Sunday, February 26, 2012

Tattoo Ponderings

So I've been thinking about getting another tattoo. For over a year now I've wanted to get the word fight tattooed on my left inner forearm. But I wanted something...more to go with it. Some kind of imagery.

Lately I've been thinking Tigers. Something like this:
Only, I'd want the tigers to, well, for their stripes to actually look like tigers. This would also be too much detail for such a small space, but gives the general idea of black and white cats in a cartoony/simple form.

Very recently however, when trying to... flush out a persona for my writing. Writing I really need to get on doing (Why do I always feel like I don't have enough time?) Anyway! Point is, I said, I spent every day fighting the good fight. Which I think is a very positive way to speak of my battle with pain from FMS, and a whole host of other things. I'm trying not to let the pain win. I'm learning half an hour of sweaty exercise a day actually makes me feel better - as long as I'm not you know, curled up in a ball of pain. So I've been pushing, to get myself more active, and overall, I feel like it's helped.

So, do I get Fight or Fighting the Good Fight?!

I can't.. I'm not sure what I want now. I'm leaning towards Fighting the Good Fight. It.. I think it would have more impact, and would have the added benefit of making more sense to everyone.

Having other visible tattoos, I know I'm going to get asked, buy friends and strangers alike, what my tattoo means. Fighting the Good Fight seems a heck of a lot more self-explanatory.

Thing is, fighting the good fight, is a fairly long phase. It will likely fill up my inner forearm quite nicely. 

But, I've been looking at Lemur's (from Exotix Studios) work, and I'm.. well, I'm smitten. I really love his use of splurges of colour in an otherwise black and white piece, and I want him to do that for me.  I'm just... I'm not sure if the tiger will work, or if it's even really me (the tiger not the phrase).

I'm almost wondering if having the tiger wrap around my forearm, under/around the words would work (artistically) and suit me. I'm.. I'm not sure...

I don't see myself as a tiger person, per say. I'm more of a kitty cat person. Or a big dog person. I'm not fierce. But fierce is exactly what I want the tattoo to convey.

I've been wanting to book a consult for the better part of the month, but.... I'm not totally sure what I want, which I don't think will be helpful. Also, this month has been just one thing after another, either health, or shit that needs to get done. *Sigh*

I just. Flip. I don't know what to think. I miss Neda. I miss having her to bounce ideas off of. I know this is going to sound strange, but she's helped me decide on more than one of my tattoo ideas. And I.. I don't have anyone in my life now that I can do that with. She and I aren't close anymore. Heck, I don't even know what country she's in.

Do I just get Fighting the Good Fight, and leave it plain and simple? Do I get Fight with tigers? Do I go see Lemur and ask advice? I mean, flip, I really feel like I should have more of an idea before going to him.

Also, I'm worried how well I'll take a bigger project. I don't have any pain meds per say. I have meds that help the fibro pain, but I have nothing for migraines, or other headaches, or to help with the tattoo pain. Since developing FMS my sensitivity to pain, of any kind has skyrocketed. It's fucking annoying as hell, let me tell you.

So I don't think getting anything too big is a good idea... but how do I convey the fierceness I want to visually?? How do I put into visuals the grim determination I have to keep fighting? How do I make the tattoo motivational??

I just... I'm not too damn sure.


Friday, February 17, 2012

Stacie is a Miracle Worker.

Seriously. I came to Stacie @ Strut Salon, with hair that I'd dyed over twice with box colour (which is, apparently notoriously hard to get out). I also brought two tins of cookies: my ginger molasses cookies, and intense chocolate toffee cookies (from Sorry, I don't have pictures of the cookies. I wasn't thinking of that part!

Check out that Red! Woo!

So she lifted as much colour as she could. My hair came out this even medium copper/caramel colour. If I was going for that tone, it was nearly perfect. Colour lifting is rarely that even! So go Stacie!

A Real Smile.

Then we did an amazing red over it. It came out exactly as I'd hoped!! Omg, so so so pretty! I could do a little dance, I'm so dang happy. And maybe I will before the euphoria wears off. lol.

A Real Laugh.

So the lesson I have learned is: Never never box colour my hair again. The process to fix it really isn't fun, or cheap. Though, honestly, knowing what a pain in the ass (and time consuming!) it would be for Stacie, I thought it would be much more than it was.

I do think the cookies garnished some good will, which is what I'd hoped for, since the colour-adjust didn't win me points. I really do love sharing my baking with people, though. Seeing them enjoy it, is just, well, one of the best feelings ever. Usually I send stuff to work with Chris so I don't get to see reactions. He has started sending me emails with tid bits his co-workers have said, however, which it totally awesome of him; makes my day every time.

(this was my reaction when I saw how red my hair looked in sunlight--super amazing!)

