Should I really express my opinion on the whole Mylie thing?

Well I’m going to anyway.

And my one opinion is this.

That girl is FREAKIN’ gorgeous! If I looked like that at 15 (or now even) I would be doing it. It’s not like she’s acting out of character for a 15year old. Let the kid live.

That, and I was taking artistic nude portraits at 17, she could be doing worse.


Mylie and Billie Ray

And I think this next one is just too cute.


Drunk, Maybe?

Answer: yes!

Jealous, Maybe?

Answer: yes!

Horny, Maybe?

Answer: yes!

For you, Maybe?

Answer: yes!

Will I have you?

Answer: no

Fav things to do on a rainy day

1. Soak in a warm bubble bath with a good book and listening to the rain splatter outside.

2. Gather friends and family for pictionary (fav ever board game)

3. Organize my photos

4. Get my paints out and try to paint something, even though that is limited to city scenes and sunsets

5. Bake some yummy bakey goodness. Like my peanut brownies, fantastic if you ask me. Just the right amount of chewy.

Post Surgery

I had a dream while I was in surgery, and I’ve been told this is a rare thing to happen. Which made it feel like a long time, and it was. I went into surgery at 2pm, and was in the ward at 6pm. I was in recovery for 15mins before being moved. That made my surgery about 3.5 hours when we were told 2-2.5. The only thing I remember about recovery was being woken up with the feeling I had been sleeping for hours, and the nurse asking if I needed to use the bedpan or if I could wait for the ward.
I could most defiantly wait.
They wheeled me up to the ward that I shared with another lady. Before my family could come in and see me I was made to go to the bathroom. At the time I was thinking I didn’t need to go, but it turns out I did. I don’t usually drink that much, and as a result, I don’t go to the loo that much, but over those 24hours I went soo much. And I was in pain too, so I didn’t want to, but I had to. Damn stupid drip. Getting out of bed wasn’t easy when I had to try and push myself up without using my arms.

After going to the loo and getting back into bed my entourage was allowed in. Abby, mum, nana, Ethan and Geoff. And dad was on his way. Thank god they weren’t too strict about the 2 person visiting rule. Abby brought with her the video camera so I’ve had a look back at the footage and oh-my-fucking-god. I was so out of it and spacey. I mean, I THOUGHT I was fine, but woah. I’m glad she brought it in, I told her to, I wanted it all recorded. We had a chat, and the entourage left just as dad arrived.

Dad left about 7.30pm. My TV wasn’t working (I didn’t know how to work it) so I read, and dozed, and sent dozy text messages. I couldn’t reach my bag with my iPod so it was a rather quiet night. I slept TERRIBLY. What with the nurses coming in every hour to take blood pressure, temperature and pulse and then sleeping in a weird place in a bed that’s not my own on my back when I’m used to being face down in my pillow. Between 1am and 2am I read until I finished my book, and then I dozed in and out for the rest of the night.

When I woke the next morning I didn’t feel that great. My breakfast was brought which I didn’t eat, and then the nurse came in to help me bathe. I was feeling nauseous. A reaction from the anesthetic, but one that took a while to manifest itself. I felt like crap. When Nana and Mum arrived I looked as white as the sheet I was lying on. Nana told the nurse I wasn’t feeling well, and the nurse gave me a couple of shots in my iv line for the nausea. Nana had to leave that day so she said goodbye and left. Mum stayed and I felt bad for having her there and just sleeping so I tried to stay awake. The doctor came in and said that I could be looking at heading home today. I thought she was crazy. I looked and felt like utter crap. Mum had a mini freak out, but more because she hadn’t cleaned the house.


Even under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have cared.

I just had surgery, I cared even less.

After she said that I went to sleep for an hour. When I woke mum said she was going to go home and tidy and to call her when I knew if I was going to be discharged or not.

I slept for the rest of the morning. Lunch came but I didn’t eat anything. I was still feeling funny in the tummy and not up to eating. And the food frankly didn’t smell that appetizing. So I slept some more. Around 2ish Bronwyn came to visit. We talked for a bit, and then she went out to pick me up some REAL food. Pizza, ok, not real, but sooooo much yummier than the production line hospital food I had been forced to eat so far. The doctor came around again and discharged me.

