I really don't want to put it in those terms, as much as I like making verbs of people's names...

I'm referring to the stream of bad luck that our friend RC had last week.  Yesterday morning, I gathered my stuff and headed out to class.  About a mile and a half away from home, I noticed some strange handling from Tessa.  I pulled over and reached down to feel squishy what should've been firm.  Not good, right ladies?  Yep, my tire was deflating.

In Tessa's defense, I was aware of this problem.  My front tire has had a slow leak for a couple of weeks now.  But it was a slow leak as in, it needed topping off every couple of days or so.  Then it went to daily topping offs.  Somewhere,  it had become needing another hit every 15 minutes or so.

I had been thinking that I should change out the tube or repatch it, but I'm cheap environmentally efficient, and wanted to get all the life out of that tube that I could.  I guess I did.

So I walked home, Tessa limping along beside me.  I swapped her out for big girl Bella, and the day was saved.  So really, compared to RC's, my plight was quite mild.  I gave Tessa a shiny fresh tube from my stash of shiny fresh tubes, and everyone's happy now.

Earlier, I'd received a "Great Gifts for Dad!" e-mail.  Curious, I opened it to find it was for a saddle bag and cycling socks package sale.

  Great gifts for Dad?  I'm pretty sure my dad would not be interested.  I do know some moms that might like this though.  As well as some men who have not fathered any children.

The advert says the bag is "ideal for MTB sized for two spare tube, tyre levers and repair kit."

Maybe they're thinking that girls don't care for socks and don't get flat tires.



I wish.

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contrasts and comedy

On Monday, I went for that mammogram.  I dutifully called last Friday.  Having blogged about needing to do it pushed me to actually call.  I expected to make an appointment and then have it looming on the calendar for a while, but they had openings for Monday already, so as it was, it only loomed for the weekend.

The last time I did this fun procedure, my technician was (thankfully) very similar to me in "build" (read:  "boob size").  This time, it was the total opposite.  My technician was a very large woman.  Large in every dimension.  Every.

She was also quite a comedian.  I imagine that she is that way on purpose to lighten the mood and take patients' minds off things that she's handling.  She was such a comedian I almost wanted to ask her to stop as in, "stop making me laugh mid-squish!", but I was just having too much uncomfortable fun.

Anyway, I'm sure she in no way noticed the difference between her and me, professional that she is...

The whole thing took only about an hour out of my day, so I was happy with that.  And I'm thinking that we have passed the "in the next few days" waiting period for getting an anxiety-filled call back. 

So, as Wolfgang says, I've got another 5 years until I will put it off again. 
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boobs

... for lack of a better title.

Boobs have been in the news lately, with the whole Komen/Planned Parenthood story.  It reminded me.  I'm supposed to have my grillwork  inspected.  A year and a half ago or so.

I've mentioned that Magnum's employer has a program that includes physical screenings and a few healthy incentives.  I did pretty well with my scorings, but I was dinged for not keeping doctor appointments.  I disagree.  I keep my doctor appointments.

I just maybe don't make them very often.

About a year and a half ago, I took one step and got my "well woman" check, albeit overdue, off my to-do list.  No sooner had I survived the dreaded pap smear that my doctor was writing up a prescription for the dreaded mammogram.

"Really?", I was thinking.  "Didn't I just have the airbags tested?"

Well, yes, but we're supposed to keep going every now and then.  And I know this, and I'm all about prevention, I just haven't gotten around to doing it.  I was recently placing something in my keep-myself-organized-binder and once again, came across the boob-ray prescription. 

This will be my second.  Maybe I gave the first a little more attention because, at the time, I had a bit of a  **thing** going on with the lewinsky's that, thankfully, turned out to be nothing.  And really, I didn't think the procedure was all THAT bad, after some of the horror stories women have shared with me.  Perhaps mammogram discomfort is directly proportional to cup size?  That would help explain my ease. 

No, my little dumplings are quite low-maintenance.  Some running friends have shared their frustrations at finding decent jogbras to accomodate their chesticles, but my speedbumps are quite content with a bargain 3-pack from Wal-Mart.  And boyfriends have often complimented my... eyes.

I'm also not of the high-risk group.  I've no family history, I'm half asian, I've had three kids and fattened each of them up just fine from Laverne and Shirley,  thanks. 

But it's time.  It's technology.  I'm going to make that darn appointment and get the rib bumpers the attention they deserve. 
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concerning the hair

"When I cut my hair, the whole sound changed, my style changed"
--- Rihanna

When I was little, around 3 and 4 years old, my mother kept my hair short.  "Pixie cut", it was known as, but bottom line, I looked like a boy.

<----Short-haired and girlie looking in a pink dress.  I don't actually remember ever wearing a pink dress.  Same goes for today.




I really didn't think much about it - I was a toddler/preschooler - until a stranger like a waitress or such would indicate she thought I was a boy.  When that would happen,  I often felt surprise and then embarrassment bordering on humiliation.

Surprise, because I was a girl.  I didn't think much about my appearance, but on the inside I was a girl, I had been one for my entire 4 years of life! 

