I have been putting off writing this post for a while, mostly because I have been too numb and hurt to try and put anything into words. I have spent the last couple days in the bathroom, sobbing so hard that in the morning my eyes look like I was the winner in a heavyweight fight match. But this blog has always been somewhat healing for me, so I thought I would give it a try.

*Deep breath*

My best friend and I broke up the other night. If you have read my archives, you will know that I have talked of her before. ("finding jules" is the title, I think, if you wanna go look). Anyway, in a nut shell a lot of shit went down, she made some very immature and poor choices, and basically cut me out of her life. I know that she has spiraled down into some kind of major depression (believe me, I know the signs) and is just making insane acusations towards me. I tried for months to reach her, to get in touch with her someway, because I wanted desperately to be there for her in an obviously difficult time. But to no avail. I called, left messages, sent a card to her parent's house, and there was no response from her. So I kind of had to get on with my life. I mean, I made every effort that I could think of, and I didn't know what to do. The last card that I sent her gave her the number of my new phone, and that was the last I heard from her. Oh, and by the way, her phone had been shut off at this time, so I didn't have ANY way of getting a hold of her.

Then the other night, out of the blue, the phone rings. I didn't know the number, so I had A* answer the phone (I have a phobia of unknown numbers). He talked for a minute, with a confused look on his face, and hung up the phone.
"That was Brian," he told me. Brian is the friend's (let's call her J to avoid any confusion) boyfriend. "He wanted to know where those paintings were."
Okay, stop for a minute. J is an artist, and a while ago she gave me a painting for our apartment. There was also a large, wall sized painting that she gave me. This painting I found in her parent's garage, and when I asked her about it she said that they were going to throw it away anyways, and they would be very happy for us to take it off their hands, so I did. We still had the smaller painting, but the larger one was part of the stuff that got taken when we moved the last time. A* explained all of this to Brian. Not two minutes later, the phone rang again. I knew it was J, and I needed to psych myself up, so I told him to tell her that I was in the shower and I would call her back.

But as I sat for a couple minutes, I steeled up all my nerves and called her back. I do not like confrontation, so I was a little scared. I called her back.

As soon as she picked up the phone and I said "Hey", I was immediately assaulted with all kinds of yelling and screaming. I couldn't even hear all that she was saying, because she was yelling too loudly. I managed to pick up- ..."you know how important those paintings were to me, how could you do this to me, I am so hurt..." and things of this nature. I calmly explained that I did in fact have one of the "all important paintings" that she had given away as gifts, and told her again what had happened with the other one. I told her that I too, had lost a lot of stuff that meant a lot to me. She continued to scream. She wanted her paintings NOW.

By this time I was getting mad. How dare she call me up after a whole year and demand something back. Obviously she could have gotten in touch with me before, because she had called me. I told her that A* and I were in our pajamas and about to go to bed, so no, she couldn't come and get her paintings right then. I told her that I would call her when I got off work the next day, and she said she wanted them NOW and did she have to call the police to get them back? I said, "Yeah, call the police and tell them I won't give you back a gift that you gave me, go ahead." She must have realized how dumb this was, because then she said for me to put the painting out on the porch. Now, if this was something "priceless" to her, why would she want it hanging out on the porch, where anyone could take it? She just kept screaming, and finally I had had enough. I told her to "shut up, just shut the fuck up or you're not getting anything!" Then I yelled at A* to "take the f----ing picture off the wall and put it on the porch. Or better yet, throw it in the yard." But that is immature, so he just put it outside.

I tried to talk about our friendship, about what had happened to us. She was unwilling to accept any kind of responsibility for anything. I asked her why she hadn't gotten in touch with me; I should have stopped by her house. I asked her why she didn't respond to the card I had sent her; I should have sent it to HER house, not her parent's, and the fact that I did just was horrible and showed how I didn't care about her. She kept saying, "I needed you, and you weren't there." I tried to be there, tried so hard. I wanted to support her, wanted to give her a shoulder to cry on, but how the heck are you supposed to do that when someone very directly told you she didn't want to talk about it, didn't need anyone's help. I kept asking her what I was supposed to have done, but she really didn't have an answer. She asked me if I understood why she was so upset, and I very honestly told her that I didn't, I didn't know anything that had gone on with her in the last year because she chose not to involve me, and I didn't even know her anymore. I don't. She is not the same person that I have been best friend's with for all of these years. I felt like I was talking to a stranger.

