Your first massage therapy session is probably a daunting session, you come in and meet a complete stranger and come to the realization that this stranger is about to fondle your naked body in a room...just the 2 of you!
Butterflies, their wings fluttering within your tummy. You feel the wings slapping away while you try to make up your mind if emancipation of body from clothing is really what you are ready for!
Most of us have trust issues and women in particular have issues with body image and acceptance. Do YOU have the courage to just get naked? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KFV9_pM2c0
In order to have a massage you actually have to take off your clothing, or as much as you are comfortable with removing to get to all of the spots that need soothing.
If your back aches, it only seems smart to remove your shirt.
If your legs hurt, it seems simple that your pants would come off
If everything screams in agony well then ...you will be stripped out of your skivvies and find yourself sliding under the soothing cotton sheets and waiting for the gentle hands to administer their healing hands...
The healing hands of a complete stranger!
Our bodies are our temples they say, and we are taught to cherish them and to never hand the keys to 'just anybody' let alone expose ourselves to strangers nor be so wanton as to let someone manhandle our flesh so intimately without having a relationship.
A relationship you say?
Yet, when we say to someone that we are getting a massage ...doesn't everyone just OOOHHH and AHHHHH in absolute jealousy?
How often do you hear, "OMG I wish I was getting that" or even mutterings of, "that bitch I can't believe she can afford that" and "she can't pay so-and-so bill but she can go and get a massage and her nails done?"
The finer things in life are often niceties such as manicures, pedicures, massages, maids, yard workers or an Au Pair for the little ones but let's look at this seriously.
What do we work for? What other reason other than to live and breath? Why should we only work to pay the bills and live hand to mouth; to simply exist and to never experience comfort and joy?
Every joy doesn't necessarily have to be epicurean nor do you have to live as a spartan, a world devoid of the sparkle and bling that we crave.
Treat yourself to things that make you happy and if it's extravagant, then so be it because we have only one life we are given so LIVE IT!
Live it naked as often as possible.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Knisper! Knasper! Knusper!
I started writing that last little story to go on about something funny that happened on our trip and it never ended up getting written. I bet my readers are wondering what happened, all you got was a big fat dose of pensiveness.
When I put my fingers to the keys I have an idea of where my story will go but just like my conversations, I can often get off on a tangent and WATCH OUT I will ramble and get so off course you'll never know what the original discussion was ever about.
I epitomize the word 'manic' most of the time but what would the world be without high-strung people like me? well, at least in my eyes...boring.
So what's new you say? There's always something new and not so exciting going on in my life.
The trip to get the treadmill has resulted in massive injury to my back. (I) Didn't whine about it in the last blog because I was still creaming my jeans over the truck. Around midday Tuesday following the trip I was horizontal and in tears.
The night we were unloading the treadmill, which is a behemoth, I took a wrong step while trying to grip the base and I felt something make an earth shattering pop.
Something detonated in my lower back!
Naturally I'm pretty hard headed and didn't want to seek medical attention because I figured that bed rest wouldl be plenty. Iit's ironic that the trip was to get me off of the bed and back into my exercise regime.
When Wednesday rolled around, which is now only slightly blurry to me (6 days ago), I awoke with my face wet, tears still upon my cheeks and my nose snorky from snot. We all know how that is, when you've wept for so long that you can't staunch the flow of moisture coming out of your facial orifices.
That day the husband had slept in late for work and I drove him to work, I can't even remember the reasoning for me to keep the car in the middle of the week let alone when I'm so miserable I wouldn't want to do any chores and errands but who cares about this right now...what matters is that while I'm driving him there with my very adorable Armani sunglasses covering my face I continue to cry silently.
This is probably a little known fact about me, I don't like to cry in public or even around people that know me and if I DO cry you oftentimes would never know it without looking right at me to witness tears. I can do it silently and keep the chest upheavals to a minimum.
I try to minimize my sniffles and schluffs so as not to gather attention, this goes back to a childhood where one wasn't supposed to really have these types of expressions of feelings. Crying didn't get you anything anyhow, distasteful looks and bitter responses about how hard they had things so what was YOUR problem?
when and if I cry loudly, I do it when I'm alone.