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Thank the Gods that I'm Canadian!!!

This: GOP Controlled Virginia Legislature Passes Two Of The Most Restrictive Anti-Abortion Bills In The Nation Just makes me sick. I'm speechless (okay, almost).

Personhood starts at conception, and birth control is banned? WTF Virgina?!

It fills me with fear. Fear for the women of America. This is such a huge step in making women not just second class citizens, but property of the men in their lives. What's next, taking away a woman's right to vote and her status as a person?! It can't be far off.


It's shit like this that makes me infinitely glad I'm a Canadian!

Our federal gov't may be a bunch of idiots trending this way, but they move much slower, and seem to have more real opposition with their heads on straight.

On a side note, I've been writing a novella (okay I started it in November and I've been mulling over how to end it since) about a woman that goes to Virgina to spend some time with a man she's falling for. A Marine Lt. Colonel. I was going to end it with her getting a job in Washington and coming to live with him. But I just can't do that now. I can't.

I know it's a work of fiction, and it's set up as a summer thing, and this is February, but fuck a duck! What's going on in the states right now scares me. No, I don't want my character to stay and fight the system. It's not even her system! No. In good conscience I can't have her move there. It would give me a panic attack to think of doing it myself, so I can't let a woman character do it either.

And how could a good man, which my Marine is, how could a good man, with his head on straight advocate such a loss of rights and liberty to the woman he loves?!

I'm a firm believer that love is always enough.

But I make a caveat to that...
It has to be a deep, true love, on both sides. It has to be love with respect of both (all) parties, where both (all) are equal partners, with a true desire to do and allow what is best for the other party(parties).

It can't be a selflish love, nor an 'I love you, but you make me so angry sometimes, and I just have to beat you' kind of love, nor a love where one partner 'knows best' and the other is powerless/doesn't have a say in what happens to them.

But I can't let her move there for him. I just can't. At the same time, if he really loved her, would he allow her to? With the way things are going? Could he, really let her move to a country that makes her a second class citizen!?

Do I have her stay for six months, from Aug to the middle of Feb, where this shit is now happening. Maybe then they both leave. Come back to Canada where she can be safe from oppression. He's in his early 40s. He's done 20 years for the Marines. Maybe it's time for him to retire... Live the good life, in the great white north, as it were.

I know it may seem so damn... trivial that I think of my story... but in my heart I'm a writer.. When I write, as when I read, the characters become real for me. Sometimes more real that actual people. I fall in love with them, and it breaks my heart when they die. It likewise puts me at great unease when bad things befall them, as they are wont to do. And I route for them, for their happiness and their safety...

And I know it's not likely that my story will ever get out. I know it's not likely anyone would buy it with such anti-American content, but it's NOT about that. It's about doing what feels right. Call a spade a spade, or in this case, a bastard a bastard. I will not back down. I can't; it would kill something inside me to do it. No. Just no.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Happy Valentines Day!!

So, as a valentines gift, our apartment building posted a notice that the water would be shut off today 9am to5pm. They gave us plenty of notice, but still. o.0

We showered before 9am, I put two buckets of water in the bathroom, a jug of water in the fridge, and I planned to go out for most of the day.

When I got home at 4pm (sweaty & gross) I was thrilled that the signs were down & we appeared to have water. So I took a shower. In mostly cold water, but it wasn't bitterly cold so not too bad.

As I was finished my shower the water got warmer, and I was enjoying it so much I put the stopper in to fill the tub, soaking in hot water sounded like a good idea... Until I noted the colour of the water. It was yellow! I let it run thinking it would get better. Nope. I unstopped the tub, and ran the cold water; it was yellow too.

Greeeeeeeaaaaaat. So now I was covered in whatever the hell was in the water.


So I pulled the last bucket of water into the tub with me. I'd poured out the other bucket (that I was using to wash my hands) since I thought we had our water back.

Using the cold bucket of water I scrubbed, and then rinsed. Rinsing with a bucket of water is....interesting.

At least I'm clean?

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Beauty Ideals, aka She's fat

So my hubby sent me a link to a...interesting/disturbing link from the Anna Utopia Giordano gives Venus a new lean, mean figure

So Anna, is the Italian "artist", who photoshopped Renaissance masterpieces of beautiful women of the day. The ideal then was, as far as I can see, about size 12-14 in today's sizes, with small perky breasts. To me, they look like real women. Healthy, "sturdy" women (i.e. you won't break them when you fuck them).  I look at these women and think: fuck, I'd love to be that skinny!

The article calls these healthy, women, with not a fat roll or bulge among them, BBW (Big Beautiful Women), and plus-sized. When did having a little meat on your bones become plus sized?!

