Surgeons, Part Deux

Monday. Oh, what a beginning!

7:30: Alarm Goes off. Shira turn it off in her sleep. Shiiiiit.
8:17: Cindy Calls.
8:25: Shira gets to Cindy's and picks her up. Yeah, I'm that good.
8:52: Get to Michelle's in Hawthorne. Pick her up.
9:54: Get to Dr. Agha's in Newport Beach. Our appointment time: 10:00 a.m.

Whoo!

Okay, so I feel like I'm cheating on Aboolian by seeing this new guy, but what can I say? I've seen some of his work and been very impressed. I don't LIKE him, but I can't help but say...I think I'll let him do my thighs.

But I hated how 1/2 the consultation was "If you had only done THIS instead of THAT, you could do THIS, but since you did x, sorry, no Z, and I'll give you Y". Make sense? Sorta. Argh.

I'm fucking thrilled with my results, so shut up. However, the man does good thigh work. He does! So he may have the privilege (ha!) of doing mine.

Aboolian I see Thursday for a rundown on boobs/thighs/arms. I'm thinking he'll do my Arms/Boobs/Torsoplasty and I'll let Agha do my thighs.

Oh, and yes, I'm almost definitely getting implants. I miss my boobs. I'm not getting bazoombas, but I think a "C" would be nice to return to.

Thursday. Ah, it's worse than dating.

Today, Tuesday, was busy. Woke up, did errands, headed to Mom's. Intention was to walk to bank and back. I was, after all, cleared for "20-30 minute strolls". Which I naturally made into a 1 hour walkathon. Only 1.76 miles (yeah, my pace SUCKS), but I was tired. Stupid recovery. It takes forever. Ha. I'm so impatient.

Took a nap, played Scrabble with Mom. She trounced my ass, BAD. Like, over 100 pts TROUNCE. My ego is slightly hurt. Then I went to Trader Joe's, and the night got, er, shitty.

My AMEX was declined. Hmm, I wondered. Probably another panic attack on their part of fraud. I was able to charge $2,000 of plastics on my card, but they called "FRAUD" on Target. Who knows, RIGHT? Get home, apparently Dad "forgot" about the bill. Yeah, THAT'S nice.

Also? Crazy garage bullshit at home with the "used car business". Christ, Dad. I can't bring the car up the driveway...and you weren't home to tell me. I figured if Barbara wasn't there, I could. I was wrong.

Now, if you aren't up to snuff on my mental baggage..how do you KNOW me? I called my Mom, panicked, cried, and took 2 mg of Klonopin and went into a minor "coma" state. At least I'm calm that way. Went over it all, all taken care of. I have a to-do list for tomorrow that's stupid, but I'll do it anyway.

And I'll rest and nap. Because I apparently have to. I really hate recovery. Sorry, I do. I'm not a sit down on my ass person. I wish I was, I assure you.

Dad and I had our usual debate tonight: "Obesity: A Product of Environment, Yes. But can it be helped through psychology?" I say yes (Duh, PhD in Clinical Psych and Health), and he says "No", because evolutionarily we're programmed to like chocolate so we're all gonna get fat until we die. Marvelous. I like my plan better.