The 6 minute drive from house to office complete, husband walks out of car into his building and I pull away from the curb and drive about 200 feet from the building and park at the farthest reach of the parking lot and really let loose. I finally accept, there is no way I'm going to survive the day without doing something drastic.
Drastic for me is medical intervention.
Have I mentioned in the past - I hate doctors?
First I drove out to where I know the local massage school is, thinking that even an advanced student massage would be better than nothing plus ...I'm CHEAP. Let's never forget how damn cheap I am. Pulling into the parking lot and going just beyond the entrance I see a sign that says 'Closed' and a sigh escapes me. I'm now utterly defeated!
The building has an alley behind it to which I drive behind so I can come back around and head back towards home to lick my wounds (or worse), but while sitting idle waiting for traffic to open up I look to my right and WA-LAH! there is a chiropractor right next door.
Not only that there's a sign that says, "Pain? Try Acupuncture!"
I've heard from plenty of people that swear that this works, this acupuncture mumbo jumbo and since I'm ready to use a machete on my carotid & femoral arteries I quickly swing into traffic for a blink of an eye and then within another blink the car swings right into the parking lot of the bone cruncher.
No tenderfoot to this means of pain relief I go in with hopes of a miracle. A kind faced fellow meets me at the desk and introduces himself as the doctor, we discuss my history and what brought me to his door ...and then the magic begins.
Generally an X-ray is required for any new chiropractor before they'll even lay hands on you but I have a way of persuading people to do what I want, and when you can see torment in my green eyes you feel compelled to let me have my way.
The first few moments I was about to hop back off the table because I was sure this guy was a hack. It's been a while since I had seen a chiropractor in an office, my last guy actually did adjustments for me in the physical therapy office at the doctors office. He was a licensed chiropractor but not practicing for that instead he was doing the P/T (I think just to be employed in this awful economy). I'd get adjustments right on a standard patient table, not really that easy to do since most of the time its easiest when you are much lower to the ground and I'm not a petite gal.
This new guy, his table is a 'bump' table and it started see-sawing and freaking me out. Apparently this stretching is going to help him do his alchemy but it's just causing me to gasp every time my spine is pulled this way and that.
Then he leans in and gets to work, holy fudgsicles I thought I was going to shit my pants and if not that, at least blast him with a tremendous fart. Seriously, have you ever been shocked or hurt in a way that it makes you fart? or am I the only one? I can't be the only one...I know when I laugh or snort or cough too hard sometimes I'll whizz myself but wait that's a different problem!
See-saw see-saw and he says, "okay I'm going to bump you" and KABLAM! the table drops and he does this crazy yanking on me and I feel my hip popping into place. oh man, wait a minute this table thing works.
this went on for quite some time, the visit took nearly 45 minutes which I know is a very long visit compared to previous visits to others.
He gave me an adjustment to my busted up knee and even popped my ankles, elbows and shoulders. It was disconcerting at first but after a while I felt almost 'airy', very light on my feet but that's a joke because when I stood I still wasn't really all that ambulatory but I was MUCH better that's for certain.
My third visit he will get to poke needles into me, I'm going to have him take pictures too!
It's been a few days since my first visit in fact yesterday was my 2nd visit and I'm walking much better but unfortunately my pain remains. We had discussed the possibility of a herniated disk (that pop, remember?) and I guess I should suck it up and pay for the xrays after all. But the question is, so what if it is? THEN WHAT? then you get told you can't do this, or this or that or this...
Hell I already know I can't because I know what my limits are. (Yes I push my limits a lot who cares)
Right now my limits are: lifting my dogs Poncho (7 lbs) and Jake (4 lbs) but Helen can walk on her own unless I get a fit of adrenaline and want to push my limits more.
Thank you to my husband who has been a very understanding guy - he puts up with a lot of my complaining but this last week has been one of the worst yet. I'm sorry I'm broken and there's no warranty.
Just remember that antiques are always beautiful even if they have some character flaws.
When I put my fingers to the keys I have an idea of where my story will go but just like my conversations, I can often get off on a tangent and WATCH OUT I will ramble and get so off course you'll never know what the original discussion was ever about.
I epitomize the word 'manic' most of the time but what would the world be without high-strung people like me? well, at least in my eyes...boring.
So what's new you say? There's always something new and not so exciting going on in my life.
