Men, Get a Clue

If you want a woman to be interested in you?

Be interested first.

Shut up and listen. 🙂

Men, if you’ve mastered this?

You’re out ahead of the pack.

Good on ya.

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Grumpy Cat!

WARNING: SOME FOUL LANGUAGE AHEAD (Little bit, and a little ugly spew, much like a cat’s hairball, about doctors. Sorry! If you need sunshine, keep scrolling. It has a happy ending though.)

I am a blonde (yes, I am, shut up!), blue-eyed, suburban, white housewife/mother of 1. Nonviolent, mostly. Soft and squishy around the edges. Sheltered and meek, having no upper body strength and bad knees. Kind to most strangers, frequent smiler. Helper of lost cats, dogs, children, poor people and domestic violence victims. I’m not a superhero (at all!), but if I was, I would want to use my powers to punch all the doctors in all the throats! At once!

Not all. But most.

My weight loss surgeon and his team have been awesome. They saved my life. (Even they couldn’t find my diseased gall bladder, though. I had to whine and squeal about it for weeks before they fished it out.) But all other doctors can go straight to…the ER, IMO. That would be hell.

I went to the endocrinologist yesterday. I would have rather had emergency rectal surgery. Every time I go to a bleeding endocrinologist, they are the worst. I don’t know why, but they are the snootiest, most ill-mannered doctors I have ever encountered. And I’ve encountered several doctors, of all kinds, lately.

I have lost a total of 166 lbs. Some on my own, some from my weight loss surgery. I went to the doctor yesterday and she wanted to argue about how much weight I’ve lost. I told her that I lost 109 lbs. since surgery.

“Actually, according to our records, you’ve only lost 96 lbs.”

I wanted to kill her. “Why argue with me? You’re not my weight loss surgeon. You’re not my magical talking digital scale from home. You’re nobody!! You have no idea what you’re talking about, what my journey is/was, what I’ve been through or the challenges that I face/have faced. Shut your bloody mouth!” is what I wanted to say.

But I just kept quiet and silently stewed. Mousy housewife that I am. Mousewife. There was no point in even engaging this ignorant, self-righteous She-doct-whore. (Sorry.) She also didn’t listen to me when I told her about my thyroid removal, gall bladder removal, medicine fluctuations, the other obstacles I’ve faced as an overweight patient, medical literature I’ve read about my condition because doctors didn’t know what was happening with me (I diagnosed my own G-D GB failure! for Christ’s sake), and countless other beneficial pieces of medical history. Didn’t want to hear it. She wanted me to answer her inane, predetermined questions.

The nurse asked me all those questions that nurses ask you:
Pregnancies, family history, illnesses, surgeries.
Then the bloody doctor asked the same stupid questions, all over again.
How many times do I have to answer? And how many times will you ignore my history? It didn’t matter that I answered those questions TWICE! because she didn’t even consider the answers!

I can tell you this right now, I will never answer two sets of questions again! Never! For any doctor. I will simply say, “Asked and answered!” It’s so friggin’ stupid. I’m intelligent, honest and consistent. I shouldn’t have to pass a security clearance to get medical help or be seen by a doctor.

BTW, she kept me waiting in the lobby for over an hour and saw me for only 15 minutes. I was a new patient. They will charge me over $400 for that shit. AND I was early for my appointment! I was early for my ass reaming. Gah!

“Make sure you arrive 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork!”

Not seeing this doctor ever again. Disgusted!!

Doctors think they can take advantage. I know you went to medical school, Doc. But you never seem to know what’s wrong with me. You got your medical degree, but you failed bedside manner.

Not feeling very thankful today. Working on it. :/ I got a new hat for my daughter’s field day at school tomorrow. I think Grumpy Cat is leaking through my skull. :<

grumpy cat hat 2.jpg

I AM SO SORRY, WORLD! When I frown, I look like my Grumpy Grandma. (Remind me to write about that sometime. She also criticized my weight loss for not having lost enough when I was 18, weird!) Attitude adjustment achieved. I like the way I look when I’m smiling.

martha bw dress half.jpgSo I can let anything roll off my whiskers.

What Is It To Be a Woman?

Men will never know
The painful joy of giving birth.
Thank God for that providence
Or we would have an empty Earth!

Men will always know
The advantage of being male.
They can’t understand
The privilege of that tale.

Men will never know
What it’s like to be preyed.
Simply take my “No.”
We live constantly afraid.

Men will never know
What it’s like to FEEL free.
I feel sorry for them.
They can’t be a woman like me.

Day Without a Woman

A day without a woman
Is a lifetime without:
Soft edges
Warm smiles
Tender kisses
Multi-tasking
Reason married to wit.

A day without women
Is a world without:
2nd income
Only income
Only parent
Teachers
Nurses
Presidents
Pastors
Mothers
Wives
Daughters
Family
Students
Leaders
Care
Lawful, peaceful resistance and protest.

We gather to make a difference.
We don’t loot. Or grab. Or lie.
Like Elizabeth and Maya,
We persist and rise!

#neverthelessshepersisted

#daywithoutawoman

#daywithoutwomen

Princess

Broken, unspoken

Battered and shattered

Beat up—written off

Abused, confused

I wander this world

Rebuked and refused

Men make advances

Fathers take advantage

The world crushes the weak

On the wheels of progress.

Women take control

Mother, don’t lose hope

The world can’t exist without us.

Difference

I thought I was a hard-ass bitch.
But I was really just a big, soft, white marshmallow
Melting into a pile of cream at the first signs of fire.

A hard-ass bitch is cold.
Cunning.
Stone and steel.

No crying when the war is won.
No crying when the day is done.
She cleans her knife and sharpens the blade for the next bloody morning.

So, no.
I’m not a hard-ass bitch.
I’m just a cranky piece of fluff–
All bark and no bite.

I mean, I’m mean.
I spit.
I kick.
I scream.
I duck and stick.
I fight dirty and I punch you in the gut, ribs, kidneys, moneymaker, babymaker, heart.

Am I wrong?
I. AM. WRONG.
Amirite?
Ikr?!

A hard-ass bitch cleans up the mess, scorched-earth insurance policy.
She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t change a thing.
The difference between me and a hard-ass bitch?
Idk.

I exist.
I resist.
I persist.
Or I grab and twist. (LOL)