boys

I’ve Got You Under My Skin Or How I Found My Port-Site

It’s the strangest thing, stumbling across my port-site. I’d been told where it was when I was in the recovery room at the Slimband clinic but I couldn’t really feel it where I thought they’d said it was. I’d expected them to put it under the incision on my left side but the nurse said it’s under my top incision. Although I’d been experiencing some pain in my top incision and the muscles behind it were stinging, there seemed to be no port in site just yet. I knew it was there, I could feel something on the inside somewhere but I couldn’t quite find it from the outside.

It wasn’t until I removed the steri-strips on Day 8 and was checking out the fantastic healing rate of my incisions that I noticed a small bruise to the left of my top incision (the one between my boobs). I’d been scared to do any real poking around until I could see what I was prodding. I expected to feel something but nothing quite prepared me for the feeling of touching a foreign body (deliberately) positioned beneath my skin.

Weird is an understatement. And if I can feel it now before I’ve lost any real amount of weight, I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when I’ve dropped 100 lbs. I’ll certainly have to warn the next guy that goes to second base with me or he might look like this guy!

Junk in My Trunk

To the people I know and love, I’m overweight. To just about everyone else in the Western world I’m a fat girl. When I’m shopping in a store that couldn’t possibly stock my size, I’m a fat girl. When I’m shopping for a bra in one of Canada’s largest (and I don’t mean cup size) lingerie retailers, I’m a fat girl. When a stranger sees me chowing down a cereal bar in public, I’m a fat girl. When I’m eating right, working out, and actually losing some of the junk in my trunk, I’m a fat girl.

It doesn’t matter that I’m shopping in the skinny store for some stylish accessories or a fashionable gift for a friend. Or that there’s only a handful of lingerie stores in the country with holders to support my boulders. Or that I’m devouring said cereal bar in an effort to recover from my 3 times per week 2-hour torture session with my hot shot celebrity trainer. I’m still a fat girl.

But I’ve never been one to let my physical fitness level stop me from climbing to the top of the social ladder. Or hate myself for my big body’s imperfections. Quite the opposite really. I’ve always maintained a large social circle and my youth was lightly peppered with my fair share of beautiful boys despite my size. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always had a larger than life personality to complement my curvy configuration. Or perhaps it’s been the oh-so-pretty face I’ve been hearing about all my life.

I’m not entirely sure what it’s been because my “pretty face” never stopped the old ladies from sending a scoff in my direction whilst squeezing into the seat beside me. My “pretty face” never made it any easier for the crabby carnie to squeeze my sizeable derriere into the seats on the Behemoth. My “pretty face” never stopped the kids from mooing at me on the Underground. It seems my sizeable appearance has always bothered everyone else but me.

That being said, not a day goes by that I don’t feel a scratch from the green monster at the thought of my smaller sidekicks and their frequent shopping expeditions through NYC and LDN. Oh, what I’d give to visit a city and pound the pavement with my girls without having to investigate the whereabouts of the most conveniently located big girls boutique. Hmph.

So, where am I going with this? Well, after spending the better part of two decades living the larger life I’ve decided to do something drastic. On April 16th, 2010 I’m having weight-loss surgery at the Slimband clinic in downtown Toronto and I can’t wait!

Friday marks Day 1 of the Pre-Op diet. It’s super strict! It’s designed to defeat my addiction to the bad stuff and help me take my portion sizes from super size to mini meals in preparation for the big day.

Digitally Yours

After a previous note (written some time ago), I did some thinking about my extreme aversion to dating and suffered the harsh realisation that I’ve simply gotta stop this boyfriend bugbear.

There are many reasons for my change of heart but the biggest is that if I’m too scared to date then not only am I sure to avoid making an ass of myself in front of a potential partner (yay), I’m also never going to get to enjoy the plethora of perks that putting myself through a few awkward hours can lead to (boo).

Although I tend to do alright meeting boys in bars I decided against shimmy shaking and salsa dancing, wine tasting or whiskey wasting and opted to try something slightly easier to screen. So, I did a little research and explored other means of making the most of the London meat market…

I joined an internet dating site. Yep, that’s right. I am officially one of those people that post their most perfect picture and few personal details in a gallery of guys and gals that are quite possibly looking for a little something other than love… But ANYWAY, as some of you know I’ve dabbled a little with the online love machine in the past and well, we (as in the love machine and I) simply did not compute. As such, I abandoned the electronic in favour of more traditional means of finding a fun buddy.