The photoshopped versions are much leaner (to the point of impossibility in some spots), but of course still have the boobs. The boobs that looked smallish on the originals, end up looking large/fake on the skinny versions. I mean, you just don't see many size -1 women with D cup boobs that are real, 9 times out of ten, they had a boob job.

The interesting part for me, is that I find the photoshopped versions look sickly. The original women look enticing, in my eye. The photoshopped women look too skinny, and frighteningly frail. They put me in the mind of starved, dead, Plague victims.

The other thing is, I've had skinny friends, so I know for a fact, when women are that skinny, you can count their ribs, since they show up in high relief in many of the poses. Of course the artist didn't photoshop them in. Making the photoshopped versions, basically impossible to replicate in real life, that is, without having the model surgically remove ribs. Ick.

For me, the bigger picture, or perhaps, more resounding worry/message is:

If the (delightful -IMHO) Renaissance women are fat, Big Beautiful Women, and plus-sized, then what the hell am I ?!?!?!?

I mean, I'm actually plus sized. My honest to god, goal in weight loss right now, is just to get back to the size I was when I met my husband, when I was still morbidly obese, but was about 4 sizes smaller. I'll never be a size 12 or 14. I'd be ecstatic to maintain size 18-20, for fucks sake.

Perhaps this explains some of my other issues lately (like doctors ignoring me or telling me outright they can't help me) -- I'm so fat, so far beyond the "norm" that people don't know what 'box/category' I belong in, and like most things our brain doesn't understand, they just ignore the data, and therefore me.

I'm the hulking invisible fat woman!


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

I hate my body. HATE.

Last week, the word for the week was Push.

This week, the word of the week (I'm projecting) is Flare.

As in, Fibro flare.


I bought a bathing suit online, and it arrived last week. It fit. As well as I could expect, and I really like it. I bought it so I could mix going out walking with swimming. As I'm trying to be more active in the hopes I'll lose some mass.

Well, that's not going to happen now. I waited too long.

I could cry.

I'm covered in yeast. AGAIN.

It happened this summer too. You see, I'm beyond just fat, or even morbidly obese. I think there needs to be another category. I'm uber morbidly obese.

When I do just about anything I sweat. This isn't just because I'm fat, I've been that way my whole life. Part of it is FMS suffers do just sweat more. Part of it is, I'm well hydrated, so there's lots of moisture in me. And yeah, part of it is that I'm just that out of shape.

Anyway, I sweat. I have...creases. If I'm out in the world I can't exactly wipe them off. My t-shirt soaks up some of it, but it can't help the creases that stay wet until I get home. As soon as I get home, I dry off, and either shower or eat then shower. So I get myself dry and clean as fast as I can, but apparently it wasn't/isn't good enough. Now I have yeast raging all over my torso, well in the creases. Fuck does it hurt!

The only way to get the yeast to really go away, is to apply a cream 3x a day, and do nothing. I mean, really do nothing. Not even dishes or making dinner. Nothing. For three weeks while the yeast slowly dies. Once it's really gone, I can do a bit more, but, as I learned last week, one week of being moderately active will bring it back.

I could cry. Or maybe scream. Screaming sounds better at the moment.

So, no swimming for me! Maybe EVER. Fuck. I wasted $100 on a lovely bathing suit I'll never be able to wear! Yeast is catching you see. I can't go swimming in any kind of pool. An open body of water would likely be okay, just because of the size, my yeast would be so much less likely to meet another human.

So fucking frustrating.

I very much regret not going swimming at least once last week. But there were/are so many other things I really wanted to get done! I haven't been active in well, forever, and there are all kinds of little errands that pile up, and weekly things, like groceries. I haven't felt up to groceries in forever! And I did last week! I even got heavy stuff.

I was so damn proud of myself. I pushed. Every day I pushed, if even just a little. Some days I was more sore/tired, and I'd just go on one little errand, and let myself do it as slowly as I needed. Other days I felt great and I'd be out for two hours or more walking and doing.

I don't think I can do that this week. Or at least I couldn't yesterday.  I kept my active streak up until Sunday. Sunday I had to push really hard, I was so tried. By the time we got home Sunday night, I was beyond tired. I was feverish and my skin hurt. Always a bad sign. I had horrible nightmares, so I couldn't even sleep in! I ended up sleeping all Monday afternoon. At least my skin hurts less now... But it still hurts, which means I'm not done flaring.

Today, today I have a crazy nasty headache that's so bad it's making me nauseous. It doesn't help that the yeast is depressing. So very depressing. And I'm almost out of the very expensive yeast cream (there's really only the name brand tiny tube my Dr told me to get available). $25 for like 10-15g. I'm a large person. I use about a tube a week. And if I keep being active, I'll need a tube a week until I either loose 50lbs or give up.

I could cry. Crying seems the better option right now.

Fuck, I hate my body. I hate it so very very much.