So basically, it all came down to it was all my fault, and I am just about the most awful person in the entire universe. I asked her where do we go from here, do we just throw ten years of friendship down the drain? And she said, "Well, you don't think you did anything wrong..." and I said, "I am willing to admit that some of the things could have been done differently. YOU are the one that can't admit anything." Then she said, "I guess that's it, then."

Then of course, I have to be a hurt baby and start saying things that don't even make any sense, because I was SO hurt that I didn't know what to do. I think I said something intelligent like, "You just be happy thinking you didn't do anything wrong, then..." and then she hung up the phone.

I threw the phone across the room, apologized to A* for throwing the phone across the room, put my hands over my eyes and sat there and just shook. I don't remember a time when I was ever that upset in my life. I wasn't even crying, just kind of making these deep heaving sounds from deep in my chest. My teeth were chattering, I was just so upset and hurt and so many emotions were running around inside of me. I didn't even know what to do with myself.

So I called my mom. And while she always makes me feel better, nothing can take away the pain of losing your best friend, your soul sister, your whole world for ten years of your life. My mom was almost as upset as me, because J has always been a big part of our entire family. Birthdays, holidays, vacations... she was always there. And now she won't be, and I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

Scheduling

Lately I have been noticing something disarming about myself... I seem to need a set time for every single thing that I do, no matter what. Now, this is a little weird to me, because normally, I am one of the most disorganized people that you will ever meet. Seriously. At this very minute clothes are being vomited out of my closet, because I can't be bothered to put them away. My desk is almost unrecognizable as any kind of furniture, it is so covered with papers and crap. But for some reason, my brain has to schedule.

Every morning when we are driving to work, I make A* list all of the things that we have to do that night. For example, he has to say, "I'll get home from work, I'll take a shower, we'll have dinner, we'll watch TV, we'll go to bed." And if for some reason we differ from the schedule, well, this just makes me very aggitated. On the weekends it is worse, because then I have a whole day to plan out. It has to be "Wake up, watch TV, go to breakfast, go to the store, come home, etc..." for the entire weekend. I know this is anal and I don't know why I have to do it. Why can't I just live a carefree existence, where each block of time is not accounted for?

In the same vein as this, I feel that there are certain times to do certain things. This fits into the schedule, if it is worked out correctly. I don't think anyone should eat dinner before 5. 5 is the magic number for dinner in my head. I can remember my mom trying to eat dinner at, say, 4:45 because we had to be somewhere, and me throwing a fit because IT IS NOT FIVE!! However, you shouldn't be eating past 7, either. Therefore, there is a slim window of alloted dinner time. The problem that I have been running into lately is that A* is not adhering to the schedule. I have been eating dinner at least at 7:30, sometimes 8. And this is just not acceptable. It really bothers me, but when I say something, he gets mad.

Recent conversation:
ME: "Um, are you going to get in the shower soon?"
HIM: "Why?"
ME: "Well, it is 6:30 and we haven't even eaten yet..."
HIM: "For God's sake, D, do we have to do everything by a schedule??!!! Just let me shower in peace, woman!"

So you see, A* doesn't really get the whole schedule thing. In fact, I myself don't really get the schedule thing. It would make more sense if I was just an anal type of person, but I'm not. I don't know where this comes from, or why.

But so help me God, if I am not done with my dinner tonight by 7, well, there will just be some problems.

Tiny Vests are not very Flattering

Well, sorry it has been awhile... wait, who am I apologizing to? The reader that I hope to get someday? The invisible one that I pretend hangs onto my every word? Oh, did I sound bitter? Anyway... I have been sick with the flu for the past two days. I have never spent as much time in the bathroom as I have yesterday and the day before. Things were shooting out both ends and I felt like complete shit. BUT

