All horned up, and nowhere to throw my devil horns….

Is there something else I am missing, here?  Before, if you said hard wood, I would have thought of the fallen timber my mushroomed ass must be feasting on.  I would think of how I felt like that earthy, not necessarily pleasant scent.  I would think of how much I sweat at times, how my complexion has changed, and how sometimes I get heat rashes where my big ole thighs stick together.

But today, you say “hard wood” and I think of the flooring I want under my sexy ghetto bootay as someone ravishes me.  I think of the fond times with both sides of the fence and all the crazy times in college making out on the drunk bus, and beautiful times with the person I had promised forever to.

I don’t get it, but I am horny as all hell and have to wank off 1-4 times a day.  How did I go from nothing, to all?  So, of course, I am attracting some real winners during whatever chemical change this is.  I’ve had to rain on the parades of 3 guys, recently, since they were all practically in love with me during the first date.  One said “our relationship” BEFORE a date was had.  Needless to say, an official date never occurred.  I don’t do clingy.  I have fabric softener for that- it’s called Bounce.

So, is this normal?  Is it a self esteem thing since I have now owned the fact I don’t have control over what size my body chooses to be on any given day?  All I know, is that I went from no sex drive within the past 5 years, to wanting to hump telephone poles <hard wood> at the age of 30.

My body just wants to party like a rock star, and my brain is trying to maintain rationality.  Rarrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I think I need go play “Guitar Hero” with one of my plastic pets.  BRB……

and nobody ever told me, about the flip-flops… aka, in the beginning….

She huddled off with the other doctor that I had fired, to discuss the fact I had been on Effexor (for a month or two, for what was probably the hyper end of what would later be dubbed as my Sushi Thyroid).

“Are you still taking your anti-depressants?”

“No. They made me violently ill.”

“Well, maybe you should have talked to us about going off of them.”

“I did. Dr. ____ wanted me to play Russian Roulette with the generics by going to different pharmacies until I found a script that didn’t make me puke my intestines out.   $50 a bottle? Did you know, the extended release is not available as a generic till 2010?   She gave me extended samples.   The generic sat in my stomach like a projectile brick.   I just wanted a sleeping pill.   And, she wouldn’t let me off Effexor.   And then, I just wanted an anit-nausea pill.   And, she wouldn’t do it.   And, that is NOT why I am here.”

Blah blah… blahblah blah blahhhh……yadda yadda.

“No, I am not depressed.   Believe me, I would know…. No, I am not binge eating….. No, I am eating vegetarian.   No, I am happy….. No, I am not depressed….. Yes, I AM sleeping too much- but it is because I can’t freakin’ move.   NO, I am not depressed… I got the job I really wanted….. I am effin’ happier than I have been in a long time.   NO. I AM NOT depressed….. Yes, I do have a history of PTSD…. But the cancer fiasco put an end to that.   Old dude with hearing aids, shoving a Novocain shot where no man has gone before?   Calm as a Hindu cow, since then…….. I would be smoking and drinking, if I were depressed…. Believe me, I would freakin’ know.   I’m on the Community Watch team… I volunteer at the HIV center, I have a job where I do landscaping on weekends so I am getting sun and vitamin D and all that jazz……. Kill myself? NO!!! Listen, lady… my fucking shoes don’t fit- I have to wear flip flops to work with my business suits…. 10 years of shoes, gone…… And my dentist won’t even do a cleaning until you test my thyroid levels!   MY SHOES DON’T FIT!!!!”

“Are you feeling guilty about anything, Ms. S?”

“No. I am Jewish.”

So, after much more of my non-characteristic screaming, she had labs run.   And while I waited for the results, I wore my flip flops every day.   I drew little frown faces near the pinky toe of each foot.   People noticed.

“What is THAT?”

“Oh, yeah. My shoes don’t fit.   My doctor says I should be on anti-depressants, because my shoes don’t fit.   So, my feet, are depressed.   They need meds.   They are sad.”

When I went in for my results- she looked at my feet, never questioning.   Nor, did she ever say she was sorry.  Then, like she did me some huge favor, she explained she ran the anti-body test and I came up positive.

Welcome, to Hashimoto Thyroiditis.   Here’s a pill.   Good luck.   Oh, and how about going back on Effexor?

*$#)*)_#@#@#@!!!!!!!!

I has a tired.

New blog post is coming soon, in memory of my 1 year anniversary.  But, I’m over run and over tired in July.  Just wait till August… boy, will I have a rant built up by then!!!

“Furry Happy Monsters”

I could tell my temperature was rising. I hoped he didn’t notice. Beads of sweat formed above my lip and I could taste the saltiness on the coffee lid. Well, this interview seemed to have been going well, aside from the river of sweat on my back. My hope was that this was not perceived as me being overly nervous. You can’t be nervous in a sales position.