Once I was older and more assertive (kindergarten), I let my mom know that I wanted "girl hair".  It wasn't about my looks or personality preference, it was all about the being-mistaken-for-a-boy thing.  And actually, growing up, I was quite a tomboy.  My neighborhood was full of boys, so my socializing consisted of playing sports with them and listening to their crude jokes. 

But it's one thing to be a tomboy and another to look like a boy.  The hair was never allowed to get too short.

Eventually, my not-too-short hair and I grew up, and Magnum and I moved to Rochester, NY.  It's very humid in Rochester, NY.   Combine my longish hair and NY humidity and  strange things happen.  My hair got HUGE.

I put up with it for the first few years - battening it down with barretts and scrunchies (remember the 90's??).  Then the kids came along, I "retired" to be a stay-at-home-mom, and the hair fights had to go.   I cut it.  I cut it like it had never been cut.  I cut it and cut it.

It was a bit of a shock.  It's interesting to me how much of "us" is in our hair - especially us women.  I was never one to put a lot of fussing into my hair, and yet I felt really different after I cut it.  I felt good actually, after all that heat and humidity hair I'd been smothered under.  I felt somehow better and actually felt smarter because of a haircut!

Taking bicycler novice Chaco for a "short" ride ---->



We eventually moved back to drier climes, and I no longer liked the short hair.  As the humidity went down, so did the hair.


Yesterday, I read a blog entry about women and short hair, and what the short hair indicates about them - whether it's true or not.  Look at models, and most all of them have long hair.  What perceptions do you have based on a woman's hair length?

I remember a few years ago, I was at the veterinarian's with one of our dogs.  A friendly woman with a friendly dog about the same size as mine walked in, and our two dogs soon became happy friends in the waiting area.

This woman was also a friendly dog lover, and as our canines enjoyed some social time, she and I did too.  But I confess, that during this little assemblage, in the back of my mind, I was wondering if she was just a friendly person, or if she "liked me" liked me. 

All because she had a buzz cut.  Not full-on G.I. Jane, but close to it. 

I don't recall her acting particularly "butchy", nor was she dressed like a lumberjack.  My perception was all about the hair.  What is it about a woman with a buzz cut that says "lesbian"?  And in the end, does it even matter? 

Have you ever made drastic changes to your hair - particularly its length?  Why?  Do you have preconceived notions based on women's hairstyles?
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for Anita

Recently, Anita, in another thought provoking blog post, brought up the topic of embarrassment and candidly recounted a few of her own embarrassing moments.  I've noticed that, as I've gotten older, I don't embarrass as easily as I used to.  That said, whenever anyone brings up the topic of embarrassing moments, one such moment always stands out.  I told Anita that I was too embarrased to reveal it on her blog.  I will attempt to do it here...

This "moment" occurred several years ago.  Chaco was a toddler, Wolfgang was pretty much brand new, Meego was still floating around in the whole time-space continuum.  I vividly remember the kids' ages precisely because of what happened.

Magnum and I had gone out and ordered us a new mattress and box spring.  It was to be delivered by the mattress store, and as is customary, the old mattress would be hauled away.  So the time came and these two big burly guys showed up with the new stuff.  Step one was to remove the old stuff. 

I remember it was early evening.  I had just finished nursing newbie Wolfgang, and was cuddling him as I led the burly bed boys upstairs to the bedroom. 

Okay, so I've got this just-a-few-weeks-old infant.  Now ladies (and guys probably), you remember what the doctor said about having ______ in the few weeks after giving birth?  About how your ______, if that is your preferred _______ control method of choice, doesn't really fit the same anymore?  Since the ________ was our preferred  __________ control method of choice, and I hadn't yet gotten to the point of being fitted for a new _______, Magnum and I used ________.

Anyway, back to the bedroom.  There we were - Magnum, me, baby Wolfgang - Chaco was probably around somewhere eating paint chips or something.  The burly bed boys go to move the old mattress and out flutters a bright red ________ wrapper.

I was mortified.

Magnun was not.  In fact, I think he and the bed boys had a bit of a male bonding moment in those few seconds of words-not-necessary. 

All ended up fine.  We got the new mattress installed.  The old one was removed.  Somewhere in the fray the ______ wrapper was disposed of.  I never saw those guys again.

I hope.

Your turn :)
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diary

Happy Illustration Friday, once again.

This week's prompt is "diary". Now, I've never kept a written diary, but I remember the intrigue of them when I was younger - in the days before the internet. I think I had a couple of friends who kept diaries with connotations of deep secret secrets!

I never really had the initiative to keep one though. I was more on the extroverted side, and when I did partake of the necessary "quiet time", I was usually drawing or painting or just lazing about in general.

I discovered blogging a few years ago, however, and I've been oversharing on the internet ever since.

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rounding second

Went shopping this morning to replenish all that was pilfered over the weekend. This is actually a pretty typical Monday event. What wasn't typical about my shopping today was the purchase of bras.

(okay, yes, possible TMI to follow)

I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I am not of the well-endowed. I'll actually confess to attempting some recommended exercises and even some herbal tea concoctions.

