Not the Gram pt. 3

Yesterday, my mammogram results hit MyChart in the heat of the night. Maria told me to open them. She said that when test results are dropped on MyChart, they have already been looked at and they are typically good news because, if news is bad, they have to call you to discuss it. They can't leave you to try to figure out medical jargon on your own with a poopy diagnosis. This, my friends, is untrue. 

The first thing I saw when I opened my results this morning, against my better judgement, was a note that said the results HAD NOT been reviewed by a medical team. I attempted to read the first sentence, got scared, and got the hell out of there. I reached out to my doctor and she said that additional imagery was needed. This was super alarming because, after the the world's worst mammogram, I was called in again to have more imagery done. For those of you having trouble keeping count, my results suggested I come in for more images for A THIRD TIME. No bueno. Apparently, something is up with my left boob. The bigger boob. The problem boob. 

I wish I could tell you that I handled this with a level head, but I sprung into a panic and hysterical tears while my doctor patiently listened to me cry. I love her, she's a real doll. I let her know that I am broke, and if I have breast cancer, I will die of it because I have no money. I told her I just want my boobs removed but she said that was a fat chance if nothing is wrong. I cannot stress out like this annually. I'm not married. Not having a baby. Not desperate to keep my breasts around for bikini season. The anxiety is too much, take them! I can't live in this constant fear that something is wrong and that I'm going to die. I'm not ready to die! 

Winfrey allowed me to cry to her on the phone this morning about this as she drove to work. As is becoming customary with Risky Business, she was too busy to talk to me. P is not talking to me for reasons unknown and I am still dealing with that all-too-familiar stink of being ghosted. Once I got off the phone with Winfrey, I cried in between broken sleep. I gotta tell y'all, I'm over this s$#t! 

Grown and Graphic

Once you hit aunty status, it is important that you allow the little nieces and nephews of your life, both biological and community-wise, to live their lives as young adults. This can be difficult, especially when you remember them as babies. Coming to terms with the fact they they are new growns can be hard, and even shocking. Let me explain. 

Admittedly, shamefully, I keep up with some "grown-up" accounts on socials. And I say keep up because I don't follow them because I don't want people to know I follow them. I don't want people thinking I am who I am😞🫤🤫🤐 Anyway, I was on socials this morning, looking at a post from one of these said accounts and saw that one of my children had liked one of their posts. I screamed and flipped my phone over! Why is one of my children online looking at filth?! I mean, my heart was racing! 

First off, the very idea that one of the 20-somethings I helped raise could be on the same type of naughty time I'm on is disgusting! It's like finding out that your stuffed animal has an OF account. Secondly, how did they find out about this social medialite? I hope they aren't being influenced in real life by people like secret me! If this particular son or daughter is out there making things happen like were in this post - out there consorting with freaks and loosie goosies - I am going to die! 

My first instinct was to call this person's parents, but I couldn't tell on their child without telling on myself. Plus, what was I going to say? Your kid is grown doing grown stuff? Just because you like a post about something doesn't mean you do it. Case in point, I like a lot of posts about cooking and cleaning. Also, I'm an aunty! Aunties don't snitch. 

Naw, we don't snitch but now I am keeping an eye on this rogue God child of mine. They better not be up to any mess, but I respect their right to be. Kinky recognize Kinky. 

3 Weeks A Ghost

I'm not familiar with the rules, but how long can you go without hearing from a guy before you can confidently say you have been ghosted? I have not heard from New Man in three days after talking to him consistently for three weeks. He just kind of poofed and vanished. He didn't rub me as a vanisher but at last, here we are. We hadn't had an argument or disagreement yet. All our convos and texts were cute and pleasant. We talked about meeting up. Now he's gone. My friend Maria says it may be too soon to declare a Ghosting but I gotta say, it sure feels like one. He went from checking in with me and sending me videos of his dinner to going completely silent. I asked myself all the questions women ask. Is he sick? Is he dead? Is he working some type of 24hr overtime? Is his phone broken? Then, of course, the questions went sideways. Did he get back with an ex? Was he married the entire time? Was he a government spy hired to make me fall for him so I would divulge my lemon pepper greens recipe? Let's be real, these are all valid possibilities! Man, I was starting to like him! Why do men do this kind of stuff? Do lesbians have to deal with this behavior? I have been advised to wait a few more days. Okay. But then, after that, I have to mentally send him to The Island of Misfit Men. I have to say though, I miss hearing his country accent and ridiculous, unbelievable stories. I miss receiving clips about his incredibly unhealthy meals. How unfortunate. 

Grown and Worried

Sadly, this may be a repetitive theme on my blog but I have to say it again: I am surprised by the amount of fear associated with getting older. I know that many people associate youth with freedom and to an extent, I do too. At 20, I remember feeling really free speeding through New Orleans in Workman's SUV, him a little drunk and me with no fear that we could crash. At the same time, the last 20 years of my life have been stuffed with anxiety around money and success and goals and love and so on. For some reason, I believed I'd feel more fearless as I got older. I'm finding the opposite to be true. It seems like everyday presents something new to be fearful about. 

Tonight's fear de jure comes from anxiety around my mammogram. The mammogram itself was such a nightmare that I'm fearful about my results. At 41, shouldn't I be planning a girl's trip or doing something else that a middle-aged woman secure in her existence should be doing? I guess not because it's midnight and I'm unnerved, blogging in the dark about my mammogram. And if it weren't the mammogram it would be something else. I'm ready for the footloose and fancy free period of my life. I am all cried out and all worried out. Where is the grown woman happy and fun? Let's get to it already. PLEASE. 

That is all. 

