Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

The Boobie Chronicles: My First Mammogram, Daisy Pasties, and Ms. Nippy Fingertips

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As promised, this week, I’m thrilled to welcome Marrie Lobel in this, her sophomore installment as guest-contributor.  Her blog, Dirty in Public, is one of my personal favorites. I’ve enjoyed reading her posts over the last year or so, and I’m excited to host her once again.  Please read, enjoy, “Share” (hit the share button and post it everywhere) and Tweet about this little piece. Let’s show Marrie just how much we appreciate intelligent, articulate writing here – even if it is ever so mischievous.

And so, without further adieu, I present to you “The Boobie Chronicles: My First Mammogram, Daisy Pasties, and Ms. Nippy Fingertips.”

xoxo

Ms. Cheevious
, Editor in(Mis) Chief

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As you know October was Breast Cancer Awareness month, and this being my 40th year, I was honored {not, really} to be a part of the month long celebration by having my first mammogram. I admit that I suffered a painful pang in the pit of my stomach when I was informed that I was due for my first mammogram; the pang? How can I be due for a mammogram? I’m too young. After all, I’m not a member of any garden club and don’t own a single ornate red hat. That morning I woke up, got dressed and envisioned a large red feathered hat on my head when I did my final glance in the mirror before setting off to the doctor’s office.

Shortly after signing in, I was called and escorted into the back, where the latest in medical fashion awaited me. I undressed and slipped into the oversized, fashion faux-pas {with the opening in the front, of course} and stood there waiting for the tech to come back while being stared down by a large menacing machine from the corner of the room. After a brief wait the technician came in and greeted me warmly; which contrasted the temperature in the room. As she gave me the cliff notes on how the examination was to unfold it occurred to me that she has seen more boobies than most men ever will in their lives. The odd contemplation that danced in my head suddenly blossomed into insecurity. I began to shrug my shoulders with uneasiness at my internal awkwardness. What if my tata’s didn’t measure up? It’s one thing to be assessed by a man; it’s another to be by a certified boobie specialist…who happens to be a woman with a nice rack of her own! It was then that things got interesting.

The tata expert handed me two small daisy print band-aids and asked me to place them over my nipples. They were adorable and I decided immediately that I needed to snag a stack for my personal amusement. I had always wanted to try pasties but had never imagined that my first time would be initiated by a woman in Bettie Boop scrubs.

daisy pasties

Once the daisy adhesive body art was affixed properly, the tata aficionado placed her hand on the small of my back as she nudged me closer to the machine that had been glaring at me in a domineering manner since the moment I entered the room. Without further small talk or even a drink, I found my right breast being tenderly grasped; her nippy fingertips flipping and fondling me into position. The funny thing is I remember looking at my boob in her hand and noticing how it looked like a glob of silly goo. Between the nippy fingertips, the daisy pasties, and my goo boob it was immediately obvious that for the first time in my life my breasts were being man-handled and there was absolutely nothing sexy about it! Ms. Nippy Fingertips sweet-talked her way through the examination, attempting to ease my physical discomfort and my emotional unease. Not that any kind words can really make the sensation of your breast being pulled then flattened within a few centimeters of busting pleasant. Suddenly, without warning, Ms. Nippy Fingertips flipped the lights on bright and said I could get dressed.

What? No cuddling? No, “Was it good for you?”  Just like man…oh, wait! Nevermind.

Because Ms. Nippy Fingertips and Dr. Tata wanted to ensure my first mammogram was a memorable one-I had to immediately go through it all again; this time with the added bonus of an ultrasound. The results from my initial x-rays found something “unusual”. Now, I like being different but this is the one time when a simple; “You’re normal”, would have been just fine by me.

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Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Like some twisted Groundhog Day, I repeated all the steps, daisy pasties and all. The small talk and examination narrative were reduced to simple you-know-the-drill directives. This time all the real action happened in the back room. Still  looking hot in my hospital gown, I was funneled through the back door into another room where an exam table, dimmed mood lighting, and cold lubricant jelly waited for me. An attractive, chit-chatty woman with a bright pink lab coat suggested I flop onto the table and relax awhile. Before I knew it I was dolling dating advice with my breasts glistening with lubricant while being massaged with an ultrasound wand. I know it sounds like some twisted porn set-up but that’s just how I roll. Just me, the pink lady, and my daisy pasties had good times that day. As for the examination, I was relieved to hear that I was “normal” in an abnormal way and with that the green light was given.

As I removed the lube from my boobies I realized that a new chapter in my boobie chronicles had just closed; leaving my boobies free to wave in good health and laughter. Although I’m not quite ready to join the Red Hat Society or a garden club, I do carry the memory of my first mammogram experience as a rite of passage and my stack of pasties as a spirited memento.

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Tune in next time for a post of my secret divining…

Love you people!  Mmmmppphhhuuuhhh!!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

Editor in [Mis]Chief

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Blog content copyright 2012, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious.

