Interesting day

This morning, I interviewed for the aforementioned temporary receptionist job. I think the interview went well, but I've had interviews go well and haven't gotten the job before. It's not my dream job, but I could definitely do it for a couple of months, which is how long the assignment would last. It's more money than unemployment, and I could go back on unemployment when it ended if I hadn't found something else by then.

This afternoon, I had my plastic surgery consultation. It occurred to me that there was a striking similarity between the two experiences: both required me to be naked (literally or figuratively) in front of a stranger who had something I need. I can't say I liked the feeling either time; and frankly, I think the plastic surgery consultation made me more nervous than the interview, maybe because it required actual physical nudity. The surgeon is from the same center that did my bariatric procedure.

It's a good thing I'm so dissociated from my body. I didn't get drawn on with a Sharpie--I guess they only do that on TV--but there was some of "if we do this, then this will be gone" while he lifted things and looked at things. "Wow, you will love it when this is gone," he said, "you won't believe how much it will improve your mobility." We talked about recovery times and insurance and what if they pay for this and not that. He commended me for my progress thus far and was very upbeat and positive. He only handles the stomach stuff--someone else would have to do the breast reduction. He said he could remove five liters from my abdominal area. Five liters as in two two-liter bottles of soda and then a one-liter bottle and what that would weigh. Insert gasp here. Private pay including liposuction and body sculpting mojo with upper and lower abdomen included: $9,000.

Sigh.

But it would be so amazing to not have that appendage hanging off the front of me that ruins the way I look.

Recent stuff

Yeah, yeah, it's Mother's Day. Not my favorite. My blog about it last year says all I have to say on that subject. I should be doing something productive today, but I got sick this week and have taken it easy all weekend. Mr. Salted and I watched "Whip It" last night and enjoyed it, which surprised me; I wasn't all that enamored of the book, but the movie had a great cast. We were in the mood for something fairly light, and it sufficed. It was fun to see Betty White on Saturday Night Live last night, too. Mr. Salted's mother has Alzheimer's disease and lives in a facility out of state, so this isn't his favorite day, either. I called my grandmother and sent her a card. She is doing as well as can be expected, and my uncles are taking care of her, which has been such a load off my shoulders. I call her about once a week, and send her a lot of little cards that don't say much.

I got a job with a very well-regarded Internet company. It starts in the next few weeks--I've accepted the position and done the paperwork with the staffing agency, but it was a mass hire (400+ people) and something like 80 of them will start each week, so I haven't gotten my firm start date as of yet. It's just a contract job for a minimum of one year (maximum of two) but it's also a foot in the door and I'm really happy to have it. I really enjoyed working in the tech industry in the past and that's where I'd like the rest of my career to be.

On that note, I took my first continuing-ed class on the way to a Technical Writing Certificate Wednesday. It was a level 2 Microsoft Word 2007 class, and a good way to dip my foot back in the educational pool. I'm a fairly adept Word user, but got to learn about all kinds of cool stuff the software can do now. It's come a long way since 1995, when the kids at my university were teaching it to me in the computer lab--I was six to eight years older than they were, and at times like that I felt as though they thought of me as a pet ("look at the old person learning computers!"). I still had an electric typewriter, and it was 1996. Ah, good times.

So the Word 2007 class was cool--I think there were eight people in it. I was neither the oldest nor the youngest there, and it was fun talking to the other people there about how they used Word and what they did for a living. I like continuing ed--it's geared toward working people (read: grounded in reality). The classes are small and the atmosphere is very laid-back. I take a Visio class this coming week. That one meets twice for four hours, which will be a lot easier than meeting once for eight--that was a bit of a marathon, and I think that's how I ended up sick. I think it was just that and the finally getting a job and my body just said, Okay, you're down now, REST.

My weight hasn't really changed much. I stay between 205 and 208. I think I worked out once this week, and my eating is fine, nothing out of the ordinary. I went through my clothes today and things are still shifting around, albeit slowly. I have a couple of things that fit with no X in the size, which is nothing short of amazing! Most of my stuff is 18s but some of the 16s fit or nearly fit. My stomach remains my biggest (literally and figuratively) nemesis. I can literally get all of me except my stomach into a pair of size 14 jeans. I want to know why they can't just do a tummy tuck NOW. Hmpf.

Hard Hats Required Past This Point: Entering Problem Area

My stomach and I have always had a difficult relationship. It's always been where the fat went first. Even when I was a (cuter than most, dammit, despite my low self-esteem) little kid, I had a belly beyond the normal little-kid belly that sticks out. Some shrill woman allegedly in the know (for instance, those succubi on "What Not to Wear") would deem it a PROBLEM AREA. I never noticed until just now what annoying phrase that really is. A problem area should be somewhere with no sharp edges where you can hug a teddy bear or pet a dog (or punch a heavy bag and scream profanities like Tourette's Syndrome has you by the toe). There should be Mexican spiced cocoa there that doesn't cause dumping syndrome. Cookies with similar magical ingredients wouldn't hurt. (There could also be shots of brandy for the patrons who just want to take their ball and go home--that will keep them there. Get them liquored up, they'll hit the heavy bags, the bar and the gift shop. Maybe I should start a chain of Problem Areas and make a bajillion dollars.)

I just hate my stomach so much. I have always hated it. I remember when I was fifteen years old and it decided quite suddenly to have four big stretch marks on it. That derailed me for quite some time. There was no precedent for their appearance, no weight gain or loss of note, I just woke up one morning and they were there. The universe had scrawled jaggedly across my adolescent skin with a big red permanent Sharpie. WTF was that about? What a load. I already had DDs, acne, glasses thick enough to kill ants in the sun and a perm worse than Victoria Principal's that one season of "Dallas". I think I weighed 150, 155 pounds at the time, maybe even less than that. Before I could even legally operate a motor vehicle, I worshiped at the altar of Vitamin E cream. (Of course, now I could win a stretch-mark contest in the childless division, but I don't feel the need to elaborate any further.)

My stomach is huge and I hate it. I don't even like anyone touching it, ever ever ever. I don't like wearing a shirt that even shows any portion of it--we all know it's there--but out of sight, out of MY mind. I wish I could spend my life in one of the trenchcoats of my '80s Batcaver youth (I even slept in them sometimes, over my pj's, like a security blanket) or in a huge Big and Tall men's hooded sweatshirt, which is like wearing a hug made of fleece. Who gives a rip what size your stomach is when it's covered by such a benevolent, fleecy, oversized hug? This is probably why some bulimics, recovering or otherwise, like big clothes. I am definitely one of these. I want everything too big because it makes me feel smaller. I always sit with a pillow on my lap, too, if I can. I'll use my purse in a pinch, but a pillow is better. Actually, I'll take more than one pillow if I can. I know big clothes don't make you LOOK smaller--no shortage of makeover succubi in the media AND in real life to helpfully point this out, so concerned are they with the appearance of every woman in sight--so I am trying to more balanced in my noggin about some of this.

I wanted a tummy tuck, like, yesterday. I can't wait to get one. I don't care how much it hurts or costs, I'm having one when I get down to whatever weight I get down to. I am not going through all this work and pain and CRAP to still have this THING I despise so thoroughly still attached to the front of me. It feels like a growth that just needs removing. I used to be obsessed with obtaining a breast reduction, and I'd like to have that too when all is said and done, but when the stomach surpassed "the ladies" it became more of a priority to get the ol' tuck. It motivates me as much as anything else.