The trip to get the treadmill has resulted in massive injury to my back. (I) Didn't whine about it in the last blog because I was still creaming my jeans over the truck. Around midday Tuesday following the trip I was horizontal and in tears.
The night we were unloading the treadmill, which is a behemoth, I took a wrong step while trying to grip the base and I felt something make an earth shattering pop.
Something detonated in my lower back!
Naturally I'm pretty hard headed and didn't want to seek medical attention because I figured that bed rest wouldl be plenty. Iit's ironic that the trip was to get me off of the bed and back into my exercise regime.
When Wednesday rolled around, which is now only slightly blurry to me (6 days ago), I awoke with my face wet, tears still upon my cheeks and my nose snorky from snot. We all know how that is, when you've wept for so long that you can't staunch the flow of moisture coming out of your facial orifices.
That day the husband had slept in late for work and I drove him to work, I can't even remember the reasoning for me to keep the car in the middle of the week let alone when I'm so miserable I wouldn't want to do any chores and errands but who cares about this right now...what matters is that while I'm driving him there with my very adorable Armani sunglasses covering my face I continue to cry silently.
This is probably a little known fact about me, I don't like to cry in public or even around people that know me and if I DO cry you oftentimes would never know it without looking right at me to witness tears. I can do it silently and keep the chest upheavals to a minimum.
I try to minimize my sniffles and schluffs so as not to gather attention, this goes back to a childhood where one wasn't supposed to really have these types of expressions of feelings. Crying didn't get you anything anyhow, distasteful looks and bitter responses about how hard they had things so what was YOUR problem?
when and if I cry loudly, I do it when I'm alone.
The 6 minute drive from house to office complete, husband walks out of car into his building and I pull away from the curb and drive about 200 feet from the building and park at the farthest reach of the parking lot and really let loose. I finally accept, there is no way I'm going to survive the day without doing something drastic.
Drastic for me is medical intervention.
Have I mentioned in the past - I hate doctors?
First I drove out to where I know the local massage school is, thinking that even an advanced student massage would be better than nothing plus ...I'm CHEAP. Let's never forget how damn cheap I am. Pulling into the parking lot and going just beyond the entrance I see a sign that says 'Closed' and a sigh escapes me. I'm now utterly defeated!
The building has an alley behind it to which I drive behind so I can come back around and head back towards home to lick my wounds (or worse), but while sitting idle waiting for traffic to open up I look to my right and WA-LAH! there is a chiropractor right next door.
Not only that there's a sign that says, "Pain? Try Acupuncture!"
I've heard from plenty of people that swear that this works, this acupuncture mumbo jumbo and since I'm ready to use a machete on my carotid & femoral arteries I quickly swing into traffic for a blink of an eye and then within another blink the car swings right into the parking lot of the bone cruncher.
No tenderfoot to this means of pain relief I go in with hopes of a miracle. A kind faced fellow meets me at the desk and introduces himself as the doctor, we discuss my history and what brought me to his door ...and then the magic begins.
Generally an X-ray is required for any new chiropractor before they'll even lay hands on you but I have a way of persuading people to do what I want, and when you can see torment in my green eyes you feel compelled to let me have my way.
The first few moments I was about to hop back off the table because I was sure this guy was a hack. It's been a while since I had seen a chiropractor in an office, my last guy actually did adjustments for me in the physical therapy office at the doctors office. He was a licensed chiropractor but not practicing for that instead he was doing the P/T (I think just to be employed in this awful economy). I'd get adjustments right on a standard patient table, not really that easy to do since most of the time its easiest when you are much lower to the ground and I'm not a petite gal.
This new guy, his table is a 'bump' table and it started see-sawing and freaking me out. Apparently this stretching is going to help him do his alchemy but it's just causing me to gasp every time my spine is pulled this way and that.
Then he leans in and gets to work, holy fudgsicles I thought I was going to shit my pants and if not that, at least blast him with a tremendous fart. Seriously, have you ever been shocked or hurt in a way that it makes you fart? or am I the only one? I can't be the only one...I know when I laugh or snort or cough too hard sometimes I'll whizz myself but wait that's a different problem!
See-saw see-saw and he says, "okay I'm going to bump you" and KABLAM! the table drops and he does this crazy yanking on me and I feel my hip popping into place. oh man, wait a minute this table thing works.
this went on for quite some time, the visit took nearly 45 minutes which I know is a very long visit compared to previous visits to others.
