I'm Bored

I really don't feel like working today. I'm stuck here, though, mainly because I'm in charge this week. Yes, I'm the boss. So I feel perfectly justified in not working because that's what bosses do, don't they? Instead, I'm going to go through some of my random thoughts and subject you, my dear reader, to them.

• Despite the fact that I hate Tommy Lee (and so far, he is doing nothing on the show to change that), I am once again loving Rock Star. I'm just so amazed that this show is on broadcast TV because it's the kind of music I love. Yes, I watch American Idol. Yes, I get invested in it just like everyone else on the planet, it seems. But the music totally fucking sucks. And the talent is subpar, at best. Rock Star, with one or two exceptions, has some of the most amazing talent to ever grace a reality show. It's not cheesy with emotional manipulation. It's about the music. Gilby Clarke and Jason Newstead are taking it seriously, offering constructive criticism (not meaningless catchphrases). And the house band? Someone, please, please, please, record these guys! They are amazing!
• While we're on reality TV, can I just go on record as one who is really disappointed so far in Big Brother All Stars? I know, I know. But really, I expected a little bit more from these hamsters. It is now clear I shouldn't have. No one seems to have learned anything at all from their previous experiences on the show. Kaysar is still a gorgeous idiot. Howie still turns my stomach. Diane is a jealous skank. Marcellus is all over the map. My only hope is the rumored secret alliance of Danielle/James/Will. They are probably my favorite three hamsters of all time and, if they are together, should be able to pick off the rest of these balloonheads with one hand tied behind their backs. I hope and pray this is true. Otherwise, I will have wasted three evenings a week all summer for nothing. It will be like sex with no orgasm. And that sucks.
• I don't know what happens in other NFL cities, but here in Pittsburgh the football season finally begins next weekend with the start of training camp. The local news has had a series of segments this week on preparations being made at St. Vincent College, traditional site of Camp Cowher. We got to see the weight room. We took a tour of the new dorms. And, of course, we got a dissertation on the kinds of food (Jerome always had to have his mom's turkey sandwich, Ben likes spicy food, etc.) and quantities the Steelers ingest. Santonio Holmes is wisely staying out of the media spotlight. And there are hourly medical bulletins regarding Ben's miraculous healing powers. I love my Steelers. But this is not news, folks.
• What is news is the other big story of the past couple of weeks here in the 'Burgh. Our new mayor, Bob O'Connor, was diagnosed with a rare cancer of the brain and spinal cord the day before the MLB All-Star weekend. Now, there are those who are not Bob O'Connor fans. And I can almost understand why. He's such a stereotypical Pittsburgh guy. A former steelworker. His Yinzer accent is so thick you can spread it with a trowel. But I have been pleased with his term so far. He loves this city with a passion. He wants us to put our best foot forward. He's enthusiastic and full of energy. He seems to be everywhere. He obviously loves to be around people. I don't think we've ever had such a spirited cheerleader in this office since Caliguri. We need him. We need his optimism. I've found him to be refreshing and, for a politician, honest. I'm sending good vibes his way because I selfishly don't want to lose him. He's good for us even if it's only just for the morale boost he so ably provides.
• On the personal front, I'm in a moment of self love. Highly unusual for me, as I'm much more the self critical type. But I'm really enjoying myself lately. I like looking in the mirror. I like the feel of my skin. I stroke myself endlessly. I vogue naked in the mirror. I don't know what it's about or where it came from. I also know that it won't last. But...right now? I feel as sensuous as a cat and I'm purring with pleasure.

Lust

I'm consumed by it. I'm obsessed with it. I'm overcome by it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I've always had a healthy appetite for such things, but I'm out of control right now.

I can't stop it.

I can't get enough of him.

I call him at midnight just to have him come over and do me.

When we talk, I watch his lips move but I don't really hear him because I'm thinking about doing him.

I get excited just thinking about it.

I'm in perpetual heat.

Thank heaven he's young and has stamina.

He needs it.

Menopause DOES NOT Make You Fat

It's official. I'm in the throes of menopause. My gynecologist just called, breathless with excitement, to tell me that the blood work shows that my hormone levels have now reached actual menopause levels. None of that perimenopause shit for me, kids! Right to the big time!

Of course, this is no kind of revelation to me. In fact, I had to practically pin my gynecologist against the wall and force her to do the blood work that was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. After all, I have been having hot flashes for at least a year. And a period only once every two or three months. I guess I really didn't need a doctor to tell me what is happening to me. But since mom had a hysterectomy, I had no idea when I should actually expect it. And the doctor kept telling me that I was too young.

Whatever, doc.

I cannot take any type of hormone replacement. Mom died, horribly, from breast cancer. There was no family history that we knew of when she was diagnosed. Mom was an only child, with few relatives here in the U.S. But she didn't really have any of the other red flags that would make you think that this was someone who would get breast cancer. She didn't drink. She didn't smoke. She never had fibrous breasts. But she did take hormone replacement therapy for years after her hysterectomy. Thus, no HRT for me.

Actually, I don't mind. Everyone told me that, without it, I'd get fat. That I'd get osteoporosis. That I'd have wild mood swings. Well, here is how I see it.

I'm most definitely not fat. In fact, I might be in the best physical shape I've been since I was 25. I'm down to about 115 (at 5'5") and eating healthfully because I don't have to please some idiot man with tons of red meat, potatoes, and gravy. I also walk at least 12 miles a week. So, fat ain't happenin', kids. If I do say so myself, I look great.

As far as osteoporosis goes...well, that is a worry. My grandmother had it. My mother had it until her poor bones were overrun with cancer. And my oldest sister has it due to her Crohn's disease. But I consume lots of dairy products, especially cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. I exercise. And that's all I can do. Hopefully, it's enough.

And wild mood swings? Well, they might have been caused by menopause, but they were more likely caused by the shit X has put me through this past year. And they seem to be gone now that he is completely out of my life.

So, you ask, why am I so cheerful about being in menopause? First, the easy answer: I will never again have to worry about failed birth control. In fact, I never have to worry about birth control, period. Woo hoo! There's something so liberating about reaching this stage of life. And that's above and beyond the lack of menses and being sterile. I'm sorta at a point where I just don't care what people think anymore. It's much more important what I think.

And so, I'm taking this feeling of freedom and carelessness and running with it. I'm going to do what I want, when I want, where I want, and with who I want.

Of course, right now? That would be Ken. I'm taking him, damn it! I don't care how young he is. He wants me. He's currently worshiping me. And I'm enjoying it. I'm think I'm really, really liking this menopause thing.