No D For Me Please

I believe in a lot of things. Bigfoot. Aliens. Parallel Universes. However, I have a hard time digesting the Zodiac. It sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus. Yet, if it's real, I am eager to know just how the stars in my system are aligned that would make it so that I would be inundated with D pics. I mean, what is really going on?!

I have so enjoyed my conversations with New Man. He is funny and super cool, and the other night, we had a video call date. He showed me his room and his wall projector that makes it look like there are blue jellyfish on his wall. I was just really enjoying this innocent, curious getting-to-know-you phase. It was fun, it was flirty, and in one call, New Man "accidentally" catapulted us into some XXX limbo. 

When I called New Man for our next video call, the video part wasn't working. So, I told him to give me a second to figure it out, and I would call him back. It took a minute, but I got the video to work, and he was like, "Hey, you are going to get some texts. Just ignore them." Just as he said that, a number of pictures came to my phone from him. The first three were pics of him in his A-Town fitted, which he had already sent me. But then the next were unsolicited D pics!

"What?! Why?!" I cried.  

"I don't know, I was being dumb. Forget I sent them," he said, mildly embarrassed. 

"I mean, are you drunk?" I asked. 

"No."

"Are you high?"

"Not really."

I frowned looking at the pics. Why would he do this?

"Hey, fix your face!" he exclaimed. Sadly, I forgot my video was on, and he could see me frowning, with hard emphasis on the frown, at his D pics. There was no way I could forget he sent these. Now, I don't know where we are, if that makes sense. 

As if that wasn't shocking enough, another guy that I was messaging on the Fatty App sent me a good morning message, accompanied by a D pic taken in the shower. Again, another unsolicited photo! I didn't reply to it, and he asked me if he had offended me. I asked why he sent it. He said it was because he "liked what he saw". HAVE ALL THE MEN GONE LOCO?! Or is it just the fatty-loving, sex-obsessed horn toads that I entertain? Sadly, I think I know the answer. 

I know that in today's dating landscape, D pics are apparently no big deal and part of conducting business as usual. But I'm like, have men never seen their own junk? It's no basket of kittens. I think that I am also confused because you couldn't pay me to send anyone a pic like that. And as dumb as this may sound, I don't get the purpose for them. I mean, a woman assumes her guy has a D, like duh! Is the pic supposed to be proof??

I took New Man's advice. I am pretending that the pics were never sent. I find more joy in seeing the jellyfish on his wall. 

Maria Drives By

A couple of months ago, after declaring that she was going to put herself out there to find a man, my friend Maria found one at a sports bar almost immediately after making the statement. His name is Sugar. Since then, they had been spending a lot of time together, even though they are not boyfriend and girlfriend officially yet. Everything was going well until he went almost a weekend without contacting her. They made up after that, but I think that lapse in communication raised her antenas when it comes to him. As you probably know, once a woman is put on alert, it's hard to get her off of it. 

The other night, Maria was out with friends when she realized she wasn't but a few minutes from Sugar's house. So, she decided to do what any crazy girl worth her salt would do and drive by Sugar's house to see what he was up to. 

"I prayed that there wasn't another car in his driveway," she admitted. Listening to the story, I prayed there wasn't one either. It would have only taken a second for that situation to become a Worldstar moment.

Maria jumped in her car and headed over to Sugar's street only to stop short at the stop sign. She was right behind Sugar, who was about to turn into his driveway. Maria hung back and laid low, watching him go into his house alone, no hoochies detected. 

The fact that he was alone didn't make me feel better. For my friend over 40 to pull this 20-something BS, I know she has to like him more than I originally thought. And when you like a man like this, it starts with drive-bys and ends with a restraining order. I'm eager to see where this goes. Hopefully, it leads to happiness and not more secret creep-ups in the dark. 

Not The Gram pt. 2

I had my second mammogram today, and I should have known that it was going to be a doozy when I didn't have any anxiety around it. I had one last year, so I knew how the show was supposed to go. With that being said, I still ended up anxious, panicked, and in tears. 

The woman who did my mammogram last year had just left before I checked in, which was a shame because, even though I panicked last year as well, she was a nice island lady. She gave me a hug and told me to walk more. Needless to say, this new lady was not her. She asked me my weight, and I told her it's a lot, but I have lost a little because I am on a GLP-1. She then began to tell me this horrifying story about the people she has heard of who have taken GLP-1s and gone blind! 

"I heard about one guy who went completely blind," she said nonchalantly. "Then a patient told me she knew one lady that lost one of her eyes."

This comment woke my anxiety up immediately, and it only got worse as she roughly contorted my boobs into that machine. I didn't remember the last one hurting like this one did. It was like she was trying to get my whole collar in the shot. Then she pinched me with the machine, and I screamed! She apologized, but then proceeded to pull on my arm all weird. I eventually needed a break to sit down and cry hysterically, a little something I do when my anxiety hits the roof. 

Once the mammogram was finally over, she said that I would hear something in a week and I would get a letter in the mail. 

"I didn't get a letter last year," I said, suspiciously. 

"Yeah, they will send you a letter. Some older people need a letter and don't look online."

This statement made my anxiety feel like it was shooting out of the top of my head and through the ceiling! On top of this, the lady from last year looked at my images and said that they looked good. This lady didn't do that. I can't tell if it is because they didn't look good and she didn't want to be the one to tell me, or because she had no desire to put my mind at ease. 

After this mammogram, my body was sore like I had been in a fight. My aunt offered to take me to get food, but my shoulder locked up and felt so bad from when she pulled on my arm that she had to bring me home! As I lay here typing this, everything aches. I haven't even had time to go into full hysterical mode over my results. I am just lying here, trying not to make things worse. 

As horrible as this was, I have to remind you all that mammograms are super serious and part of the whole lady experience. You have to go get them done. Hopefully, next year, I won't have to undergo a beating to get one.