I've been booted out twice now while " blogging", and am about to try an kill an inanimate, insentient object- my computer. Earlier I tried to kill a shoehorn- it wouldn't slide my shoe onto my foot with the gentle gliding motion as explicitly promised. I tried to strangle it.Is this the first sign of madness?
Just wanted to "blog" a bit about my new titties. -
I can see how people might get addicted to plastic surgery.It was childhood all over again. Upon entering the hospital room, I was placed beneath a light blow up mattress continually filled with pleasantly warm air. On top of that, a blanket. Heavenly warmth. They kept peeking in to see how I was. Just like being a little kid, tucked in. Except that my mom didn't put an I.V. in my hand. My mom put my I.V. in my ear usually, and usually it was filled with vodka and orange juice ( for vitamin c).
Three or four people wheeled me to the operating room, among them an anesthesiologist named " Joe Weisenberg". Joe Weisenberg resembled Santa, only Jewish (though who's to say Santa isn't Jewish..) As I walked to the operating table I fastidiously kept the gown from opening and revealing my bum. Why, I'm not sure, as any ounce of dignity I possessed vanished when they placed the surgical shower- cap looking thing on my head, the size and shape of an enormous popover muffin.
Lying on the table, looking up at the lights I was fascinated. Here I was, about to be sliced into. . I was surprised to see a Russian anesthesiologist fiddling with my I.V. He looked to be about eight feet tall, with dark chest hair coiling from the v-neck of this scrubs. His sausage-like fingers moved the mask towards my mouth while he said in his thick Russian accent " think of somethink pleasant and we'll see you in recovery room..". Pleasant in what way, I thought. Then nothing.
I regained consciousness sometime hours later and began asking plaintively for " Dmitiri". Apparently the only Russian name I could think of. The Russian doctor lumbered over and in Russian I told him that I felt good.
" She knows Russian" he said, rather disgustedly it seemed, and lumbered away Joe Weisenberg laughed. It was either Joe Weisenberg or an evil clown wearing a Packers Jersey. I still don't know till this day.
My boobs hurt like hell, so tight, so sore. My BF came in and tried to make jokes. And the nurse asked if I wanted coffee. " An odd suggestion" I told her. " Coffee after surgery...." ." Most people want Diet Coke after surgery " she said. Weird.
Finally we drove home, my boobs mad at me the whole way.Me, swearing to never again have plastic surgery. My BF eased me into bed like a geriatric, and there I lay for hours and hours in drug filled slumber.
The doc says my boobs are doing amazingly well, so if anyone asks my boobs how they are they had better not complain. I don't need a strap, I just need to move them around gently every day and stare at them in the mirror so that they feel loved and appreciated. -
The pain meds worked wonders so I have felt little pain, now there is mostly just tightness. I am happy and proud that I did this myself, the research, picked the surgeon 'and payed for it.
Boobs are nifty. I'd do it again.
Just wanted to "blog" a bit about my new titties. -
I can see how people might get addicted to plastic surgery.It was childhood all over again. Upon entering the hospital room, I was placed beneath a light blow up mattress continually filled with pleasantly warm air. On top of that, a blanket. Heavenly warmth. They kept peeking in to see how I was. Just like being a little kid, tucked in. Except that my mom didn't put an I.V. in my hand. My mom put my I.V. in my ear usually, and usually it was filled with vodka and orange juice ( for vitamin c).
Three or four people wheeled me to the operating room, among them an anesthesiologist named " Joe Weisenberg". Joe Weisenberg resembled Santa, only Jewish (though who's to say Santa isn't Jewish..) As I walked to the operating table I fastidiously kept the gown from opening and revealing my bum. Why, I'm not sure, as any ounce of dignity I possessed vanished when they placed the surgical shower- cap looking thing on my head, the size and shape of an enormous popover muffin.
Lying on the table, looking up at the lights I was fascinated. Here I was, about to be sliced into. . I was surprised to see a Russian anesthesiologist fiddling with my I.V. He looked to be about eight feet tall, with dark chest hair coiling from the v-neck of this scrubs. His sausage-like fingers moved the mask towards my mouth while he said in his thick Russian accent " think of somethink pleasant and we'll see you in recovery room..". Pleasant in what way, I thought. Then nothing.
I regained consciousness sometime hours later and began asking plaintively for " Dmitiri". Apparently the only Russian name I could think of. The Russian doctor lumbered over and in Russian I told him that I felt good.
" She knows Russian" he said, rather disgustedly it seemed, and lumbered away Joe Weisenberg laughed. It was either Joe Weisenberg or an evil clown wearing a Packers Jersey. I still don't know till this day.
My boobs hurt like hell, so tight, so sore. My BF came in and tried to make jokes. And the nurse asked if I wanted coffee. " An odd suggestion" I told her. " Coffee after surgery...." ." Most people want Diet Coke after surgery " she said. Weird.
Finally we drove home, my boobs mad at me the whole way.Me, swearing to never again have plastic surgery. My BF eased me into bed like a geriatric, and there I lay for hours and hours in drug filled slumber.
The doc says my boobs are doing amazingly well, so if anyone asks my boobs how they are they had better not complain. I don't need a strap, I just need to move them around gently every day and stare at them in the mirror so that they feel loved and appreciated. -
The pain meds worked wonders so I have felt little pain, now there is mostly just tightness. I am happy and proud that I did this myself, the research, picked the surgeon 'and payed for it.
Boobs are nifty. I'd do it again.
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I dont really know alot of people in the Minneapolis area and I've been here almost three years.
Still trying to keep shooting though...