I scheduled a consultation for a breast reduction

My breasts started developing when I was 7. I neither needed, nor wanted the added attention they brought me… from the boy down the street who called me “donut chest” (still don’t understand that one), to the old man who ran the shop downtown who molested me, and told me that I would never have to worry about drowning because I have built in flotation devices. I have put off surgery for years, but I feel like the time is right, so, in September (not losing swimming time for this) I will sit with a surgeon, and discuss the procedure.

I have a multitude of reasons for this surgery.

1. I am sick of carrying 20 lbs (Yes, I have weighed them.) In my bra.
2. I hate the indents in my shoulders.
3. I don’t remember a time without back and shoulder pain.
4. I would love to actually fit into a bra. (Sizes that are well made go to N, I need an R, and that doesn’t even exist)
5. The ability to find cute tops that fit would be great.
6. I have tried physical therapy, losing weight, etc. Nothing has helped.
7. If I let myself fall backwards into bed, I smack myself in the face with a boob.
8. It will help me feel better physically.
9. I may be able to find a swimsuit that actually fits.
10. I want this.

I feel like there isn’t any good reason not to go ahead with this, it will grant relief on my back, neck and shoulders, and finding bras will be easier. That said, I can’t help being nervous. As much as I hate my chest, it is a part of me, and I wonder whether I would look silly when there is less of it. Not that I am some great enchantress now, lol but I wonder if I will look… idk, lopsided or something. I suppose we will see.


The Time for Hope is Now

I have recently become acquainted with the Hope for Recovery Center located in downtown Franklin NH. Though they have been there for quite some time now, I had never had reason to walk through their doors until a friend of mine decided to use her birthday to help raise funds for them. When I walked in, I was greeted warmly, and thanked for coming. There was food, of course, and cake, but more importantly, there were testimonies given by people who are members of this center; members of my community. Many of whom I didn’t know. One story, in particular, broke my heart three or four times before the young lady was finished speaking. It was a story that she admitted she didn’t quite feel ready to tell, and by the end of it, I knew I wanted to volunteer if I could.

I have never been an addict, so I am not in recovery. This does not mean that I have nothing to learn from these wonderful people. The night after my first experience at the center, they had a family friendly sober dance. I brought my daughters. As we walked through the door, a group of teenagers ran up and grabbed Krishna, and took off with her. Arienette spotted some toys, and off she ran as well. As I sat and watched, (as I am wont to do when surrounded by unfamiliar people) I noticed something; there was no judgment here. These people saw no age, no disability, no class. All were equal here. They formed a circle as an elder woman jumped to the center and danced her heart out, and they all cheered for her as she resumed her place in the ring. Another, younger person took their turn, then another. Nobody asked me who I was, what I was doing there, or anything. I was just there, and they accepted me as one of them. There were many children from infants to teenagers, to people in their elder years. People brought their dates as well. There were raffles and food, and everyone had a wonderful time. These dances have been happening every month.

Hope has been planning a theater group to help young people stay away from substance abuse. The theory here being that young people choose substances to fill a hole in their lives, and that we should give them something positive to fill that hole with instead. Give them theater! Give them someone to be! Help them become stronger individuals by teaching them strength of character and character development.

There is a spaghetti dinner planned for March 10th, and originally, the proceeds were to go to the wedding of Hope’s DJ, though he has graciously offered to donate them to help Hope stay alive. The dinner will include karaoke and probably some other things as well. The people of Hope know how to throw a party.

Yesterday morning, the director found out that the center, and three of the four other branches are set to close due to lack of funding. Yesterday afternoon, the Hope community said “No.” Last night, WMUR was on site to interview and broadcast some of the members who were able to make it out to stand and protest the closing of their center.

Franklin needs Hope. We talk so often, and so much about the drug crisis in New Hampshire, but when it comes down to it, what are we willing to do to help? I know that Hope helps. I have heard the testimonies from the people who have been helped by this center. Hundreds of people walk through those doors every month looking for help. Without Hope, many of these people would still be in the throes of their addictions. They would be without jobs, living on the streets. The truth is, if we want to help stop this drug crisis, we need to put our money where the help is. I know that I, for one, would by far prefer to see addicts find help in recovery than to see them on the streets.

We stand for Hope, help us find a way to keep it alive.

YouCaring page for fundraising





When I woke up this morning, I did not want to get out of bed.

But I did it anyway.

Arienette didn’t want to get up either. Nor did she want to get dressed, or otherwise get ready for school.

She did it anyway. (With some help)

I brought the laundry and started it at my mothers house, dropped Ari off at kindergarten, and went across the street to the courthouse to get a copy of my divorce decree, so that my divorce can be finalized in Turkey. I told the woman that I needed the signature notarized so that I could have it apostillized to go overseas. She refused. She said the certification was the only notary they do. I argued with her, but eventually just took it and left knowing what would happen at the state house later. I should have known better than to wear red into a courthouse.

I drove the 20 minutes to my OBGYN for my colposcopy. Walking in, I spoke with the receptionist I have seen there every time I have been there for almost 18 years now. It was good to see a familiar, friendly face. I went upstairs, an waited for my Dr. to be ready for me. The nurse took me in, and we chatted a bit… she was nice, but my nerves were overkill already. The Dr came in, and I launched into a stream of questions. What will this procedure entail? What happens if you find something? What does that procedure entail? Etc. He happily answered all of my questions, even drawing diagrams, and then it was time. He found one spot to remove for testing, then, took a sample from inside my cervix just to be sure. He said results will come back in 1-2weeks, not 4-8 (I wish I could remember who said that so I could slap them), and that, if it comes back precancerous, I will need a leep procedure, which is more invasive and means I can’t drive for 24 hours. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as I expected, I didn’t even feel most of it.