Before I started shitting uncontrollably, I went to the doctor~ the boob doctor. It went all right, but I really don't know anything yet. They took me into this little room, and a nurse asked me questions such as what size I was hoping to be (a C) and some of the problems that I have been experiencing. Then I had to put on this tiny vest thing and a robe. The doctor came in, along with a nurse and I think a medical student. I had already been there before, but chickened out the last time, so he didn't do the whole speal that he would have. I kind of wish he would have been more thorough, because A* hasn't ever been there before and I know he had questions, but they did load us up with pamphlets, so he has been doing some reading. The doctor made me take off the tiny vest and stand in front of him, with my two ginormous girls right in his face. He felt my shoulders and neck, noting that I had "dents" in my shoulders where my bra sits. He asked me what all my symptoms were, and I told him the back and shoulder pain, rashes on my breasts, headaches, etc. He nodded, then flipped my boob up, grabbing it with one hand while he felt under it with the other. He told the nurse to "note the discoloration under the breast", which I didn't even know existed but I guess is because something is always rubbing that area. He told me that he would send everything in to my insurance company, and that we would have to wait 4 to 6 weeks to hear an answer. My heart dropped a little when I heard this... that is a long time to wait, and now that I have my mind made up I just want it over with. Then I had to go across the hall in my vest, and they gave me a robe, and I had to stand up on this little stage thing and do half quarter turns while a woman shot pictures of my breasts. Let me tell you, this was not the most comfortable situation that I have ever been in. AND I know that all of these pictures will be going to my insurance company, so a lot more people than I want are going to be viewing my girls. I went back to the room, where A* was waiting patiently after watching another man feel up his girlfriend, and the nurse brought in a book filled with pictures of before and after breast reductions. This was cool, because I tried to pick out women that looked about my size and then I could kind of picture what it would look like. She asked if we had any questions, and I did. I had heard that losing nipple sensitivity could be a possible side effect, and I don't want this to happen. My sex life would not be the same. So I asked her about this, and the nurse said while it is rare, it COULD potentially happen. But A* reminded me that they have to say all of the possible outcomes to cover their asses, and that it probably won't happen. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Armed with pamphlets and information, we left with the promise that someone from the office will call me as soon as they hear from the insurance company.

We walked to the elevators, and I burst into tears. I don't even really know why... I think it was just something that I have been thinking about and wanting to do for so long, and now that things are actually happening it is just kind of overwhelming. I don't really know how to explain it. Overwhelmed is the best I can do, and then of course I thought maybe I shouldn't get it done, and maybe the side effects aren't worth it, and maybe this, and maybe that, when A* stopped me and said simply, "I'm not letting you out of this one. You will be so much happier and it will feel so much better. And no matter what happens, even if you have no nipples and one of your boobs is attached to your left foot, I will be there and still love you."

Awww.

So now we wait. I am keeping my fingers crossed for 4-6 weeks, and I think you should too!

Swamp of Penis

Last night A* and I were watching the Neverending Story, which is by far one of the classics from my childhood. Well, you know that one part where the kid is in that swamp, and his horse dies and it is horribly sad? I was telling A* that this was a serious part of the movie, be quiet and pay attention because we were "in the Swamp of Sadness". A* chortled to himself and then, just like the boy that he is, said "I wish we were in the Swamp of Penis and you were drowning in it," and then laughed for forty more minutes.

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In boob news, A* has spent a large part of the weekend reassuring me that he didn't fall in love with me because of my ginormous boobs, nor is he going to fall out of love with me once I don't have them anymore. I believe him, I really do, but I know how guys feel about boobs, and I can't help picturing his friends being like, "dude, why is she getting that done? Are you crazy, she has the biggest boobs ever!" and A* will be embarressed and not wanting to go into back pain, and will resent me for even doing this in the first place. Not that I am chickening out... I'm not. Appointment still set for two days from now. And most of me is really really excited to get this process underway, but like I said before, my whole identity has been these things and it is hard getting a part of yourself cut off, no matter how cumbersome. I'll let you know what happens with the doctor as soon as I go.

