Archive for Health

23 Apr 2014

My New Motto

8 Comments Health, Personal Crap, Uncategorized

Yesterday I visited a new chiropractor. It was both an embarrassing and enlightening visit. I was pretty out of whack, and the painful deep tissue stuff he was doing sent me into a sweating jag not seen since Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. This is how I used to sweat whenever anyone asked for my autograph in the Mad TV days, moving the uncomfortable teen who had just asked for my signature to THEN ask if I was alright or needed some water, or a chair. Or CPR.  Dr. Greg laughed when I apologized for the drips of salty liquid pouring from my forehead, chest, back, and anywhere else sweat can come from. He turned the air on full-blast when he had to apply heat to my lower back. When I told him I was mortified he replied, “Well, I’ve seen you at your worst now, so it can only go up from here!”

But this is not the point. Sometime after he removed the heat and started kneading my muscles again, he asked what my stress level was. Any time any doctor has ever asked me this question, my immediate response is, “It’s HIGH!” But this time was different. I wasn’t sure how to answer because I WAS sure the answer wasn’t “It’s HIGH!” I searched my brain for the correct thing to say. And then, “It’s not so bad, really.” “Huh”, he said, “Because usually people with this kind of knotting have very high stress levels.”  I thought again, really considering everything in my life. “Yeah, no. I really don’t have a lot of stress right now.”

Let me stop here and say that my life is basically the same as it’s always been. I don’t, however, have a father who is dying, a mother who is in deep mourning, or a small baby who needs me for every little thing. So, I need to make it clear that things now are certainly easier than they were a two and three years ago.

Now, for the other things that have changed.

A year ago I cut out gluten. I did it in the hopes to have more energy and less bloating. Six months into it, I discovered I was slightly allergic to it which made me even more resolved to cut it out. I believe with all my heart that, even though it did very little to help my bloating, it cut my anxiety levels by more than half.

Six months ago, I cut out dairy. I think this helped, too.

But here’s where the actual work comes in:

I went to a therapist I had been seeing off and on for years. She gave me ways to change my behavior instead of me waiting for everything around me to change. Little things that I do now have saved me from tons of stressful moments which would have turned into stressful days and weeks. I won’t spell it all out for you here, because I believe it’s all different for everyone and what I had to change is not necessarily what you might need to change. But what I will say is that, if every day feels like a weight on your shoulders and you find yourself slamming your desk or your steering wheel, or screaming because someone angered you, or crying because it’s all just too much… Think about the common denominator and what you could possibly do to change it.

Last but most certainly not least: Garrett is the wisest boy in the world.

When I was at my height of stress and anxiety, he was as well. He would see me exhibit all of the above behaviors and I would just want to die when I saw the look on his face. But I couldn’t stop what I was doing. He asked me too many times if I was okay or if I was mad, and he began finishing my sentence when I would say, “I’m not mad I’m just… FRUSTRATED.” He began showing signs of stress, too. I was desperately trying to fix it.

Then one morning as we were having our typical mental breakdowns trying to get out of the house, I told him we had to rush because we only had two minutes. He looked into my eyes and calmly said, “Mom, we can rush. But we don’t have to worry.” The difference that made for me is immeasurable. I actually HEARD him. We can rush. But we don’t have to worry. I hugged him so hard and I told him that could be our motto from now on. That was about two months ago and we have not had one bad morning since. We still rush around a bit but if either of us feels distressed, the other will say, “Rush but don’t worry!” and it all goes away.

It’s so simple. It’s painfully simple. And you can apply it to every single thing in your life.

Rush but don’t worry.

Have a party but don’t worry.

Get the laundry done but don’t worry.

Cook. Or don’t. But don’t worry.

Go to that meeting. But don’t worry.

Yes, it’s easier said than done sometimes. But, far more often than not, it’s easily done.

The cat pukes on our blanket for the second time this week. I want to scream but I did that the last time. So this time, I put all the shit in the washing machine and I move on with my day.

I have a few of G’s friends over for a play date. The house isn’t as clean as I’d like, and when they leave there will be an even bigger mess. So? Live in that moment. Don’t worry. It all gets done.

If I have an audition and no time to prepare, I figure it out. Worrying only makes it impossible for me to learn my lines or find the character’s voice.