Then, I drove to the state house, and went to the office of the Secretary of State. I explained what was going on, and that I had done this a few times before, as well as what the court clerk told me. They told me that I was correct, and called the court to tell them what needed to be done even though I already told them. Then, they sent me to a second court house.

While I was on my way to the second court house, my eye Dr called to let me know my glasses were ready. The eye Dr was closer, so I went there first. Found out the glasses I have been wearing are 1.5 times stronger than what I need, even though I like those frames better than my new ones.

So, finally finding the district court, I managed to find the right person to get my document notarized, and brought it back to the state house to get the apostille. Just as I was leaving my parking spot, I got a text from someone I care about that completely shattered me, and then was on my way home. Stopped at the store for mom, switched over laundry, picked Arienette up, and now I just want to crash, but I am at karate for my teenager for the next 3 and a half hours.

I am dead on my feet.

Dirty Pretty

Warning: The following may (read: will almost definitely) be a bit rambly.


You don’t know how hard it is, being a woman. How will I ever live up to your expectations of pretty?

I have been devouring In This Moment lately. Particularly the Black Widow album. It is gold. Everything I need right at this moment in my life, and that is essential. It is important to have the proper soundtrack for your life… or… for where you want your life to be.

I also have noticed, over my 32 years on earth, that when men (or anyone really) want to get a point across to a woman, they tend to go for their pretty.

I promise these points are related.

You’re so pretty, we should hang out sometime

I didn’t want to date you anyway, you fat, ugly slob!

You should feel lucky that someone like me would pay attention to an ugly bitch like you

You’d be pretty if you lost weight

you’re pretty, I bet he’ll give you that promotion

she only got that promotion because she’s hot

He’s with her now?? She’s so much uglier than you!

Why is it that the first line of attack is always against our “pretty”? Not pretty enough, thin enough, thick enough, tall enough, short enough, tan enough, pale enough… no matter who we are or what we look like, any time we, as women, do something that creates even the smallest wave, we can be sure the first words to be said will be about our appearance. Followed directly by how slutty we are (even if we are celibate).

Why is this the go to?

Are we, as women, so vain that this is really the hardest hitting weaponry that (mostly) men have in their arsenal? Do they attack our pretty because that is the surest way to destroy us?

Or could it be that they are so intent on making us that vain? That they want us ladies to be so insipid that we are torn down so easily by a simple comment on our looks?

They decry our vanity by making jokes about how long we take to get ready and how much makeup we use, while at the same time trying to butter us up by lavishing us with compliments on our pretty – but only as long as we do as they want, or they will turn around and tear down those very looks they were just a moment ago writing sonnets to.

We do it to each other as much as men do it to us, calling each other pretty to their faces, and tearing them apart behind their backs, or even tearing each other down face to face as if it is survival of the prettiest? Pettiest?

As for me, I’d be far more hurt by someone attacking my character… or, you know, something I consider legitimately important.

*I won’t close my eyes, like you want me to
I am wild and free, I am untamable…
I’m more than you’ll ever see
More than just your dirty pretty*


Old Lady

they called her “old lady”
if only they knew…
that little old lady
who lived in the shoe

by chance met a stranger
one dark autumn night
and was transformed forever
by one little bite

the children she kept
made her youthful and strong
and give her much comfort
through centuries long

the Ancient One watches,
and patiently waits
come, enter her woods
her hunger you’ll sate

On Charlotesville

It has been several days, and as such, I am behind the outpouring of words that customarily follow such an event. Words of sadness, confusion, love, help, good intent… mostly words of good intent, but also words of anger, hate, vitriol, and even people who deny that this was what even the perpetrators of the incident say it was. In this case, an act of white supremacists, making sure the rest of us know that they are still very much alive, and willing to fight for what they think they deserve.

“Jews will not replace us”

Jewish people have neither the intention, nor desire to replace anyone. There is no “gay agenda”, African Americans are not trying to undermine white people in any way. They are simply standing here saying “Please, can you make some room for us, too?” And when you stand, and shout back at them that you want them to die, or that you won’t let them “replace you” or “win”, maybe you are the problem here.

“Blood and soil

Using an old Nazi chant drives in only one point. That the people shouting it are Nazis. Unless, of course, they happen to be shouting it on soil that they stole from people, while covering it with the blood of those native peoples. Then, a second point is made. The people shouting are either extraordinarily forgetful, or just really stupid. This soil does not belong to us. If it belongs to anyone, it is the Native Americans who were cheated out of their land, pushed into corners and largely forgotten about… and then… replaced. In fact, throughout history, it is the white man who has done most of the replacing.

White people will never be replaced, and they know that. Everyone with any semblance of a brain knows that. That isn’t really what they fear. These people fear having to share, and being made to share equally. They fear having to treat everyone as though they are equal. Being forced to acknowledge that they are superior to nobody.

The fact is, if Charlottesville had been Native Americans or African Americans protesting, even if it were a peaceful protest, they would not have made it out safely. They would have been arrested. Bombarded with teargas and rubber bullets. America is not, and will not be free and equal until this is no longer the case. Until white protesters are given the same treatment as protesters of any other color, creed, religion, etc, we have no equality.

Until we have someone in the White House who can see why Charlottesville was, indeed, an incitement of terror from white supremacists, and not simply “bad on both sides”, we can not come together, and if Pence wants to stand with Trump on his statements on the issue, then let him fall with Trump as well.

We, as a country, need to move forward. We need to move into equality for all. Nothing less can be acceptable.