Okay, so as you know, last week I went to the gynecologist (as every guy here makes the unanimous “ewwwww”) because anytime anything came near my cervix, it was like a blitzkrieg. Even I don’t understand that similie, but let’s just say that I’m in a lot of pain. So they press on my stomach and I feel nothing. They stick the speculum in and are like “you have a lot of mucous” which is weird since I’m done with my period. The doctor (who is very very sweet, I promise) puts on gloves, sticks two fingers up there, and presses. You hear me shreik like a small dog on this. So she goes “your ovaries seem swollen. I’m ordering a vaginal ultrasound.” So I go for the ultrasound (which is the coldest and most painful thing ever) and it shows my ovaries. The ovaries have a bunch of little black spots on them, which look like this:

Yeah, that’s not my ovary but you get the point. Those little black spots are cysts. They’res about twenty of them covering my ovaries, so that pain I’m feeling is my ovaries at twice their size. I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (sometimes known as Stein-Leventhal Syndrome). Apparently, my androgen levels spiked at some point, hence the small breasts and narrow hips. Now, the Doctor gives me a hug, and three packs of Ortho Tri-Cyclen Lo. She really doesn’t explain the risks that come with PCOS (saying “try this and then we’ll take action”), so I take my little knowledge and do some research. So apparently PCOS leads to a lot of nasty things, including:

• diabetes
• infertility
• endometrial cancer
• ovarian cancer
• alopecia
• obesity
• heart disease
• high blood pressure

Yeah, that really sucks. There’s something so terrible about telling a man that you might not be able to carry their son. It’s like “okay, I may not be able to give you what you always wanted and thus you shouldn’t take me as a bride”. As much as guys say, “that’s okay”, it’s like “what about me? What if I wanted a son or daughter of my own?” People dump babies in the trash and I can’t have one? People get so strung out on heroin that they cover their children in gasoline then light a match and I can’t birth a child to care for? That’s just unfair! I have devoted my life to being a good person, so why do I deserve this?

Then I remember that there is a lot worse I could be suffering. I could be that teenager forced with the problem of pregnancy. I could be that child in the burn unit who suffered senseless abuse. I could be so much worse. So right now, my job is to count my blessings, take some painkillers, and hope for the best.

So I was having the time of my life putzing around today, and I decided to answer a question. It was What Would Women Do Without Breasts/Boobies? Now here’s the funny part: he goes “I mean, they are the ONLY thing women have above men”. That’s funny. I believe Condoleeza Rice is Secretary of State and not for her bra size. Same with Margaret Thatcher. So I wrote a nasty comment that went something like this:

Listen Sparky, believe it or not, breasts are not for male entertainment. They actually serve a purpose, like feeding our young. And since when did women only attain power through their breasts? I have been president of several “male-dominated” clubs, and I am a 32A.

And then he typed back:

The only reason you’re this way is becuase you’re upset that you don’t have bigger breasts.

And I know that most people would see that comment as immature and shrug it off. I mean, that is a week argument, but it still stung like a whip. Being told that you are unable to satisfy any man (even one who’s never met you) hurts. Come on guys, if some girl who never met you told you that you had a small penis you would be fuming. Even if you knew it wasn’t true, you would still wonder. It hurts to hear that.

I have to say that it’s a form of Edgeplay for me. I had a guy once tell me that my breasts were unable to satisfy him sexually and, although he meant it as a form of sexual humiliation, it made me burst into tears. Not hot. Not hot at all.

I love guys who tell me “you have a great ass, but you are too much like a twelve year old for my tastes”. That makes me smile a little. And it makes it helpful for roleplaying. See? I’m an eternal optimist.

Mmmkay, so it was totally immature of me to say what I said on Sunday and whatnot, but really give me a chance to speak again. We seem to have an issue of that.

Okay, it was fucking wrong of me to make judgements, but really, if you have a problem with me, you tell me. And you do it like an adult. On the other hand, this is my space, one in which you don’t have to come to if you don’t like what you see, you can get the Hell out. I will however, be adult enough to apologize. I was being immature, but you have to understand that I don’t get boyfriend-girlfriend issues. It’s my tragic flaw since I tend to be so accepting of everything that comes my way (I have definitely had girls call my boyfriend hot, and although it hurts a little, I am kind of okay with it) and I totally miss the point sometimes. If something is bothersome, once again you have to pick your battles with me. You get easily offended; I get easily offended. It doesn’t take a lot.

And I would also like to note that I was not just talking about one specific person or case on Sunday’s blog. A ton of nasty epithets were thrown at me this weekend on similar subjects from all different direction. I was talking in general and using several cases to make a point. Sorry if I didn’t get that across, but I’m an artist not a lawyer. Once again, if you have a problem, maybe talking should be done before things are said that do get posted. I now have new rules for comment posting because I got at least five comments from different people saying that I was wrong and that I am a terrible friend and whatnot:

1) Realize that the comment forum is a public space. People might be just as mad as you for saying something as they are at me for saying something. It’s just like a blog. Not pointing to any comment in specific (because that would be cruel and because I do not have any specific case I would like to reference) but making personal attacks can turn people against you as quickly as it can turn people against me. Hence why all comments are now moderated before posted since I have had people mad at people they don’t even know (and sometimes I don’t even know!) faster than anything.

