ammogirl

So the boob ultrasound (which I have to so clarify, lest anyone, ANYONE thinks I’m pregnant. Nope. I’d rather have lumpy boobs than bun-in-oven, because hi, I’m waayyyyyy past the baby stage, thanks much) went fairly well. The tech said SHE thought it looked like a cyst, but she doesn’t read them, and she can’t really tell me anyway. I will call the doctor…I guess tomorrow, I have to say I sort of forgot about the boob issue…and find out what he thinks. And now can I be done talking about my boob? I mean, I realize it was ME who brought it up in the first place but there are different levels of talking about me, as in, there is talking about me and then there is talking about ME, and I don’t like the boob level of me.

Anyway, my Harry Potter came in on Friday, and I finished it yesterday, and I loved it. I am a little sad it is done, actually, both the book and the series itself. There was a funny moment when John said, “So how is your book?” and I looked over, tears welling in my eyes and having to sniff sniff sniff every second and said “It’s sooo greatttt!” and he gave me a look of you-are-crazy. I tell you though, for being a girl with little-to-no compassion, I sure do tear up at books and movies, at the drop of a hat. If I can sense that someone is going to sacrifice something for somebody, it instantly makes me sob a little, and do that little breathing thing you do when you don’t want anyone to know you are crying. When John and I went to see the third installment of Lord of the Rings, I started crying about 20 minutes into the movie and literally did not stop until we walked out of the theatre. It was ridiculous. I cried during Terminator 2, for god’s sake.

Today at work we started our own Biggest Loser, and the cool thing is we are going by percentage of body weight lost, so pounds won’t matter. Everyone is trying to lose about the same percent, including me, even though my percent equals about 6 pounds and everyone else’s is around 20. I was sort of on the fence about entering, but the pot is up to $180 at this point, and 6 pounds is worth $180, I think.

Of course, the word diet becomes a curse word starting Thursday, when the fabulous vacay/birthday celebration starts (and is it so very nearly my birthday? Yes it is!) because to the best of my knowledge, tropical drinks are definitely not of the diet-type. However, living amongst the bikini-clad for 7 days is a natural food inhibitor anyway, so we’ll see. All I know is the day after we fly back, John flies out to the states for 3 weeks, that fucker, so I will be able to totally watch what I eat, and take home the big prize on the 30th of August.

Man, I tell you, summers sure don’t last very long around here. It was 45 degrees this morning, and barely made it to 65 for a high today. I’m already starting to pull out the sweatshirts.

Oh shoot! I have other things I need to do! Gotta run!

Tschuss!!