I breathe a lot more now. In and out slowly. It’s much more nourishing than my heart beating out of my chest while my fists clench and unclench. I also work out five times a week. I know, without a doubt in my mind, that this is beyond helpful. And I know so many of us don’t have the time. I thought I didn’t have the time, but I go right after drop-off every day, or I’ll go at 4:00 when kids club is open, and take G with me. I work out with friends, and it makes all the difference.

I don’t have a full-time job. But I do have auditions. A lot of them. And I have the unsettling feeling of not knowing if I will ever work again, or if I’ll make enough to get health insurance or if Russ were to stop working, will I ever be viable enough in this business to pick up the slack? My schedule is never the same, and this is hard too. I also know that things come up to throw a wrench into the system now and then. There are emergencies and disasters and surprises we never see coming. And I hope those things are few and far between, but I also hope I am able to deal with them well.

Rush but don’t worry.

I promise if you can adopt this principle, your life will change. Or it won’t. But don’t worry.

28 Feb 2012

Ready to get my Ass Kicked

12 Comments Health, Uncategorized

You may or may not know that I used to be a gym rat. As a matter of fact, I’ve been through several phases of rodent-like gym behavior in my 40 years on this planet. I have always enjoyed exercise (once I get my ass off the couch), and I do feel better about myself when at least one part of my body is “ripped” or “cut” or “toned”.

Over the last several years, however, it has gotten more difficult to find the time, and more importantly the motivation, to work out.  (I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the adorable blond boy who lives in my house.) Consequently, everything has gotten a little softer, a little less defined, and a lot less flexible. Not to mention, I feel bad that I’m not using my healthy body to it’s full extent. I’m not conditioning my heart, keeping my core strong, or lifting weights to stave off bone loss and osteoporosis.

Not feeling fit has been a blow to my self-esteem of late, and it’s also left me with a lot of pent-up energy and a general tiredness, that I know comes from a lack of moving my body.

Well, this weekend it all came to a head. I found myself with knee pain when getting up from the couch, along with zombie-like behavior throughout the day. Sleep was the only thing that sounded reasonable to me, and my jeans were making deep impressions in my stomach. I immediately got on line to look for a boxing class in my area. Boxing has always been attractive to me, as a sport. I like the thought of punching things, I like when my arms get toned, and I need to work off some stress.

I found a place that was very highly-rated on Yelp and I called. I was all set for a free beginner’s class Monday night at 6PM. Good to go.

When I got to the gym last night, in a very industrial part of town, five miles from my home… I was scared. From the street I could see an open warehouse/gym filled with people lifting heavy weights and grunting. I parked my car and walked toward the grunts, finding myself inside and talking to a lovely female trainer. She told me to fill out some paperwork and coach Bill (that’s what I’ll call him) would be with me shortly.

As I wrote my name, address, and general aches and pains down on this yellow piece of paper, I looked around at the people working out and started feeling a little yellow myself. What am I doing here? Why are those people walking on their hands? What is this place? Why is no one boxing? How did I get to be 40? Am I too old to work out like this?

“Are you Lisa”, Coach Bill asked. I told him I was. Bill looks like Bob Harper, in that he’s compact, completely shredded, handsome, and terrifying. “Why are you here”, he asked. I told him I was just wondering the same thing. I told him I was sick of being out of shape, that I used to be very in shape, and that I was hoping to get back to that. Then I told him this place didn’t look like the place for me and I should probably find somewhere that made more sense. He told me this was a Crossfit gym, and that people do things here they don’t do anywhere else. He told me it was the best workout possible and that I’d probably get nauseated my first couple workouts, but no to push myself too hard the first time out. I told him I was probably going to leave. Then he started the class and I was still there.

We began with leg lifts intertwined with crab walks, bear walks, duck walks, and dolly walks. All things foreign to me. Then we scaled walls. Something I’ve never done in my life, as I’ve never had to run from anything, nor have I needed to make a quick getaway after stealing anything. Then we did 200 meter runs followed by squat lifts and push-ups. That’s when I got nauseous.

I did every leg lift asked of me, and every type of walk except for the dolly walk, (as this requires arm strength that had all but left me at this point). I scaled the wall four times. This was an incredible achievement for me. I ran 800 meters, (actually, I walked a lot of it), did 30 or so squat lifts (of a pvc pipe, as I felt anything else would be too heavy), and 40 push ups. 40!

