My New Gummy Bears

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My best friend picked me up in the wee hours of the morning and I started to get excited. I’d put off getting my saline breast implants replaced for far too long and it was finally the day. I’ve been having sharp stabbing pain in the left one, incidentally the same one that broke a few years ago. I’m not that vain… but I want two boobs again, preferably the same size.

Actually… bigger. I swapped out 510 cc saline for 610 Natrelle Inspira high profile cohesive gel. In layman’s terms, I went from a 36 DD to a 36 G/H. I caught a lot of flak for it, but I love having big boobs and if you have to buy them… why not?

I wore a 36 B for the first 27 years of my life. I know how it is on both sides of the fence and which side I prefer to live on.

My first surgical nurse had a million questions, complaining that she was an A and had always thought about it. I encouraged her and she told me after I came out of recovery that she thought she was going to do it.

My anesthesiologist came walking in. NOT the perverted one, because I called and asked for a replacement. My very first thought when I saw him, was that he looked a lot like Incredicock. He’s charming too, setting me at ease and chatting with me as they wheel me down the hall and into the operating room. He smells just like my favorite guy. That was my last thought.

I woke up and threw up. Suddenly surrounded by all my favorite nurses. They cleaned  me up and instantly started laughing and teasing me.

J- Ok, hit me. How bad was it. What horrible secret did I tell you guys?

N1- You told Derek he was hot. Oh and that you loved his beard and his tattoos.

J- I was afraid of that. He looks a lot like this guy I…

N2- Incredicock? We may call Derek that for the rest of his natural life. My favorite was when you told him he was a jerk for being a holdout <riotous laughter> and asked him why it took him so long to tie you up.

N3- In your defense, you did ask us to duct tape your mouth shut when we asked if there was anything you needed before we put you under.

J- and none of you had any tape?

N1. That’s the most fun I’ve had in surgery all week.

Sigh.

Derek popped his head in and smiled widely at me.

J- Sorry I hit on ya, doc.

D- Don’t sweat it, my wife loves it and Dr. did a great job. They look great. Knock ’em dead, Tiger.

I have a high pain tolerance. High enough that I warn them to ignore me and medicate me on schedule. They released me with a strict timeline.

That first night was no fucking joke. The left side of my chest was unrecognizable with my pectoral muscles separated to my collar bone. My implants were floating and my muscles were out of control, trying to figure out WTF happened. The opiods made me queasy and I couldn’t sleep on my back. There’s always a post-surgery moment where it all hits you at once. This was my moment.

My beloved Little Red took care of me for the first two days. I’m ridiculously independent so it was just really pleasant to visit with her and have her chastise me when I’d waited too long to take my meds and was in agony as a result. I always wait too long. I don’t like feeling foggy.

God bless the Dumpling’s daddy for showing up like the superhero he is, just when I needed his help the most. I’m so grateful, and he even picked up my coffee creamer for me. The most amazing part of the hardest days is realizing what incredible friends you have.

Miss Fancy is my Alpha and Omega. She drove me, and was the best sight post-surgery. There aren’t even words for how happy I was to see her face. She bought me this lovely first G bra and the coffee I’d been dying for, the moment we left the surgical center. I’m stuck in this godforsaken boob seatbelt, 24/7 for the first three weeks.

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Miss Lovely has given me the big boob facts, and loaned me a lovely bra until my new arsenal of industrial strength bras show up.

It’s been two weeks and I love them. The pain is gone, with the exception of the dreaded boob seatbelt that I am dying to ditch. The most notable difference, is in the actual feel of them. Saline implants tended to feel like balloons under your muscle, but these actually feel like having real breast tissue again. They’re soft, squishy and even I want to play with them. I’m digging out sundresses and looking forward to being able to run again, even if I have to wear three bras. 🙂

If you’re on the fence and trying to decide: Feel free to email me if you have any questions. ♥

Loyalty

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It’s been a rough two weeks. My epic, three day hangover felt like a week, in and of itself. After a night of the Dumpling sneezing in my face, I still woke up feeling like a billion dollars this morning in comparison to the suffering I endured this weekend.

I was scrolling through Instagram when the latest handsome man makeover, popped up on my feed.

Y’all… I’m friends with a magician. The Queen of the clippers. Sorceress of the shears. Finder of lost handsome men. Mrs. Barber is the go-to girl for the perfect fade and a beard to collect hearts with.

If they aren’t dying to go… it’s because they don’t know her power. I’ve seen it with my own eyes about a dozen times now, and I tip my hat because I hated a beard until she showed me the light.

The latest unveiling prompted my offer.

J- I’m willing to pay you double not to cut the hair of the boy who broke my heart. I’m willing to pay big to sentence him to a life of Great Clips.

MrsB- You give me a pic of who it is and it’ll be like a wanted sign in my shop. Life sentence to Great Clips. 🙂

Miss Lovely and I laughed about it over cocktails all weekend.

J- She could call it the wall of shame. $200 buys you a spot on the wall for the boy who thinks it’s funny to watch you cry.

L- $500 to buy his way off.

J- I feel like a woman that can vouch for his not being a douchebag anymore could buy his way off at a discounted rate.

Imagine my delight when he brought it up. 🙂

He looked at me and glared.

I- For the record, I don’t go to Great Clips.

J- <grin> Oh. Struck a nerve, huh?

I- So you’re gonna pay double? I’ll go every morning.

J- Ohhh…. ha aha ha hah. I don’t think you understand girlfriends. She will not be helping you.

I- That’s so petty. I think I’ll call you PJ from now on.

J- Call me whatever you like. You just won’t be doing it with magic from Mrs. Barber staring back at me.

He glared at me, shook his head and made my whole day with one sentence.

I- That’s so shitty. I’ve been waiting for her to open up for the last year.

J- Mmm-hmm… I know. I’m the one who told you about her.

Funny thing about girlfriends is, we don’t mince words and we don’t fuck around when you treat our friends like shit. We stand up for each other in ways we WISH we could stand up for ourselves. We say the hard words, for each other. We do the hard lifting, together when one of us is too devastated to carry it all by herself.

My tribe is a fierce bunch of the most powerful women around. Singers, Chemists, Artists, Writers, Restaurateurs and Magicians. They’re the cream of the crop.

It’s cool. He can break my heart, and poke fun at my pain. It’s a lesson for me in not automatically trusting people that I’ve known for a long time. Just because he was a good husband, once upon a time, does not mean he will be thoughtful of my feelings. Obviously.

I can cry about it and feel horrible, or I can hang out with my favorite ladies and laugh it off. They’re there with far too much alcohol, love and a whole lot of loyalty. Heartache may suck the life right out of me sometimes, but the friends I have more than make up for it and work overtime to remind me how much better my time could be spent.

I love you Mrs. Barber… and thank you for not making his neck look like you could. ♥