He gave me an adjustment to my busted up knee and even popped my ankles, elbows and shoulders. It was disconcerting at first but after a while I felt almost 'airy', very light on my feet but that's a joke because when I stood I still wasn't really all that ambulatory but I was MUCH better that's for certain.
My third visit he will get to poke needles into me, I'm going to have him take pictures too!
It's been a few days since my first visit in fact yesterday was my 2nd visit and I'm walking much better but unfortunately my pain remains. We had discussed the possibility of a herniated disk (that pop, remember?) and I guess I should suck it up and pay for the xrays after all. But the question is, so what if it is? THEN WHAT? then you get told you can't do this, or this or that or this...
Hell I already know I can't because I know what my limits are. (Yes I push my limits a lot who cares)
Right now my limits are: lifting my dogs Poncho (7 lbs) and Jake (4 lbs) but Helen can walk on her own unless I get a fit of adrenaline and want to push my limits more.
Thank you to my husband who has been a very understanding guy - he puts up with a lot of my complaining but this last week has been one of the worst yet. I'm sorry I'm broken and there's no warranty.
Just remember that antiques are always beautiful even if they have some character flaws.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Vrrrrrooommm
Each time we take that step to rent a vehicle for a trip I dread having to face the haughty little brats that rule the counters. It's not easy for me to hold my tongue and even more difficult at 7 or 8 in the morning when I've just rolled out of bed with very little sleep.
In my experience so far, the car rental companies will find ways to make you (the consumer) to feel like you've made a mistake when essentially they are not prepared for you when you arrive.
This was the case, once again, on Monday morning when we came to get the truck we'd rented for a trip to our other home (the south house) to pick up some items that I wanted in this house (the north house).
We were about 30 minutes late from the expected time of arrival; therefore Miss-know-it-all turned her snotty nose up and made it sound as if our tardiness was going to cost us the rental of ANY vehicle for the day.
What it really meant was, the truck we rented was actually down for maintenance and they didn't want to upgrade us for free (which is basically their requirement) and ...sort of what we were hoping for anyhow. If you get to know these companies from enough usage you'll figure out that the upgrades happen with great frequency.
It took a few minutes and a lot of attitude and eyeball rolling but we eventually headed out to another office to pick up our upgrade, which was a wonderful new full-size truck that made me tingle in places that shouldn't be stimulated so easily...
Let me explain myself a little bit for those that don't know me personally, actually those that do know me these days don't really know me THAT well nor my youthful history.
I ama speed demon, I have a great love of living on the edge. I want to experience everything as hard and wickedly as possible. Quite frankly I'm convinced that I will have a short life especially in light of my genetic makeup and my case history of medical problems.
Some people say, "oh, be positive and think of all of the ways you can prolong your life through medications and assistance"
Screw that bullshit, I don't want to be a dependent any more than I already am. (today for instance as I'm writing a few days after totally fucking up my back lifting 8 sheets of drywall and my moving my treadmill)
If and when I am finally so decrepit I will ask someone close to me to only assist me in committing suicide if I haven't devised a plan on doing it myself. Believe this, I will have all of my shit in order and prepare my loved ones.
Will they forgive or understand, not likely but they have to accept because it's my decision.
We are allowed to humanely euthanize pets when they are suffering, well damn it - let's do it to our family members also.
Have any of you looked into the eyes of someone that is terminally ill and they are kept on tubes and pills? Eventually the light blinks out of their eyes, the soul disappears and they are pleading for mercy yet most are afraid to ask for this.
All that said and done, this goes back to my youth and my love of speed. There once was a time when I was involved with automobiles, high-performance automobiles!
On weekends I took trips to the local speedway. (okay, so it was barely better than a dirt track) I would tag along with the guys and look forward to my turn at the wheel down the quarter-mile.
No circle track for this girl.
I like it long, hard and straight.
The rumble of a well tuned 350cid (small block Chevy) or even a DOHC 4.6-L V8 Mustang Cobra thrills me but what I drove was an '87 Buick Grand National (turbo charged) and that bitch could haul some ass!