The exercises probably made me somewhat stronger, but didn't do much for the boob size. The tea? I dunno, I think "something" went on in there, they "felt" a little different, but the measuring tape read the same as before.

Okay fine.

They've served their purpose. Three babies somehow managed to fatten up from them, so I'm not really complaining.

But, recently I'd noticed that my current underthings had gotten pretty weathered. I can't even remember the last time I had new. So, it was off to the intimates department.

Omigosh, the selection. There seemed to be as many types and styles of bras as there are breasts to put in them. One of the benefits of being not of the well-endowed is I don't need all those extra supportive, separative, over-the-river-and-through-the-wood-ive accoutrements. Just enough to cover basic liability, thanks.

I searched rack after aisle after rack and finally, FINALLY, found some.

They were in the next department over. The "girls" section. Next to "women". I've got one on now, and admit that I'm quite satisfied with my purchase.

I think Miley Cyrus gets a cut.
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like mother

I was recently having a phone conversation with my mother.

These are actually quite rare because we have this thing. This thing about writing letters to each other. Ever since I moved out of the house over 24 years ago.

We have the internet and e-mail now. I have an income better than that of a homeless person now, so can actually afford phone calls. And yet... still.. we write the letters, put them in envelopes, put stamps on them, drop them in the mail, and wait for several days to get a reply.

So when she or my dad calls, naturally I panic. Omigosh, what's happened?!

Turns out, it was pretty bad/sad news, about a friend of mine, though. Not about Mom or Dad.

But anyway, since we were on the phone and actually speaking live with each other, we talked of other things than the bad/sad news. Somewhere in the midst of the conversation, she adds, "you're a lot like Dad, y'know".

Fact is, I do know this. I am more like my dad than my mom. I don't think it's anything I chose to be. I just am. Like we're just wired the same in many ways.

I says, "Yeah, I know."

And she says, "You really are."

And I says, "Yeah, I know."

Truth be told, my dad can be a bit strange. We don't share ALL of the same values and/or "quirks", but we share many. I'm certain that my mom is not disappointed that I'm more like my dad than I am of her. But I do wonder sometimes if she had different hopes for me in my formative years.

So I thought of this conversation yesterday. I thought of it because I had mail ordered some shoes, and they arrived yesterday. They were too small. I quickly boxed them back up for return and then went out and bought some shoes locally. Because I was all set to have new shoes that day, and when the mail-order didn't work out, I had to do SOMETHING about it.

That was definitely Mom's genetics at work.

She'd be happy. I should call and tell her.
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when I grow up.... a confession of sorts

This morning, I was out in the wee hours for a run. Yes, it was dark, but I've gotten used to that now.

The thermometer said that it was 45 degrees, so I dressed accordingly and headed out into the dark abyss. It was a little chilly, but I knew I'd warm up once I got moving. Sheesh, yes!

I swear I felt the temperature rise 5 to 7 degrees in about 30 seconds, like someone turned on a heat lamp, minus the light! Suddenly, I had on one layer too many. But oh well, I trudged onward, hoping it was a freak hot wind current I was just passing through. Then I had the thought...

"I wonder if this is a hot flash..."

Seriously, I don't think I've ever had one. Heard of 'em, sure, but had the "pleasure" of one? Don't think so. I don't know much about them, preferring instead to just avoid the topic altogether

So there I was. Out there running. In the dark. With too many clothes on. Feeling all old-ladyish or whatever.

It did eventually cool down from the initial heat surge, but I still think I could've done without some piece of clothing. When I returned back to the house, I checked the thermometer...

AHA! Rejoice!! It said 51 degrees. So there HAD been some chinook wind or something that blew in some hot air!

Nothing like a bit of gerascophobia to wake you up in the morning!
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maybe it's just shy?

I've consulted my records, and my suspicions are true.

I'm overdue for the dreaded pap smear.

Okay, fellas. In case little red flags went off in your heads, signalling that things are about to go all TMI, you're absolutely right! Feel free to beat a hasty exit NOW!

Now, the "dreaded" pap smear hasn't always been the "dreaded" pap smear. It used to just be the pap smear. But it seems that somewhere between Chaco and Meego, my faithful uterus decided to get all tippy or "retroverted".

I would never have known of this shift had I not been informed of it the first time a doctor went looking.... and looking.... and looking.... and looking for my pap smear target cervix. Apparently the thing is quite elusive now.

So the "routine" pap smear has since become the "dreaded" pap smear. Oh, yes, they eventually DO find the thing and take the "dreaded" swab. But I've had these doctors make interesting comments as they spelunk around in search of treasure.

"Hmmmm.... I know those babies came out of SOMEwhere"

"Sorry if this feels like I'm trying to remove your teeth via this route"

"Really, I do these pap smears all the time!...heh"

(Just pick a spot on the ceiling and ride it out)

In her defense, my current doctor probably dreads my pap smear as much as I do. Makes me wonder. Other people rehash things at the end of the day. Lawyers talk about messy cases. Engineers ponder design problems. Moms fret over obnoxious behavior. Etc. I can see my doctor, sitting at her dinner table.

"Bitch of a pap smear today..."

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