2) I am a huge supporter of First Amendment rights but really: think before you speak. I know I don’t do that and that makes me a hypocrite, but do you really want to go to the trouble I go through each time I say something stupid and am forced to explain and/or recant my statements? I think not. If you do, happy writing!

3) I am not here to start any wars of any sort or (even worse) to start comment wars. Several of those took place. I shall not allow my website to be a place where people lambaste others via comments. It’s not fair to anyone and it defeats the purpose of me starting this blog.

Any more questions?

Okay, so I oficially suck at Monopoly. I lost a smashing round to The General to the point that I needed to forfeit since he possessed almost all monopolies and had a hotel on the purples, the light blues, the magentas, the reds, and I think some of the yellows. He also had 3/4 of the railroads. Yeah.

So after that, Jake and Mary decided to join us. The game got a lot more intense with four of us. I got Park Place, which was all I really cared about. Then I possessed the Reading RR (pronounced “redding” not “reeding”) and Illinois and Indiana (two of the reds). The General had what I wanted: Broadwalk. So he paid me $1000 and Boardwalk for Reading. I took. I started building houses. Mary then pulled out and gave Jake her $2oo and three mortgaged properties. I kept playing through, until I had to pay $950 to The General for landing on St. Charles Place. So I folded. I gave him $300, Broadwalk and Park. Yeah, he killed Jake. It was a total Stalemate for quite some time until Jake finally decided to fold. It was great fun.

But yes, I suck at Monopoly. It was a five and a half hour marathon though, so it was kind of worth it.

I’ve never been happier than I am now. Every moment feels like a complete and total orgasm, even when we’re not touching. I see his smile when I close my eyes and hear his beautiful voice resonate in my milky ears. He has the prettiest green eyes imaginable, and one eye has just a pretty brown splash, as if two shades of watercolours accidentally bled together. His other eye has a freckle in it. I sleep with his sweatshirt next to me every night, because it smells like a combination of my perfume and AXE. Actually, that’s how his sheets smell too. I love it every time I return to the ‘Ville and smell that. It makes me happy. Every night I miss him, although I know it will be a short while before I see him again and am happily in his arms.

If you can not tell, I am happy as a lark. Though I wish it were a nightingale, to make this night twice as long.

 Doubt though the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt my love.

Let me start with that. I’m one of those girls who you really don’t want to catch when she’s cross. I get that terrible Italian Lawngiland accent that I have and I start speaking a mile a minute.

So, yeah, yesterday I go to Facebook and I write “hey babe, how’s your summer goin?” on my friend’s wall. Granted I’ve known him for like ten months. His pretty little girlfriend (who I know he only took in for sex because he was asking me for it right before he started dating her) sends me a message being like “don’t call —- ‘babe’. I’m the only one allowed to call him that.” Um, excuse me Missy, but this is a free country. I can call your boyfriend whatever the fuck I want to. And, if your boyfriend was so concerned, why didn’t he send me a message himself? This isn’t a matter of what your boyfriend wants or not; it’s a matter of your effing insecurities.

I’m so sick of people acting like they’re freaking twelve. I really can’t believe how immature some people tend to be and it pisses me off. You’re in college now. You figure out what battles to fight and what ones to ignore. And I don’t think the fact that I was endearing to your boyfriend means that he loves you any less. If he does, that’s your problem, not mine. You can’t see me as some whore because your boyfriend’s a jerk.

 Grrr….

Okay…it is so darn hot here in New York! Like I never ever ever sleep above the covers and there I was last night, half naked and sleeping above the covers. It was really awful. Around 5 a.m. I went under the covers because it gets really cold here around dawn (I don’t know how the rest of the world works). But it is now almost 10 a.m. and I’m naked with the windows open (don’t worrry, blinds are a fabulous invention) and the fan on blast and I’m still a tad sweaty. Apparently these jerks determine the weather. Or God does it. Choose to believe what you want.

But really, 87 degrees! Okay, so it’s not unheard of for New York in May, but it’s unfair. I don’t have enough cute summery clothes yet. And my air conditioner is still in packing. You try living on the top floor of an 1835 house without air conditioning. Seriously, if it wasn’t so taboo, I’d be cooking naked all the time. It’s worse than being at an event. Okay, not true.

On the good news train, I do have the weekend with my sweetie (once he takes this test) and I also got rooms for the event at Bennington and am working on a shift (okay, so mommy’s doing the work and I’m trying it on). So it kind of balances out. Except for the fact that my ovaries are bullying me, but that’s for another post.

Hi! I just joined here off of being on Blogspot and I figured I needed a life change. So here I am! I hope you enjoy yourself and I hope you like me and what I write.

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