The support was incredible. Everyone knew I was new, so they cheered me on, patted me on the back, and showed me the right way to lift. At the end of it, I felt amazing. Proud. Like myself. Now I have to decide if I want to go back and continue, or find something a bit closer and more convenient where I’d probably have to push myself to get the same kind of workout. A workout, by the way, completely reminiscent of Bob’s on The Biggest Loser!! I think this must be his main type of training. And I found some things on line last night to back that up.

Long story short, I think I’m back. I don’t know how I’ll find the time to workout several days a week, but last night confirmed that I have to. I HAVE TO. I’m excited to feel strong again. It might take a while, but that’s okay. It took me a while to get to where I am now, and it can only get better.

Side note: I was not sore when I woke up this morning. Now, at noon… EVERYTHING HURTS. Ouch.

26 Jul 2011

Revelation, Week 2

9 Comments Health, Personal Crap

I have this stupid cold that’s been hanging on for a week. My colds usually stay around for at least three weeks, so I figure I have two to go.

I went to the doctor on Saturday just to make sure it’s just a cold, and I’m not contagious, etc.  So, of course, they weighed me. Fuckers. Fully dressed, shoes on, two cups of coffee and some cereal in my gut.

It was a bad number for me. One I’ve not seen in years. And, even though I knew it was a little off base (because of my 30 pounds of clothing. wink, wink), it made me angry. I was mad that I had been weighed at all, considering I’d done so well NOT weighing myself for the week. And, of course, because I HAD to see the REAL number… I also weighed myself naked when I got home, negating everything I had promised myself about only weighing-in on Mondays. I was 2 and a half pounds less, in case you’re wondering.

The numbers, both at the doc’s office and at home, put a bit of a damper on my mood.

BUT!!! (It’s a big but)

I beat myself up for MUCH less time than usual. I got on with my day, and my weekend and pushed as many of those negative thoughts away as I could. It’s sort of like playing tennis with one of those automatic tennis ball servers. Each ball lobbed at my brain is a negative thought, and I’m using my “positive racket” to hit each one away. Sometimes I miss, sometimes I hit it back. But at least I’m in the game.

I found myself swimming with G again yesterday. And I loved it. It’s getting easier, getting into a swim suit. But I did, unfortunately, say to my friend that I felt fat yesterday. I hated hearing it come out of my mouth and I instantly regretted it. I think that’s a good sign.

So this is my new goal: instead of thinking, “I want to weigh (insert number here) by the time I turn 40”, I’m trying to think, “I want to be happy with myself by the time I turn 40. I can keep working toward whatever it is I’d like to achieve. But I want to be truly happy with me on my birthday.” I like that goal a lot.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look in the mirror and think of something positive to say. It might just be, “Wow! The reflection of this room is quite lovely in the sunlight.” But I’ll try to make it something like, “Wow! Nice belly-button!” I’ll try.

21 Jul 2011


7 Comments Health, Personal Crap

A couple of days ago, I recorded with my dear friend Paul Gilmartin for his podcast, The Mental Illness Happy Hour. First let me tell you a little bit about the podcast, because I love what it does. Paul interviews people, mostly (but not exclusively) in the entertainment industry, who suffer from some sort of depression or addiction. His goal is to help others by letting his audience hear real, honest, and often funny stories and deep, personal truths from people who are going through what is very common yet often hidden.  His goal is to get those who suffer to seek help, and to know they are not alone. He describes it as the “waiting room outside of the psychologist’s office.” Listen to some of his interviews. They’re very eye-opening.

I have never been depressed, nor addicted so I am a bit different from other people he’s interviewed. But he thought I had enough insecurities and neuroses to qualify me for an interview. He was right.

I have had severe body issues my entire life. I’m incredibly fortunate that they never progressed to the point of me becoming bulimic or anorexic, but they have often paralyzed me with deep insecurity and fear. Therapy helped me with many of my other anxieties and insecurities, but this was one nut I was never able to crack. Motherhood softened the self-hatred a little, but the gnawing pain of always feeling “not good enough” never went away. I could try to ignore it, or put it on the back-burner for a minute or a day, but I always knew it was there, waiting for me to quite literally feed it again.

I have never passed a mirror without looking in it and criticizing what I saw.

I weigh myself every morning. Whether I’m up a pound or down a pound, this is unhealthy behavior.