To be honest I was worried about this decision, but the nausea had passed and I hadn’t used the morphine pump since that morning. That and I’m not a doctor. She never came very close to me at all, in fact she had an appalling bedside manner, but she did think I was fit to go home and I’m not a doctor myself.

While I was waiting for mum to arrive and for the discharge papers I really needed to go to the loo. I shared a bathroom with the room next to me and on our side it had been showing locked for a good while now. I couldn’t wait any longer so poked my head out the door to see if there were any other loo’s close. Nope. There weren’t. I was starting to dance around now with 2 thoughts on my mind.
1) I need to f@#$%^ go NOW and 2) I hope they’re ok in there, what is taking so long?!

In the end Bronwyn went down the hall to the nurses station to ask if someone could check up on them. I didn’t want to walk out looking like a mental patient with weird swelling. And oh yes, I had weird swelling. The nurse unlocked the door and checked for us. Turns out, whoever was in there last had accidentally locked it behind them, goddamn.

When I finally had a good look at the boobs I now possessed I was worried.  The right sat unnaturally high and stuck out to the side, and left, lower and to the side. They were hard with all the swelling, and frankly I was mortified. No one was going to see me until they settled down. After a couple of days they were down, thank fuck. One is still a little larger than the other, due to excess swelling. When the bruising came up my boobs were yellow for a couple of days. The right defiantly had more work done to it.

I was discharged the day after the surgery. I got home, and went to bed and slept again for another 2 hours.

I’ve been feeling rather good. Hardly any pain at all. More discomfort. I can’t do my hair yet, or hold my hands up for long. I tried to drive today (11days after) and it’s still hard. I drive a manual with no power steering. It was a mission to drive BEFORE the surgery. Fingers crossed we can have the manual with power steering fixed before I go back to work. Otherwise, it could be difficult. I still have no strength in my arms to do anything like that, and I’m worried about pulling a stitch. I have a post-op meeting on Tuesday.  Hopefully the bandages can come off and I can shower properly.

Surgery Day

My date for surgery was set for the 2nd of April. Wednesday morning. We left home around 9.30, drove via dad’s work to drop off his cell phone then headed onto Manukau. Dropped off some photos that needed to be developed and did some window shopping. Around 10.30 I started getting hungry, so I had some jelly and the others ate something more filling, before leaving. We walked by a lingerie store, and I spotted some pj’s that would be perfect for after my op. Front opening so I wouldn’t have to hold my arms above my head and none of that awkward stuff.

So we brought those, picked up Geoff from the train station and headed into the Super Clinic. We were early so we took nana inside and showed her around the out patient half and had a look at the markets that were being held there. After that there wasn’t much else left to do. We got my bag out and walked around to the surgery side. We were still waiting for dad to turn up. It was 12.10 and I wasn’t due to be there until 12.30. I was content to wait, but nana suggested I go and log in. So I did, and was instructed to take my seat. I was sitting there for only 5mins when I was called to go in. I stood up unsure, and was walked to the door with nana and my sister Abby. I was only allowed one family member in so nana came in and Abby went back. I was a little nervous now. I wanted to see mum, dad and Geoff before I went into surgery and I had no idea what was happening, I was just told to wait.

Nana wasn’t helping matters. She wouldn’t stop her nervous chatter, and it was getting to me so I took out my iPod and plugged it in, and yet, still she talked. In the end she talked herself out of there and mum came and sat with me. Dad still hadn’t turned up and we didn’t know what was happening outside.

The anesthetist came over and introduced himself. I didn’t take so much notice of his name, rather his Irish accent. To be honest, he had me at that, I had placed all faith in his hands. Of course, looking at this in the long run, that is a good sign. The anesthetist is the one making sure you’re drugged up properly. You kinda do want him to be alert, and you kind want to be able to trust him.

So we went into a little room and had a chat, and answered a lot of questions that I had already answered at the pre-op examination the day before. He was a little concerned with my past kidney problems so he decided to provide me with a morphine pump for pain management after the surgery as opposed to other anti-inflam pills they would usually prescribe. During the Q&A session a nurse popped her head in the door to see if I was in fact me, and to let me know that my dad was waiting outside for me.

