Maime's Flog

It's my life in here. This is my lifestyle. And I will not waste it.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Anderson - You're Beautiful

ah, the crush I will always have...

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Favorite Movie Scene

[while burning the Narrator's hand with lye]

Tyler Durden: Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?

Narrator: No, no, I... don't...

Tyler Durden: Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen.

Narrator: It isn't?

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Looking Back

December 21. One year ago today, I was taken under and cut open. One year ago, I had 1400 grams removed from my breasts by one of the best and most dreamy plastic surgeons in the country. One year ago today, I woke up feeling confident in my life decision and I skipped into the surgery center like a little girl, full of excitement and happiness.

I signed the forms telling them to resuscitate me by all means necessary. I signed the forms giving all decision making control to another, and I jumped into little skivvies while standing proud (and nude) in front of nearly 20 clothed people – all in the medical profession of course. Dr. Davison, my very cute, accented surgeon drew lines on my body and explained to the med students in the room what he was doing. Standing nude in front of them, I tried to crack jokes and make them laugh. However, 6:00 a.m. and the seriousness of surgery makes no one laugh.

The anesthesiologist was the best person in the room. He controlled my body and mind. And I was completely fine with that. Let someone else take the wheel. I have had enough time in control. It felt good to let someone else, someone else I could sue for malpractice if he screwed up, take the wheel.

I laid on the gurney and the team rolled me down the hall and out to the elevator. I had no loved one to say "I love you” to. My life is already too dramatic. Who needs more? I guess it helps when you have your ex boyfriend who cheated on you accompanies you to surgery.

So out to the elevator. It felt weird lying on the wheeled bed, being pushed by people wearing light green scrubs. They pushed me into the large metal elevator and all of a sudden, for no reason, Panic. Tears. Shaking. And then, from the heavens came Valium. No more pain. No more panic. All in life is good.

Nearly five hours later, I wake up freezing cold with several nurses around me. “Can you tell me your name?” “Do you know where you are at?” Too many questions. All I can say is burrrrr. I am freezing. I am shivering into convulsions, or so it feels like. And the hospital only has the thinnest white cotton blankets. My body temp has to be below freezing, I know it.

They tried to sit me up, but I resisted. I am in some pain and my upper body feels like it has been tied tight in a rubber band. They finally sit me up and move me into a recovery chair. I have to sit there for a while until they think I am ok to go home. So I have some really nasty tasting graham crackers and hot tea. And in walks the cheating bastard who I wish got his by a bus – my ex boyfriend. The only thing I asked him to remember was to bring my glasses to me the moment he could. Without my glasses (surgery day you can not wear your contact lenses), I am almost blind. And being in this amount of pain, you want to be able to see straight. Finally he gives them to me. I can see. And I begin to feel a little better.

Two more hours later, I am in the car on the way home. More and more pain. I have plenty of Percocet and Vicodin to last me for three years. I go home, lay in my bed, and hope for a very speedy recovery.

One year ago today. I am almost fully recovered, almost have the hospital bills paid off, and am in a much better place in my life.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Today, I might have been given something for nothing! The Comcast cable guy came to my house to hook up new service and disconnect my old service with the terrible RCN. I was doing yoga when he knocked and didn’t have time (didn’t want to) to tidy things up. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes and bread crumbs from my late night snack. And the living room was filled with clutter, clothes, damp towels, and disheveled papers.

I didn’t even try to look descent. I wore a white, see through tank top and gray lounge pants. No makeup and certainly no deodorant. Looking hot!

In this chocolate city where all service jobs are predominantly filled by black people, Comcast is no different. Of course my service technician was a black male in his mid to late thirties. Semi cute, ring on his finger, and very friendly. (The see through tank top might have helped in the friendliness department).

Feeling useless as he worked on my cable, I started to clean the kitchen and made small talk with the nice guy. Three kids, lives 50 miles outside of DC, going to North Carolina for the holidays. As we talk, I ask him about his job and he explains that he is a contractor for Comcast. That means no time off, no benefits, and no union. But he wants a union and would really appreciate the health care for his family. He tells me about his struggles as he works. And as he fiddles with the new remote, I look down towards the TV and notice the same thing he is looking at. Three Magnum condoms. However, only two are unopened. The third is an empty package. Ah yes, cleaning before hand would have been good. All credibility in our conversation about healthcare, unions, and workers rights has slipped away.