I pinch my stomach and arms in the car, or while I’m watching TV, or eating and I think, “That’s disgusting.”

When my husband tells me I’m beautiful, I click my tongue and say, “Ugh. Whatever.”

These are just daily habits of mine. Daily, horrible habits that I have had as long as I can remember.

A year and a half ago, I was the skinniest I had been since high school, and I can honestly say I felt good about my body. (Although now I look back and think I got too thin.) This did not stop me from the weighing, the criticizing, or the pinching. It did stop some of the mean voices, and I was able to take a compliment. But these are things one should be able to do at any weight.

So, two days ago Paul and I talked, with microphones in front of us and a computer logging every word. And for most of the interview, I discussed my body issues. I had heard myself say many of these things before but knowing hundreds, possibly thousands of people would hear what I was saying… Changed everything. For the first time I really heard what I was saying. I heard myself describe this pathetic, self-involved, time-wasting behavior. I was embarrassed that others would now hear it, too.

That night I told my husband I felt like something in me had shifted. I told him I felt lighter. He was so happy to hear these words, but then we both voiced our desire to be cautious on the matter.  He wants so much for me to let this go, but he knows how long I’ve carried this burden. So we are both cautiously optimistic.

The podcast will post tonight, or early tomorrow. And, although I’m sick to my stomach about people hearing it, I’m praying it reaches someone. I’m praying it makes someone angry enough at me, that it changes something in them. And truly, I’m praying that this change in me is real, and that it sticks. I’d like to live the rest of my life without that idiotic monkey on my back. Or at least with the strength to kick it’s ass when it jumps on my shoulders.

I texted Paul last night to tell him he may have changed my life. He called immediately to see what was going on, and encouraged me to keep a journal of how I feel daily, over the next few weeks or months. So, I’m going to try to do that here for everyone to see. I imagine many other women feel this way, and I think it’s time we all figure out how to let it go… Maybe even stop future generations from feeling these things. I told Paul that in therapy I learned that I could change my behavior to make other people treat me differently. Why can’t I change my behavior to treat myself differently?

This morning I forced myself to NOT weigh myself. That is a start.

24 May 2011

Road to Contentment

11 Comments Health, Personal Crap

I’m angry with myself again. For a minute there I was very happy with my weight. I wasn’t super thin like I was last year, but I felt good with the extra pounds. I felt like me again. But then I stopped paying attention to what I was eating and I haven’t worked out in months… So I feel like I failed myself again.

I’m angry because I do this over and over. I get to a place where I feel good and then I blow it. But it almost feels intentional. I remember thinking to myself a few weeks ago, “I’m going to screw this up again. I’ll just keep eating until I don’t fit into my jeans and I’m angry at myself.” Mission accomplished.

This is not AT ALL about what I look like. It’s about the way I feel, both physically and mentally. And I’m writing about it because I think we all do it to ourselves in one way or another. Like we don’t feel we deserve to be fully happy with ourselves… Or for ourselves.

I’m going to be 40 in November, and this is a trend I would like to stop by then. I no longer crave to be super-thin. In fact, I’m a little sad that there are 10 episodes of a show out there where I’m supposed to be representing women, and I look like a little boy. I truly want to be healthy and happy in my own skin. And all it takes to do that is paying attention. I know I can do it. I’ve done it 100 times in the past. The piece I seem to be missing, however, is how to do it permanently. To be honest, I haven’t met many people who know how.

I want to be one of those people who work exercise into their daily routine, no matter what. And who eat moderately, still allowing themselves to really enjoy food. And I want to fit comfortably into the clothes I already have.

I feel like I’ve written this before. I know I have, many times. I guess I’m just thinking it will resonate with you, as well. Because I think it’s very common, even though I know there are varying degrees of it. I know people look at me and think I’m crazy to feel this way, but they aren’t in my body. I know what my body is capable of and I know when I’m letting myself down. And I think one of the worst feelings is being disappointed in myself.

Really, all I want is to find a place where I’m happy with ME and stay there. I feel like I deserve that. We all do, don’t we? And we are in control of that. Only us.

I also notice, and tell me if you notice this too, that when I’m feeling this way everything else is out of whack. My car is messier. My house is unorganized. And I don’t concentrate as well which leads to things like parking tickets or forgetting I have to cook the turkey that’s in the fridge before it goes bad. So, I end up wasting money, too.  It seems like it all goes together.