After talking with the anesthetist we were told to wait in the room and that a nurse would be in soon. So we waited, I was getting a little more on the nervous side, but managed not to cry yet at this point.

The nurse came in and gave me a little cup with water and 3 panadol and instructed me to take it. I wasn’t in pain and hadn’t requested it, but downed the pills anyway. One of my parents had a theory that it thinned out the blood, but I wasn’t sure what the benefits of that was… I mean, would that not mean more blood, thus in the way more, and more mess??? Doesn’t that make sense?
Anyway, after giving me the pills she went through and asked me the same questions that anesthetist had asked triple checking my answers. Then she gave me the HOT one size fits all hospital gown with the huge gap at the back to put on. She told me to take everything but my underwear off. I’ve never been a fan of going braless, doing this means I have to hold my boobies up and it’s just not a good look. The nurse gave me a dressing gown and told me to sit down while she wrestled to get the hospital socks on. What is the point of those things?! I mean they are tight and they gave me sores on one leg. And every time I wanted to get up to go to the loo (lots btw stupid drip) a nurse had to roll the bottoms up. And then they sent them home with me. As if I’m going to be able to get them on myself again, I don’t have the special getty on thingy she used.

So, once I was dressed up as a mental patient I was escorted back out to the waiting area and told to sit at number 10. Mum tagged out at this point and Dad tagged in. We were sitting, waiting, wondering what was going to happen next. We didn’t know, guess I could have asked. At this point mum had taken my bag with my cell and iPod in so I started in on the chatter with dad. As he was about to tag out again we were taken into meet the surgeons and have them draw all over me. Most people wouldn’t like their dad there, but at this stage there was a) nothing creepy about it and b) I needed a photographer.

The surgeons measured and drew and dad took photos. We were told we would go into surgery from here. We were lead back out once again to the waiting area and dad tagged out and mum and Geoff tagged in. Mum hugged me. We stood and waited nervously as the anesthetist hadn’t got me to sign a form I needed to sign. I was starting to get really really nervous at this point. I had Geoff in what was probably a death grip hug when he came over and got me to sign the papers. As soon as he turned, mum burst into tears and hugged me tight. She said it was because she thought she wasn’t going to get to see me before I went in and she was relieved, but GODDAMN it made me nervous. I admit, I spilled a couple of tears myself. I got one last hug in with Geoff and then I was lead off to surgery. I walked down the hall with the nurse so so so nervous. I wiped away a couple of tears and told myself to man up.

There were soooo many people there when I got into surgery. I shrugged off my dressing down and jumped up on the bed. It was heated and comfortable. I laid down tummy full of butterflies and watched in fascination as everyone seemed to converge over me. I looked up and remember thinking it was a good photo with all the faces looking over me like that. They put the blood pressure cuff on my leg (man am I sick of those!), undid the knot behind me, and put my arms out. The anesthetist came over and I felt much more relaxed when I heard a voice that I recognized. It was just that recognition, there was someone in here with me who I knew. Kinda.

He knelt down next to me to find a vein in my hand to insert the drip. He said something along the lines of having trouble finding one, which scared me again a lil but he got the needle in in one go. And then I was out. I didn’t even get to count down or anything. I think it was unfair that I was robbed of that one little pleasure. I guess they figured I was too old to count. Whatever. I was kinda bummed about that.

I think that’s about enough information for now. I’ll post the rest in another couple of days. My hands need a rest.

Past lives

I’ve only had a couple of ‘real’ relationships. My first ‘boyfriend’ was at the start of 4th form (year 10, 14years old) in high school. It was the immature, I like you, lets hold hands, but I’m too shy to do anything kind of relationship.
It was before either of us had cell phones (with which I was a late bloomer), he didn’t use MSN and didn’t like talking on the phone so it was very much a school yard relationship that didn’t go any further than holding hands.