My daily driver was a beauty that was souped up a little bit, which is why this new full-sized truck was giving me chills along my spin and goose-flesh on my arms. That old girl was curvaceous and throaty, actually a bit like me. A shade between burgundy and maroon and the windows tinted just a couple of levels below illegal but just dark enough to keep the driver mysterious.
There were so many miles I sat in that seat, so many hours and so many songs I compared my life to. Contemplating change until the day I finally made the changes that led me to where I am today.
However, like all other things - they must evolve. Between my health, finances and the Bush administration it just wasn't feasible to keep a gas guzzling full size truck any more. With sorrow I said goodbye to her, patting my pocket as I waved to the boy who bought it for more than I paid many years prior (see ya later Sucker) and said to myself, "there will be a day again when you WILL have a truck again."
I AM the country song where you lose your job, your sweetheart, your dog and your pickup truck but the song is so beautiful that its hard to feel that bad because you want to sway to the music and feel the melody.
Renting that truck for 24 hours brought back the music for me, it wasn't a country song but it thumped a beat that pumped my blood that flushed my cheeks and had me smiling until I laid my head upon my pillow when it was through.
In my experience so far, the car rental companies will find ways to make you (the consumer) to feel like you've made a mistake when essentially they are not prepared for you when you arrive.
This was the case, once again, on Monday morning when we came to get the truck we'd rented for a trip to our other home (the south house) to pick up some items that I wanted in this house (the north house).
We were about 30 minutes late from the expected time of arrival; therefore Miss-know-it-all turned her snotty nose up and made it sound as if our tardiness was going to cost us the rental of ANY vehicle for the day.
What it really meant was, the truck we rented was actually down for maintenance and they didn't want to upgrade us for free (which is basically their requirement) and ...sort of what we were hoping for anyhow. If you get to know these companies from enough usage you'll figure out that the upgrades happen with great frequency.
It took a few minutes and a lot of attitude and eyeball rolling but we eventually headed out to another office to pick up our upgrade, which was a wonderful new full-size truck that made me tingle in places that shouldn't be stimulated so easily...
Let me explain myself a little bit for those that don't know me personally, actually those that do know me these days don't really know me THAT well nor my youthful history.
I ama speed demon, I have a great love of living on the edge. I want to experience everything as hard and wickedly as possible. Quite frankly I'm convinced that I will have a short life especially in light of my genetic makeup and my case history of medical problems.
Some people say, "oh, be positive and think of all of the ways you can prolong your life through medications and assistance"
Screw that bullshit, I don't want to be a dependent any more than I already am. (today for instance as I'm writing a few days after totally fucking up my back lifting 8 sheets of drywall and my moving my treadmill)
If and when I am finally so decrepit I will ask someone close to me to only assist me in committing suicide if I haven't devised a plan on doing it myself. Believe this, I will have all of my shit in order and prepare my loved ones.
Will they forgive or understand, not likely but they have to accept because it's my decision.
We are allowed to humanely euthanize pets when they are suffering, well damn it - let's do it to our family members also.
Have any of you looked into the eyes of someone that is terminally ill and they are kept on tubes and pills? Eventually the light blinks out of their eyes, the soul disappears and they are pleading for mercy yet most are afraid to ask for this.
All that said and done, this goes back to my youth and my love of speed. There once was a time when I was involved with automobiles, high-performance automobiles!
On weekends I took trips to the local speedway. (okay, so it was barely better than a dirt track) I would tag along with the guys and look forward to my turn at the wheel down the quarter-mile.
No circle track for this girl.
I like it long, hard and straight.
The rumble of a well tuned 350cid (small block Chevy) or even a DOHC 4.6-L V8 Mustang Cobra thrills me but what I drove was an '87 Buick Grand National (turbo charged) and that bitch could haul some ass!
My daily driver was a beauty that was souped up a little bit, which is why this new full-sized truck was giving me chills along my spin and goose-flesh on my arms. That old girl was curvaceous and throaty, actually a bit like me. A shade between burgundy and maroon and the windows tinted just a couple of levels below illegal but just dark enough to keep the driver mysterious.
There were so many miles I sat in that seat, so many hours and so many songs I compared my life to. Contemplating change until the day I finally made the changes that led me to where I am today.