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I had an extremely traumatic experience yesterday. As you know, I have been on a two day high about my breasts, and how they are going to go away. I decided to carry this happiness into a new purse buying excursion, and very happily purchased a smashing new faux snake skin Liz Claiborne at TJ Maxx for only $15.99. So I was in a great mood, when A* and I stopped at Borders. As I was walking in, my (former) best friend was walking out. I have written previously about her (see "Finding Jules"), but long story short we haven't talked for almost a year due to her need to lock herself up in her apartment and smoke weed until she passes out. I don't mind weed, but I do mind rotting away in a rank space that never sees the light of day. Because I didn't want to hang out there, and she wouldn't leave, she pretty much stopped talking to me. In the meantime, A* and I got a new phone number and moved, so a couple of months ago I sent her a card to tell her our new number and address. Her phone had been turned off because she spent the bill money on drugs, so there was no way I could contact her. Anyways, I was walking in when I saw her boyfriend. I still didn't expect to see her, so I just said Hi to him and kept walking. My heart literally dropped to my knees when I saw her. In that split second, I thought about what to do. Do I pretend that we haven't not talked in a year? Do I pretend like we just lost touch? Did we just lose touch? I decided to play it cool, but still show that I was excited to see her.
"Hey!" I yelled out. "Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you in such a long time! What's up?"
She had a very sour look on her face, and just answered, "Nothing."
I bravely forged ahead. "So what have you been doing?" I asked, keeping an insane grin platered on my face. I don't do well in these types of situations.
"Nothing."
"Well-" I faltered "-um... did you get my card? I sent you a card, because we got a new phone and I didn't know how to get a hold of you, so..."
"It's not like you don't know where I live, D." she said, her arms crossed.
I couldn't believe it. After all the effort that I had made, she was going to try and blame the non communication on me? I could feel tears beginning to form, and I begged them not to fall. I did NOT want her to see me cry.
"It's not like you don't know where I live, either, right?" I shot back. Meanwhile, streams of people are coming out of the store and walking in between us, which is not the greatest place to have this kind of discussion.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not doing this."
"Doing what? Do you want my new number?" I was still hoping that maybe we could talk about this, somewhere that was not a Borders vestibule.
She just kept shaking her head. I thought maybe she couldn't hear me.
"Do you want my new number?" I asked again, louder. I realize I was starting to sound desperate here, but I couldn't help it. I mean, this was my best friend, and after all this time she was finally standing in front of me! I couldn't let her go without a fight.
She said, "I'm not doing this," again and turned to walk out the door.
"So you don't want my new number?" I cried out one more pathetic time, and watched her back as she retreated out the door. She left.
I have to give myself credit here. I kept it together as I walked into Borders, even though A*'s comforting hand on my back almost made me burst into tears. I bit my lip as I searched for a copy of Glamour, to see the article on Heather (www.dooce.com). I tipped my head back and let the tears wash back into my eyeballs as I searched for a calander. But finally, as we were standing in line, I very calmly asked A* for the car keys and phone. I walked with my dignity out of the store, got in the car, and burst into hysterical tears. I dialed my mom's number frantically, and when she answered I poured out the whole story, in between my gut wrenching sobs. I felt like my heart was breaking. It was like the worst break up you can imagine, but with your best friend.
I just couldn't believe she could look me in the face and just walk away. This was the girl that knew every deepest darkest secret I held, the girl who went on family vacations and got Christmas presents from my parents, the girl who spent the night every Saturday night in high school, who was with me all three times I took my driving test, who used to decorate my locker before swim meets, the girl that I knew all of her secrets, her history, her loves and hates and everything in between. We used to plan on buying two identical houses side by side, and we would have children at the same time and they would be best friends. It is so extremely sad to me. I could be mad that she dissed me, could be humiliated that she made me look like a loser begging for friendship in front of her boyfriend and mine, but mostly I just feel this incredible sadness. I feel like a part of myself is missing.

More on my Boobs

Hardest step completed? Check. I actually picked up the phone and made an appointment to see a plastic surgeon for a consultation. I'm nervous, but my excitement far outweighs it.

You see, my entire life I have been known as "The Girl with the Big Boobs" or "The Girl with the Huge Tits". This is not, contrary to popular belief, how I want to be viewed. I would rather people say "The Girl Who is Nice" or "The Girl with the Pleasant Smile". Not part of my anatomy. Boys oogled me starting in the sixth grade. I started right off in the regular bra department, skipping training bras altogether. Ha! My boobs didn't need trained, they were growing just fine on their own. I can remember staring at myself in the dressing room mirror, wearing my first bra, and sobbing. I hated that thing, that constricted and dug into me. I hated the fact that most of my friends only wore a bra because they wanted to, not because they had to. And they just kept growing.

In high school, I was just starting to date this guy when I came across him and his friend in the hallway. The friend was gesturing with his hands, making large hill signs. I heard him ask "Have you climbed the mountains yet?" To my shock and humiliation, they were talking about my breasts.

Every dress that I tried on pulled tight (or not at all) across the chest. I eventually couldn't even wear a dress anymore, I had to resort to seperates. If I bought something big enough to wear in the top, then it was hugely big in the bottom. And strapless bras? Forget it. My prom dress was strapless, and I had to wear a bra that was a size too small and be on boob patrol all night. I spent the dance obcessively checking to make sure neither one of the girls was making an appearance.