My first real boyfriend was Brent. And I was his first real girlfriend. We’d known of each other since we were in Year 9 but it wasn’t until halfway through Year 11 that we spent more time together (having science and human bio class), got to know each other more and develop feelings. We went to the ball with each other that year, but nothing really eventuated. I liked him, he knew that. And I was fairly sure he liked me. But both were scared.
A couple of months later he moved out the bay into the house that my best friend lived in when we were young. We still got to be good friends, and because he was now in my ‘territory’ I took it as my job to look after him here, show him around, get him involved in events. There aren’t many people our age out here in area so I made sure he was at all parties and gatherings.
For New Years Eve his parents threw a party. At this stage, I was used to his younger brother, but not the parents as much. I was invited over with my friend and we hung out in his room and played drinking games. We gave up on those quickly mostly because Brent was a much more accomplished drinker and there was no way we were going to win. Just before midnight we took our friend home and counted down together, alone.
No, we didn’t kiss on midnight. It was more like, half an hour later.

And just like that we were seeing each other. Which was easy in the holidays being right next to each other, but when school came around it was differnt. It wasn’t that he didn’t acknowledge me, it was that he just didn’t go to those extra lengths to see me. He never wanted to hang out during breaks, always wanting to hang out with his other friends, mainly Sarah, and mainly because he had promised her he wouldn’t ditch her if he got a gf. That I can understand, but what started to get to me was the fact that I wasn’t invited to join in.

I ended the relationship 3 or 4 months later when I decided that I was being treated as a friend with benefits and not a girlfriend. Now we are close friends, but he didn’t actually speak to me for 9months after so I guess he took it harder than expected. He did do the manly thing and put his foot forward and apologise. In writing. I have the note still.

My second real relationship is the one that ended earlier this year. 2 and a half years long that one was. And still a bit raw now, as you would expect. I had been friends with him for a year or 2 when i started to develop feelings. Feelings, that, as far as I knew were not returned. He was a year older than me in high school so when he left, we kept in touch but not much more than friends. In August of my last year he came to see my production and asked me out. In a…geeky, kinda cowardly way. I was typing up a journal entry on the computer, when he leaned over and asked me out in that. Anyway the answer was yes, and we started seeing each other. He litterly pulled me out of a funk I had been stuck in for a couple of months. I was so happy. I fell hard, and I fell fast.
In the late days of December we were stocking up on supplies to take camping over new years with some friends of his. I found gingerbear for him (he can’t be without it) and in his excitement he said “Ohmigod I love you!”
My heart jumped. His face registered shock. I walked on through to the check out.

I was scared, and I didn’t want it to be said lightly, but I guess I left it a while. I didn’t tell him I loved him until March. But from that day on I said it lots. I expressed it. I showed him. I worshiped him. I thought we were going to be together forever. We talked about everything, I told him everything. I have carried secrets with me, and he was the only one I ever told. We had silly little in jokes, and sayings.

I missed him when I wasn’t with him. We lived together from that March onwards. He was my best friend. We didn’t fight much and if we did it was because I always had to be right and I am very stubborn. He almost always let me win. He was a keeper of the peace. I was much more fiesty than he was. And it was a brilliant match.

But for some reason I fell out of love. I felt unwanted, unappreciated. He got busy with 2 jobs, and was never home. We were strangers sharing a bed. He never once tried to save our relationship, but he saw it coming.

And still, I still wish he had tried and fought for our relationship more. Because I still now, months later, think we belong together. But, I want him to be happy. And if I can be in his life as a friend, then I feel very privileged.

Reduction Mammaplasty

So, I thought the best place to start would be the symptoms. Things that are a direct result of having large breasts, out of proportion with your body.

  • Neck and upper back pain
  • Dents in the shoulders from the bra straps
  • Skin irritation under and in between the breasts
  • Restriction of physical activity
  • Circulation and breathing problems (usually when lying on back)
  • It can impair the the likelihood of breast feeding, and the weight can inadvertently suffocate the infant. The parent has to use both hands to hold the breast up making it impossible to feed.

There are other psychological effects etc – low self esteem and body confidence being the main factors.

The surgery itself usually takes between 2-4 hours. There are a number of different techniques for the surgery, most common (and the one I had) involves cuts under the breast, circling the nipple, and down in a keyhole kind of shape. It will eventually end up to scar as an anchor shape.

breast reduction

Recovery depends on the individual. For a stationary desk job, the patient can be back at work within 2 weeks. For more physical activities they may be off for up to 6 weeks. It will be 6 weeks before they can wear an underwire bra, and only a soft cup sports crop top is recommended until then.

Bruising and swelling will go down after a couple of months although it can take longer (6-12months) for the breasts to be fully healed and settled within the body.