I’m going to begin this journey again. This journey of feeling good about myself and my surroundings. The cool part is, I’m always closer to being happy with myself than I used to be. I think maybe that comes with age.

If you’re on your own personal “happy” journey, I’d like to know. I’d love to hear what has worked for you and what hasn’t. We all have our own measure of what makes us feel good. None of us should compare ourselves to each other. But what makes you feel the best about you? And do you stay in that place?

12 Jan 2011

No Resolutions

6 Comments Health, Personal Crap

It’s a new year. But that has nothing to do with anything.

It’s been six months since my dad died. That has a lot more to do with it.

Last Monday I stopped stuffing my face with food to stuff down my feelings. Don’t get me wrong, I was feeling what I needed to feel. I still am. But I was using food to make it hurt less, to give me something to do, to give me something else to be frustrated with instead of my loss. But I stopped all of that last Monday.

This isn’t about me losing weight or fitting into my clothes, although I’m looking forward to that. This is about me feeling like myself again and going through what I need to go through without sacrificing my health or too much of my sanity. I’m already feeling like I own my body again. And today I did something I haven’t done in at least a year. I worked out. I walked Bogie for 20 minutes, just to warm up. Then I did Jillian Michaels‘ 30 Day Shred, Level 1. It kicked my ass. It hurt like a bitch. I couldn’t believe how hard it was. And I loved every second of it.

I felt more like myself in the moments after working out, then I have in six months. I felt like I had a little control back. I saw myself in the mirror; my hair up, t-shirt and sweats on. I was sweating like crazy. For the last six months I’ve only had that catharsis after a good cry. And I know I’ll have many more of those. It comes daily, still. I still think about calling him, then remember. I still think to share something with him, then remember. I still pound the steering wheel and curse. And I still will, I’m sure. But today I channeled it all in a way that was so good for me. For ME.

I’m in therapy.

It’s been really good for me.

But it’s also been a lot of hard work, and I’m in the thick of it at this moment. Dealing with shit I would rather run from. I’m not enjoying it all of a sudden. It’s sticky and hard and I resent having to do it. But I’m doing it. For me. And for my husband and son. Because all I honestly want in this lifetime is to feel joy, and to share it with the people I love. And that has never been a hard place for me to get to. And I want to keep it that way.

So I’m working on my brain, and my heart. And now I’m back to working on my muscles, and my heart. And I will do all of this knowing that everything we have here is so fleeting, so temporary. And it doesn’t always come as easily as it usually does for me. It won’t always come as easy.

I’m working on myself now, not for any New Year’s resolutions. But because I love myself and my boys.

Oh, yeah. And abs. I miss my abs.

17 Dec 2010

On the Fifth Day of Sickness…

6 Comments Health, Personal Crap

It’s Day 5 and I’m still feeling lousy. This morning my husband got up with G-Man AGAIN and handled everything. I got up just in time to see G ride off on his tricycle with Russ cheering him on. Then they came home and G got on his scooter for round two! I’ve done NOTHING in five days. NOTHING! Russ has fed me, fed Garrett, played, and done everything while I’ve slept or watched TV.

Okay, I had a meeting on Wednesday and I’ve done some dishes. But that’s it!

I hate feeling so detached. The TV-watching has been nice, because I never get to do that. But otherwise I feel helpless. I just spoke to my doctor who says I should expect a few more days of feeling like this, but that I don’t have to cancel my mom’s birthday dinner tomorrow night. Luckily, we’re going out. Originally I’d planned on cooking. That wouldn’t have worked out.

So, as I’m writing this I get an email that I’ve been “tagged” in a video on Facebook. This girl I went to high school with has been tagging me in these videos she’s making about her cancer. Her friggin cancer. She already had a mastectomy several years ago, but now her breast cancer has metastasized and she has it in her lung and her spine. She has a four-year-old son. We weren’t close in h.s. and I don’t know her at all for the past 20 years, but I know she’s a woman, a wife,  and a mom. And while  I’m here for five days complaining about a fucking cold, she just got home from having part of her spine replaced with titanium and is dealing with a life-threatening disease.