See, the things is, all too often women (myself included) join these sites simply to see who else is out there in Singletown, UK. Sometimes they join for a laugh while loungin’ with the ladies. And sometimes it’s to find someone to scratch an itch they just can’t seem to reach any other way. Whatever the case may be its not usually to actually go out and meet some random computer nerd off the net.

However, I made a decision. I wanted to go on a date with someone I’d actually spoken to for longer than I’d snogged. So I sat down in front of my computer and entered the digital dating domain. And I like it. I mean, these boys just wanna add a little Canadian Bacon to their breakfast in bed and really, who am I to stop them?

The Story of My (Love) Life

“Vickie, you don’t have any trouble getting dates. You just have trouble going on them.”

Zoe Davies, Roommate

Although it’s been a little while since I was asked out on a date (that I’d eventually end up cancelling anyway), I do think the lady has a point. I’m not single because I don’t have boys in my life. I’m single because I’m a chicken shit. I love boys. I love everything about boys. But if I think for a second that one might actually like me, it scares the crap out of me!

No wonder it’s Valentine’s day and I’m blogging. ;o)

Don’t Talk To Strangers

This morning I realised just how much I wish it was normal to speak to people on the tube. In actual fact, I wish it was cool to speak to strangers in any social situation. There have been many times in my life where I find myself wishing I could just waltz up to that guy across the room, say something witty and introduce myself. Not because I want to pick up said boy, but simply because I like to talk and it’s always nice to have someone new to talk to. Sadly, socializing simply doesn’t work that way.

For example, this morning I felt as if my day needed some sunshine due to the overwhelming amount of rain we’ve been getting in the last few weeks and I decided to wear a pretty pink (natch!) dress. I feel pretty good in this dress and as such it makes me smile and causes me to exude a bit more confidence than normal.

So, this morning after my usual depressing walk to the station and the eminent journey to work, I got on the tube, found a stable place to put myself, adjusted my bag and looked around. There, standing right in front of me was the cutest boy I’d laid eyes on for the better part of 24 hours (I fall in love on a daily basis, remember). He was cute in an average kinda way. So, I check him out and much to my surprise, I caught him checking me out (well, by me I mean The Girls popping out of my pretty pink dress but I’ll take that over nothing). And I think to myself, I’d like to remove the morning anti-smile from my face and provide a cordial greeting of some sort. So, I stand there contemplating the situation and sneaking a glance or two of my new love when my eyes are drawn down to his flashy little (huge) time piece (I’ve got a thing for watches) and as I continue to scan I look at his ring finger and there it is. He’s married. And for some strange reason I was disappointed and I actually have no idea why.

Well, actually I do know why. I’m disappointed because the wonderful life that I’d pieced together for the two of us during the past 3 minutes will no longer come to fruition. Shame.

Then it dawns on me. What the hell am I doing? What difference does it make if he’s married or not?? It’s not like I’d actually SPEAK to him anyway. I’m not in the habit of talking to strangers.

Eat & Run

I met a boy this weekend. Yep, you heard right. I met a real live boy! (I’ll pause while you lean in closer to the screen.)Actually, I met an enormous (6 ft 4, 350lb) beast of a man that was hungry for a piece of me! (…and in more ways than one!) But don’t get too excited because although he seemed nice enough, sadly he won’t be visiting fair Croft HQ anytime soon.

It all started when he snatched a camera out of my hand, kissed me and pushed me into the picture. This was a bit of a shock but not entirely unusual behaviour for boys from The Swan. Then, he tried to buy me a drink (they didn’t have what I wanted), then he tried to talk to me (he ripped my hair out trying to get to my ear), and then he danced with me (this new fangled dance requiring little-to-no movement). But I figured that’s okay, when I could hear what he was saying he wasn’t too bad. That was until he tried to eat me!

Seriously, right there in the middle of the dancefloor he tried to eat my face! I thought I was going to need a complete run of cosmetic surgery to repair the mangled state of my mouth. This guy made a full on midnight snack out of me! He literally chewed my lips and I’m pretty sure he took a chunk out of my shoulder. So, what happened next? I ran. Fast.

Perhaps it was my chocolate scented perfume that made a taste of your’s truly seem

so difficult to resist (or perhaps not). But whatever it was, as you can plainly see I’m hardly quick snack for anybody!