But he did hook up HBO and Showtime when I hadn’t ordered it yet. We will see if I am billed for it. In any case, I should have cleaned up beforehand.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

My Slideshow

Monday, September 18, 2006

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Opening: Two Hours Late

Two hours late. He is two hours late to pick me up. We agreed on 9:00 p.m. and it is now 11:00. I have been sitting on the couch curled up, hugging my knees, nervous, anxious, and waiting. My bag is packed and my shoes are on. I have on my new striped sweater from Gap and my favorite, most comfortable pair of sweat pants.

Finally, the phone rings and he says he is outside. I trudge down the stairs not knowing how to feel. Two hours. Come one. Two hours and no phone call.

I get in his car and put my JanSport book bag between my legs on the floor of the front seat. He inches over and tries to kiss me, but I turn my head. I am not in the mood to make nice and I sludge my feet up one at a time onto the dashboard, buckle my seatbelt, and blankly stare out the window.

Silence as we drive the three miles to his house. As I get out of the car, he tries to take my bag from me to be a gentleman. But I can’t stand the thought of him thinking he is, so I hold it back and he glares at me.

“Fine, whatever” he sneers as he holds the front door to his apartment open for me. He takes my coat from me and hangs it in the closet. I throw my stuff down and sit down on the couch. Neither of us like the silence so he turns the TV on for background noise and leaves the room to take care of some laundry in the dryer. Above the TV, I notice a birthday card. I wanted to ask who gave it to him but don’t want to be nosey.

When he returns, he sits down on the couch next to me and tries to rest his head on my shoulder. I let him but don’t embrace him. I continue my unfocused stare at the wall and can not take it anymore. It is four days before Christmas and likely the last time I will see him before the holiday. So I reach for my bag and get out the gifts I had carefully picked out for him weeks earlier; a long sleeved brown t-shirt (he looked very good in brown), an off lime green striped button down, and a black and silver striped shirt. I wrapped each one separately in nice paper and ribbon.

He opened all three skeptically and smiled as he held each one up. He thanked me for each one and said he really liked them. Then, strangely, he added, “Well aren’t you thorough”.

Yes, thorough I was. Four days before Christmas and he has no gift for me. I wondered if he even considered getting me something. I didn’t expect anything. Things weren’t exactly going smoothly for us. But the gesture would have been nice.

It was late and we have to get up at 6:00 a.m. to go to the hospital. So we move off the couch and head to his bedroom. It had been a couple weeks since I was last in there. I removed my sweater leaving on my tank top and lounge pants. I crawled onto the left side of the bed and claim my spot. He turns off the light and crawls in next to me, reaching over to try spooning with me. I resist and he asks if he should sleep in the extra bedroom. I say no and turn to him.

I reached out my hand and touched his head, massaging the back of his head and kiss his forehead. He pulls me closer to him and begins to romantically kiss me. I inch away again, far enough to allow me to ask him “have you been with anyone else?”

He replies “No.”

“Would you tell me the truth if you had been with someone else”.


We continue our making out and he, of course, wants more. He removes my clothes and I get lost in the moment. All that used to feel so right with him, feels so right all over again. But my head stops me from letting it all happen. I stop him from turning me on and role over to fall asleep. He waits for me to fall asleep and holds me all night.

Morning. Early morning. We both get out of bed and he goes to the shower. I walk out to the living room and can’t help myself any longer. I grab the birthday card and see lots of curly cursive writing. I can spot that anywhere. Stupid girl handwriting. I don’t read the entire left side. But skim down to the words “when we make love” and “these past few months have meant so much to me”. The bottom right had side reads “Love, Samantha”.

My eyes swell and I hear him yell out, “Come get in before the water gets cold”. I walk through the hallway, allowing the walls to guide my stunned step. I lift my legs into the bathtub to meet him in the shower. He hugs me tight and whispers “everything is going to go alright today. You will be fine. I love you.”