Bras just don't fit. Boobs spill out on the sides and top of the bra everytime. I have to wear a washrag under it so that it doesn't dig into my skin and cause a rash (which has happened before, and yes I had to go to the doctor and explain to him that my boobs were giving me a rash). I have dents and bumps and knots all in my shoulders and back, and I get headaches a lot from the strain on my neck and shoulders.

But I called. the. doctor. Even through all of these problems, I kind of felt like maybe big boobs were my identity, that messing with them would make me invisable. I think that's why I had such a hard time making that call. Plus, I mean it is surgery, and no one likes that. But god, to be able to run (run!) down the street without giving myself a black eye? That's priceless. I can't tell you the last time that I actually ran. (and not just because an ex-boyfriend once told me I looked like a retarded bird when I did.)

I'll keep you updated, of course. My appointment is this Tuesday, January 10. Keep your fingers crossed! Oh, and before you even ask, the excess boobage has already been promised to half the women that I know, so I don't know if there will be enough to go around. There could be, because there is a lot, but don't get your hopes up.

Bitch Fest 2006

I am not satisfied with my life. Nothing seems to be going the way that it is supposed to go. Not even this blog. I started it with anticipation of fame, millions of dedicated readers racing to their computers every morning to see what I have been up to. But what really happened was that no one even knows that "Little Bits" exists, and I am basically writing to keep myself company. I was scrolling down today and saw that little button that says "Delete Blog" and I'll tell you, I almost did. I thought, who would care anyway, no one reads it. And that would be the truth, but I would hate to see all that work go down the drain. No, I'll keep plugging away, talking to no one.

But this seems to be a metaphor for the rest of my life. A couple weeks ago, I posted about how my friend was going back to school, and I was so jealous, blah blah. Well, the feelings are still there. I still want to go back to school, to actually DO something with myself. I don't want to be stuck here in front of a computer monitor for the rest of my life, secretly clicking on blogs to read because I JUST CAN'T LOOK ENTER ANYTHING ELSE INTO THE COMPUTER. Anyways, it's not just work. Or just school. It is these things, coupled with others. A* has been in a rotten mood for the past couple of days, and that is bringing me down. I thought I only had to go through one more round of Depo shots, but I really have four more to do. Belle (the cat) has been sticking her ass up in the air and moaning, so it looks like she needs fixed. Our house is a mess, still littered with Christmas things. Our bank account is overdrawn. Our car has a heater that doesn't work. I am fat.

I know the fat thing doesn't really go with anything else, but I am feeling really discouraged about my body and the way things are looking. I used to be a swimmer (not a good one, but still) and so I could eat like a horse and never gain any weight. Well, guess what. That ended about seven years ago and still I chow down like I am going to run a 5K race the next day. The only races I run are those that involve getting to the bathroom before A*. Diet and excercise, blah, I know! But I just can't seem to get myself off the couch. I sit in a stupor, chocolate ice cream covered spoon hanging out of my mouth.

All right Internet, I am going to share a secret with you. I have huge boobs. I mean gigantic. I am currently busting out of the size 38 DDD bra that I am wearing. I can't buy clothes that fit me, because if it fits in the bottom it will definitely not fit on top. I can't wear button up shirts because the buttons gap unattractively and give the world a view of my skin that I would rather not share. My back and shoulders hurt EVERY DAY~ there is never a time when I am not in pain. It is just getting worse. I am considering gettting a breast reduction, seriously considering it. I have looked at websites and most women are only out of commission for two weeks. I want to do this before I have a family or other things that I need to look after. In turn, this would also help with the whole fatness thing, because then I may be able to walk without giving myself a black eye. If I start running, there are gigantic earthquakes in the near vacinity. The sheer weight of my breasts could crush A*, if we aren't careful. We once lost a cat under there and didn't find him for three days. My breasts are dangerous.

So you got that? Job, school, weight and breasts. All of these things are conspiring to make me question what the hell I'm doing and where the hell I'm going. I don't know what the solution is yet, either. Obviously I can't fix everything in one swoop, I do not live in a sitcom. But I think if I could just prioritize and actually follow through with something, I could get on the right track. I do a lot of bitching, but not a lot of action. And maybe that is where I need to start. Get off my ass and start doing something~ anything!

I don't know what I will do, but you can be sure that I will just keep posting my little heart out for all of those non readers out there. You know who you are. Wait, you don't exist. I'm just talking to myself, and maybe my first step should be to check into an institution for people that talk to themselves all day. If one exists. Which it probably doesn't, the way things are going for me lately.