However, like all other things - they must evolve. Between my health, finances and the Bush administration it just wasn't feasible to keep a gas guzzling full size truck any more. With sorrow I said goodbye to her, patting my pocket as I waved to the boy who bought it for more than I paid many years prior (see ya later Sucker) and said to myself, "there will be a day again when you WILL have a truck again."
I AM the country song where you lose your job, your sweetheart, your dog and your pickup truck but the song is so beautiful that its hard to feel that bad because you want to sway to the music and feel the melody.
Renting that truck for 24 hours brought back the music for me, it wasn't a country song but it thumped a beat that pumped my blood that flushed my cheeks and had me smiling until I laid my head upon my pillow when it was through.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Not that cute
Certainly the baby is cute to you, to your family and to other folks that have babies but not everyone in the surrounding area believes that your baby is adorable.
The peels of sound emitting from the pursed pink lips are not the sounds of delight to my eardrums, instead they are piercing screeches that rip my mind into shreds reminiscent of New Years parade ticker tape.
The peels of sound emitting from the pursed pink lips are not the sounds of delight to my eardrums, instead they are piercing screeches that rip my mind into shreds reminiscent of New Years parade ticker tape.
Monday, December 7, 2009
you dirty whore
In the medical world it would be defined a 'sign' but initially to the self observer we would say, this is a symptom of VD.
VD you shout quietly in your own mind! OMG she's not going THERE is she?
Now of course we first examine the definition of VD, which is any disease characteristically transmitted by sexual contact.
A symptom is defined as subjective evidence of disease or physical disturbance observed by the patient.
A sign is defined as the objective indications of a disease.
Does food bring you satisfaction and completion in the ways that you would compare to orgasm? You scoff now but take your time and you will come back time and time again to agree with me, true appreciation for food is a sensory overload.
Should we not discuss the signs and symptoms of the diseases created by the Frigidaire?
Perhaps she doesn't have the beguiling curves that you'd find on a table lamp or the cushy welcoming embrace of the sofa but there is something oh so alluring about that box that brings us back again and again.
A siren's song silently beckons us without our conscious knowledge, we are oft tempted again and again. Fingers wrapped tightly around the handle to jerk open the door and expose the wonderful delights from within.
The door now yawning, brightly lit from within it now exposes the delights that would soon light upon our lips.
A moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips (that's definitely VD if you ask me).
It starts out with a few nibbles of cheese in the middle of the night. A cube of Cheddar or a slice of American and then that's later followed by some reheated spaghetti that you had for last night's dinner. Wow, that's so good, you'd better wash that down with a cold glass of milk.
Perchance a slice of chocolate cream pie? I spy buttermilk biscuits at the ready.
Yes, it's 2:12 a.m. but you rationalize that dinner was at 6 p.m. and you are hungry and you always skip breakfast which is the most important meal of the day.
Each time you come back to visit your gleaming rectangular gal resplendent in her magnetic dress of white (or almond or black or if your fancy! stainless!) she is ready to give you something tasty to stuff into your mouth.
Just like crack addicts, we rarely realize that we are addicted until we are at our lowest and need an intervention or we've just hit rock bottom and there's no turning back. Just one more nibble, one more bite, one more taste. Each of these are packing on the ounces, then the pounds and the next thing that happens is we are unable to recognize ourselves when we go to look in the mirror.
Who have we become?
The disease, the symptoms were so slow to recognize even though they were there!
Ugh, I've gotta loosen these pants about half way through dinner.
Hey, did you run the last wash on hot because I think you shrank all of my denim!
My boobs are getting bigger!
Does my ass look fat in these pants?
Get your own dessert, I'm eating this one.
(3 a.m.) Let's go get pancakes, I'm starving. Get dressed? no, nothing fits I'll just wear sweatpants.
The symptoms continue to grow until they are bright neon lights (SIGNS) for everyone to see!
"SHE'S FAT!
SHE'S FAT!
PUT THE FORK DOWN ALREADY!
CHAIN THE REFRIGERATOR SHUT"
No matter what, those around you will still love you. They aren't helping you help yourself however! (BASTARDS!)
No one wants to hurt someone's feelings when it comes to their weight, well not until they get into a fight and then it's a free for all!
Instead, we are most likely to sit back and watch our friends get progressively fat.
Interestingly enough though - if our friends get sickeningly THIN we'll step in and stop that shit in a hurry. No fucking way are we going to let someone get skinny.
