Maime's Flog

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

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