I thanked my new boss for the job offer and coffee. Upon standing up, I realized just how wet my underwear and pants were. A quick glance down to the chair resulted in what I feared…. a big wet mark on the fake wood grain. Oh, lord. Did I pee myself? Nah… oh…. yeah.

Years ago, when I bowled every weekend, I gave up underwear. It was one of those things I spent too much money on and fidgeted with every time I walked up to the lane. My co-workers would make fun of me readjusting my panty lines in the hopes of rolling a Turkey. And, thanks to the Depo shot, I didn’t get my period. So, yeah… commando-yo.

Now, I need an extra layer to prevent other issues. There are these nifty pantyhose material ones by Hanes, I think. They at least acquire and disperse my pre-pre-menopausal outbursts. Ridiculous.

Never, would I have guessed I would have such a problem. I mean, really? I can be freezing with goose bumps, and sweating to the oldies down at my hoo-ha. Am I going to have 20 years of menopausal symptoms? THAT is pretty darn scary. So, in the mean time, I have to be more diligent about furminating my furry monster so it stays something along the lines of happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zkHM8xG6i8o

Holy Exploding Ass, Batman!

Since right before the end of year 1 B.T. (Before Thryoiditis), my intestines and I have not fully been getting along.  *Being that we do not know when, specifically, the disease started, the time after diagnosis shall be referred to as A.T. (anno Thyroiditis- or Year of our Thyroiditis).

During the years of B.T., not much changed in regards to those good ole BMs.  Things made sense.  There was a proper ebb and flow to my visitations to the ivory thrown.  In the years of A.T., however, my biggest fear is no longer shooting my drink out of my nose or peeing myself from laughing too hard.  No, the concern is often if I will make it to the bathroom before, oops….  Sad to say, “oops” has happened a few times, this calendar year.  No one should have to carry panties to work with them unless there is hip thrusting involved (not advocating sex with co-workers as it is not good to shit where you eat/sleep… oh, crap.).  

 It is end of quarter for my company.  I support 7 field reps and a director.  And while I should be overseeing the work flow of nearly $3M in orders, I am stuck in the lieu with a case of acid ass.  Nothing beats your co-worker wanting to talk to you while trying to make a run for it, only to have them also enter the rest room, right as Niagara Falls breaks loose in your stall.  I spent an hour, there, Friday.  I had to Crackberry my one trusted team member about the fact I was being held hostage by my colon, and not out for a joy ride. 

And then, in probably a week or so, the tides will change and I will be downing more prune juice than your grandmother. 

How, please tell me, am I ever going to have an intimate relationship, again?  Up the butt is most definitely out of the question.  Yowza.  I guess A.T. has brought with it an end of an era.  When the guy’s taking Viagara, I’ll be taking Immodium.   Ka-Pow!!!

Hashi’s loves Joey-Joe!

After last night’s extravaganza of nostalgic boy-bandness, I am still recovering from the lack of sleep.  Of course, this means I have insomnia, since that is apparently my body’s rational response to feeling like I have been hit by a truck.  Oh, but what a truck it was.  Nothing like a little trip and fall into the mud of memory lane.

My gal pals and I made it to the NKOTB show.  It was…. Perplexing, yet so very enjoyable.  The loss of $18 and several hours of my life I will never have rescinded are well worth the moment when it all flashes before my eyes before I go to that big hormonal heaven in the sky.

The demographics of the audience had me wondering, however.  Most were in their late 20s to 30s.  These were the women I went to grade school with – the ones that could eat anything and run off the French fries during recess.  My gals and I didn’t want to verbalize it, but of course I had to.  What happened to everyone?  The majority of women were overweight / obese.  Is there a correlation of New Kids fans and cellulite?  Well, that sounds about as rational as my sleeping patterns.  But, seriously, what has happened?  You can’t tell me that everyone in my age bracket just eats garbage all day.  I certainly don’t, and have gained a whole other butt cheek thanks to my thyroid disease.

It definitely makes me wonder about various things like the use of artificial sweeteners, the promotion of bread/ grains, and how soy is slipped into nearly anything processed that we eat.  SOMETHING had to’ve done it… ya know?

On less introspective notes, the show was indeed entertaining for the novelty of it.  I wasn’t a huge fan to begin with.  It was bizarre, though, to have a little section of my memory scooped up and transplanted into the present, even if it sort of felt manufactured.  None-the-less, it was a good excuse to torture my co-workers with my rendition of NKOTB dancing and to sing “Please Don’t Go Girl” off key.  Yay!

?Como se dice “me”?

Sushi Thyroid was diagonosed with Hashimoto Thyroiditis last year at the age of 29, after gaining 50 lbs in 3 months, having “depressed” feet that only fit in flip-flops, and being deemed as hysterical by the local medical community.  Well, if your doc is on vacation the day you have surgery to remove cancerous cells out of your hoo-ha, you might “flip out like a ninja, too”!

http://www.rathergood.com/ninja