Don't you go and get anorexic. Seems that the disease Anorexia has more of a following than Obesity, it must be scarier because you look more like a skeleton rather than a cuddly something-or-another.
Fluffy = cute. Emaciated = dead?
There doesn't seem to be an in-between for most of us since the majority of anyone I know are borderline neurotic about something or another in their lives so why not obsess about weight and/or food while we are at it.
I decided - all of the weight I've gained is simply the symptoms of the VD I've caught from my refrigerator.
She is a dirty whore and I'm a junkie.
I could sure go for a Twinkie right about now.
VD you shout quietly in your own mind! OMG she's not going THERE is she?
Now of course we first examine the definition of VD, which is any disease characteristically transmitted by sexual contact.
A symptom is defined as subjective evidence of disease or physical disturbance observed by the patient.
A sign is defined as the objective indications of a disease.
Does food bring you satisfaction and completion in the ways that you would compare to orgasm? You scoff now but take your time and you will come back time and time again to agree with me, true appreciation for food is a sensory overload.
Should we not discuss the signs and symptoms of the diseases created by the Frigidaire?
Perhaps she doesn't have the beguiling curves that you'd find on a table lamp or the cushy welcoming embrace of the sofa but there is something oh so alluring about that box that brings us back again and again.
A siren's song silently beckons us without our conscious knowledge, we are oft tempted again and again. Fingers wrapped tightly around the handle to jerk open the door and expose the wonderful delights from within.
The door now yawning, brightly lit from within it now exposes the delights that would soon light upon our lips.
A moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips (that's definitely VD if you ask me).
It starts out with a few nibbles of cheese in the middle of the night. A cube of Cheddar or a slice of American and then that's later followed by some reheated spaghetti that you had for last night's dinner. Wow, that's so good, you'd better wash that down with a cold glass of milk.
Perchance a slice of chocolate cream pie? I spy buttermilk biscuits at the ready.
Yes, it's 2:12 a.m. but you rationalize that dinner was at 6 p.m. and you are hungry and you always skip breakfast which is the most important meal of the day.
Each time you come back to visit your gleaming rectangular gal resplendent in her magnetic dress of white (or almond or black or if your fancy! stainless!) she is ready to give you something tasty to stuff into your mouth.
Just like crack addicts, we rarely realize that we are addicted until we are at our lowest and need an intervention or we've just hit rock bottom and there's no turning back. Just one more nibble, one more bite, one more taste. Each of these are packing on the ounces, then the pounds and the next thing that happens is we are unable to recognize ourselves when we go to look in the mirror.
Who have we become?
The disease, the symptoms were so slow to recognize even though they were there!
Ugh, I've gotta loosen these pants about half way through dinner.
Hey, did you run the last wash on hot because I think you shrank all of my denim!
My boobs are getting bigger!
Does my ass look fat in these pants?
Get your own dessert, I'm eating this one.
(3 a.m.) Let's go get pancakes, I'm starving. Get dressed? no, nothing fits I'll just wear sweatpants.
The symptoms continue to grow until they are bright neon lights (SIGNS) for everyone to see!
"SHE'S FAT!
SHE'S FAT!
PUT THE FORK DOWN ALREADY!
CHAIN THE REFRIGERATOR SHUT"
No matter what, those around you will still love you. They aren't helping you help yourself however! (BASTARDS!)
No one wants to hurt someone's feelings when it comes to their weight, well not until they get into a fight and then it's a free for all!
Instead, we are most likely to sit back and watch our friends get progressively fat.
Interestingly enough though - if our friends get sickeningly THIN we'll step in and stop that shit in a hurry. No fucking way are we going to let someone get skinny.
Don't you go and get anorexic. Seems that the disease Anorexia has more of a following than Obesity, it must be scarier because you look more like a skeleton rather than a cuddly something-or-another.
Fluffy = cute. Emaciated = dead?
There doesn't seem to be an in-between for most of us since the majority of anyone I know are borderline neurotic about something or another in their lives so why not obsess about weight and/or food while we are at it.
I decided - all of the weight I've gained is simply the symptoms of the VD I've caught from my refrigerator.
She is a dirty whore and I'm a junkie.
I could sure go for a Twinkie right about now.
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