We, as a society, need to come up with a way to appreciate our health every second we have it. EVERY SECOND. How do we do it? Why does it take a massive illness to make us see? It shouldn’t. I know we’re human and we can’t live every day thinking about how tenuous our health is. But it is, damn it. And every day that we feel good, normal, and completely human is a day to be celebrated.

I watch her videos and think, “There before the Grace of God…”.  I pray for her and her family that she beats this. If you have an extra prayer, please do the same. And for goodness’ sake, please also thank God if you’re healthy and if your family is healthy. I’m doing that right now.

08 Nov 2010

Thank You, 70’s Porn!

8 Comments Health, Personal Crap

I am not opposed to plastic surgery, as evidenced by my nose job sometime around 1996. I had just done my first, real, big television acting job on Seinfeld and my friend was throwing a party to watch it premiere on NBC.  There I was, sitting on the floor next to my mom, 50 of my closest friends behind me. There I was on the TV kissing Kramer on the neck! And then the scene where he falls asleep on top of me and I’m yelling his name! And… OH MY GOD MY NOSE IS GIGANTIC! WHY DIDN’T ANYONE EVER TELL ME?? And then a commercial. And I turn to my mom, thinking about all the jobs I’m never going to get with that nose and say, “I’m thinking about getting a nose job.” To which she, without even a breath of hesitation replies, “I think that’s a good idea.” About one month later I was under the knife and I’ve never looked back.

So, I am not opposed to plastic surgery. What I am opposed to is excessive plastic surgery, the kind that makes people look like cats, lips look like life rafts,  and boobs look like beach balls. We’re turning ourselves, one surgery at a time, into an unrecognizable species of… Weirdos! I think it’s sad, and I think it’s unrealistic, and I think it’s damaging. So I’m thinking of turning to 70’s porn for answers.

See, my husband grew up with Playboys lying around the house and, since he was born in 1970, they were Playboys from the 1970’s. And do you know what those Playboys did for my husband? (Besides the obvious, of course.) Those Playboys gave my man a great appreciation for soft, pendulous breasts, thick thighs, a slightly poochy tummy, and PUBIC HAIR, for goodness’ sake!! That’s right! My husband finds REAL WOMEN attractive!! (Which makes my life so much easier, friends.)

Now let’s think about what my son will grow up thinking is normal: Big, dented, hard, absurdly high and round boobs on 90 pound hairless women. I know I’m being crass, but I want you to think about that. It’s hard enough being a woman who was born in the 70’s and grew up in the 80’s. But at least MY Madonna was shapely and soft and womanly! The Madonna of 2010 is a stick with muscles. My supermodels were curvy and sexy. The supermodels of 2010 are sickly and boyish.  And the women in Playboy are fake, fake, fake. It makes me angry, truly. Real women are becoming the minority, at least in the media and magazines. So what are we raising our sons to be attracted to and our daughters to aspire to?

So, here’s my plan. When Garrett is about, I don’t know, twelve-years-old? I’m going to start subtly leaving magazines from the 70’s lying around. I’ll “hide” them so he thinks he’s finding them. And what will he see? Lo’ and Behold! Women! Real Women! What do you think? Good idea?

07 Oct 2010


No Comments Health

Every responsible, adult woman has a mammogram story.  Here’s mine:

I started getting mammograms earlier than 40, because I found a little cyst in my breast a few years back. Luckily it was just a benign cyst, but I continue to get regular mammograms to stay on top of it.  The office I go to is kind of sad and dreary and a little unorganized. I usually have to wait about 45 minutes past my appointment time. The woman who does my mammogram is lovely, but speaks very fast in a dialect that’s quite hard to understand. She pushes and prods my boobs with no apology or explanation, checks her computer and starts again on the other boob. I always leave feeling cold, bewildered and odd.

Today I walked into the same space, but it was a bit cheerier and cleaner, and the new ladies at the front seemed very helpful and incredibly organized. The old office has been taken over, and it’s a whole new regime.  I filled out paperwork, and was sent back at exactly my appointment time.  I changed and walked into the FREEZING mammogram room. (I know they keep it that way to protect the equipment, I just find it funny). The two technicians debated on whether to use the small or large plate, one of them even walking over to look at my chest.  “Big?  You think? I’d go with the small, but let’s do big”.  Nice.  I haven’t had “big” in a sentence about my boobs since I stopped breast feeding.

So now this perky, sweet, blonde tech takes my right breast and places it on the metal plate, Read more