- I'm working on birth stories... one at a time... so something should be done in the next couple of days and then the others as I finish those, too.
- I went to a BBQ yesterday, mostly fun, some family ookies at time, but there was a kid there that weighed about 90 pounds and she was 2 weeks into her 4th birthday. I wanted to cry. Her mother, also huge, fed the child enormous portions and gave her food continuously. As a former super-size woman, I wanted to say something in the worst way. Instead, I just turned my head and felt so bad for the child who was going to live a life of misery because of her mother's inability to control herself.
- My potato salad was yummy. Always is.
- Practicing "The Art of Allowing" is so much easier in theory. "Allowing" is letting people be themselves without just tolerating it, but actually releasing all feelings about it. I struggle with that with those closest to me. It's so easy to let those furthest from me live their own lives, but I just want to put my fingers all in the pies of those around me. What's up with that?
- Sarah and I had Date Night on Sunday night and went for a three-hour dinner to California Pizza Kitchen to talk. We bought our tickets for Ratatouille first and then spent some quality time with each other, her sharing a great new way for me to organize my time and ToDo list.
When it was time to get to the movies, we headed over and she took the leftover pizza to the car and I went into the theater. I gave my ticket to the woman who told me Theater 10 and I went there... right in the front, yeah! Sarah came in and said they didn't even take hers, but look, we were nice and early, we got great seats... the first ones there. We are often the first ones in a theater because we want to pick the best seats. When people ask us to move over, Sarah refuses because we came 45 minutes early specifically for those seats and she'll be damned if she's giving them to someone else who just walked in.
We went to the 10pm show because we hoped the kids were all in bed by then and we would have only adults in the theater. As the time got closer, no one else was coming in. The cleaning crew came in and asked us to leave, but we said we would not, that we didn't want to lose our good seats... laughing that it didn't look like it was going to be an issue... and that we would tell their manager we refused to leave if asked. Could they check their paper and see if we were in the right place? He pulled out his paper and sure enough, Ratatouille at 10pm.
At 10pm, when there were no more ads and no previews, Sarah left the theater to go see what was up. The next thing I hear is her screaming cuss words galore. I left to go see what the ruckus was and she said they'd changed the theater an hour ago and no one came to tell us! We went downstairs to the theater and it was packed to the rafters. We were not about to be the ones to say, "Could you scootch over one for us, please?" so we left and went to Guest Services to ask (demand) for our money back. Sarah'd bought two $4 waters that she returned, too. They told her she'd have to return it to the concession stand and she refused. They said she would have to because there was no other way. She said they could do it or she would get louder. A woman came sweeping by her, grabbing the waters and went to return them and then brought the money back and put it down on the counter quickly.
We left, vowing to try again. At a different theater next time.
- I am writing 101 Goals/Dreams per an assignment of an empowerment cd I am listening to by Mark Victor Hansen and, on there, is a list of the plastic surgery I want. Now, after the Shame post I wrote, it almost seems like an alternative personality that might want plastic surgery, right? But I have so much redundant skin from losing so much weight after the gastric bypass, it would be nice to not have miles of floppy skin dangling off my belly, thighs, upper arms... and maybe fill my flat sagging boobs with some barely inflated saline implants. Isn't that weird? I can't explain how I can write such a post one day and have these weird thoughts inside my own head. It doesn't seem possible, yet here they are. My upper eyelids are flopping over my lower eyelids, too. Soon, they will be touching my eyelashes. My upper eyelids need to be lifted.
Now, I have zero desire for Botox, wrinkle removal, face-lifting... none of that stuff at all. Just taking off the hunks of skin that are left that used to be filled with the 100+ pounds of flesh before.
I don't know. Still thinking on it all.
- I'm on my way out the door to go meet with the head of the Lesbian Health Project here in San Diego... see if I can do something with them as a Licensed Midwife. I'm not sure if she's interested, but we'll see.