Two Weeks & Six Days

That's how long until my next, and final I might add, surgery. This surgery is a thigh lift and a breast augmentation. How is it at all fair that the first place I lose weight is my chest. I have wide hips, so the fakies will balance out my body. Hopefully. There have been comments from my friends about joining the ranks of Heidi Montag. Um, no. I can't imagine becoming "addicted" to plastic surgery. I can't imagine signing up for unneccessary surgeries. It's a long, torturous, painful, uncomfortable, boring, expensive process. Why would anyone choose to be laid up for weeks and months. Bleh. I'll be celebrating when I can be done with this.

On the other hand, I have the most amazing surgeon ever. He's got a great bedside manner, and he performs miracles. If I didn't mind making any potential reader vomit after seeing the excess losing approximately 200 pounds leaves, I'd post the before and afters. They. Are. Scary.

This perfectly expresses my boredom with the entire process.

Sorry for the extended abscence. I haven't had much to talk about, but at the same time I feel like there's a tremendous amount of stuff on my mind. My entire life's on hold until these sugeries are over, and I'm returned to at least relatively normal activities. This means I have no job!

I graduated in December, and have done virtually nothing since. It's been nice to have some time to release the pressure cooker of stress within, but at the same time I am so ready to get going on this pricy, ill-timed career. For anyone unfamiliar, I got my bachelors degree in Interior Design. "In this economy..." my industry is sloooow moooving, and design and architecture firms let massive amounts of people go, and apparently for now, are choosing to stay lean and mean. I'm hoping in June/July, when I'm looking hard, I'll find something quick and be able to feel like a functioning adult again.

I feel like a loser. My friends are all gainfully employed now, and I'm like... sitting at home, wrapped up in bandages, watching shitty daytime TV and scouring the want ads, but hoping nothing too great pops up because I couldn't work full time really until the beginning of July. Man.

What else. It's my ex-husband's birthday today. He turned 30. We started dating around his 20th birthday. So, it's been ten years since then (way to go, genius!) and I feel a little sad today. I remember being real excited about dating an "older" boy. That whole 14 months made a world of difference, you know. He was a boy back then. And I was a girl. We were clueless. I guess that's what makes me sad. Because had anyone told Stephanie of 2000, "Hey... you'll marry this kid, and then in 10 years, you won't even be speaking." I would have thought they were crazy. I sent him a quick text wishing him a happy birthday. I expected nothing in return as it's been awhile since I've heard a peep out of him. He wrote back, courteously, saying thanks. Bleh. I guess I don't get how it got to this point. I wish I'd been smart enough not to let it deteriorate the way it did. Moreso meaning I wish we hadn't gone down the marriage path when we did. We were too young. We weren't ready. We had an extensive list of issues that should have been dealt with before (or if) we ever got married. The part that is sad to me, is that I got married with the intention of staying married. Of starting a family, and being faithful, and none of that went the way intended.

Other than that, this boyfriend of mine broke his leg (fibula) playing softball. How? Sliding into second base. Yes, he was safe. No, they didn't win.

He has a purple cast. My favorite color is purple. Cute.

This is my ridiculously cute dog, Chloe. She says hello.