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MarrieLobel


ABOUT MARRIE LOBEL

Marrie is a Geekalicious NorCal Betty masquerading opinions about dating, sex & relationships as fact through dirty talk & wicked rants. You can read more on her personal blog, Dirty In Public and on Singles Warehouse where she is an #SWEXPERT contributor.

MORE WAYS TO FIND MARRIE

Website: www.DirtyInPublic.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/DirtyInPublic @DirtyInPublic

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DirtyInPublic

My Life in Real Time, A.B.E.

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This past week my life became divided into two eras (think, “2000 B.C.” or if you ascribe to the other label, “2000 BCE” and “2012 A.D.”).

I chose to be defined by my most recent surgeries, and the “eras” in my life were humorously labeled Before the Boobie Era (B.B.E.) and After the Boobie Era (A.B.E.). Today I’m going to share my life in real time, A.B.E.

The era titles are all part of a master plan, of course… a Ms. Cheevious, fun way of bringing attention to October and Breast Cancer Awareness Month (and in honor of my sister Mimi Larimore, who lost her battle with Ovarian Cancer – something that is typically related, genetically).

I actually wrote/talked about the creation of these two eras, and shared a special edition comical v-log about it this week on Singles Warehouse. It was a lighthearted glimpse into my life  and a couple of reasons the two eras came to be… (that post is here and you may need it after reading this one — OY: http://www.singleswarehouse.co.uk/2012/10/before-the-boobie-era-bbe/).

But shit just got really “real” for me tonight.  I can wax Ms. Cheevious (empowered, frivolous, free-spirited) all I want, but if someone brings the shit to me, well they’re gonna’ get Ms. Cheevious with a whole boat load of Lisa J. backing her up.

Just keep reading.

Every single one of us moves through our lives in our own space and time.  We know when we feel good, fulfilled…happy, and when we do not. We set our goals in life based on the memory of those feelings and the desire to be in that good, fulfilled… happy state for ourselves, our children, our lives.  I’m talking about our persons people.  We know when we like who we are, and when we don’t. We set goals for who we want to “be” (and all that entails).

We become focused on these goals… chipping slowly away at achieving them, unrelentingly.  And along that little path, the compulsion to continue the pursuit remains, even if out of balance, while the tendency to aggrandize and justify our sometimes too-fervent efforts (as altruistic and pure … for the good of ourselves, our children and our loved ones) rises up within us at every “thought” or every “someone” who would question our uber-focus toward our goals.. desires… even our efforts. Hopefully as we move along the path, we correct any present imbalance and move back to center, still focused on the prize.

Though this path of focus and sometime achievement often provides us obstacles of either our own design, or of those we meet on the path… seldom do our movements provide a crystal clear glimpse of their affect on our loved ones.

It’s no matter if determination is our sword (as it is mine) and humor and frivolity our shield (that’s mine too).  Nothing dooms the work of the sword so fast, at least in my case, as the verbal declaration of my own son of his embarrassment at the thought of being known as the son of Ms. Cheevious. His life’s dread is for his friends to connect him to “her.”

Yes. Here the happy-go-lucky “I” was, and moving through my life, chipping away at my goals, enjoying every moment… when my adult son, who is part and parcel to the journey (one of the very reasons behind the compulsion to achieve goals, to relentlessly chip away at them for the good of “him”… of “them”), made it clear he does not want to be associated in any way with the Ms. Cheevious side of me. Something about guys and the way they think, and the fact his mom is attractive, single and in her forties, or some such story… that is all he could offer to explain. He obviously knows nothing of Ms. Cheevious…

I could spend my entire life or certainly the rest of this article analyzing this. I could die trying to make sense of why on earth a website moniker, even a persona that is rooted in LIVING LIFE POSITIVELY, having FUN, the PURSUIT OF DREAMS, the PURSUIT OF AUTHENTICITY and THE EMPOWERMENT OF WOMEN would embarrass anyone.  I could also chalk it up to insecurity… or ignorance.  That he simply doesn’t know what it’s all about, who I am or who Ms. Cheevious is. That he’s basing it purely on what he “thinks” the name means, which is ridiculous.

But I won’t do that. I’d be making his same mistake.  I don’t know the depths of his reasoning. And he has his own journey. He has to choose his own sword and shield, and if they inhibit his ability to “allow” all around him to “be” who they want to be, including me… well… I cannot help him. I can only be….well, me.

I am pretty damn good at analyzing my own shit, especially if I go deep, but I don’t ever get very far attempting to analyze anyone else’s, so I’ll spare you.  All I can do is respond, assimilate, absorb and continue.  I love both of my sons. I love all of my loved ones.  I accept them for whomever they choose to be… even if who they choose to be doesn’t allow for me, as I choose to be.

And so, it is in the here and now, in real time, that I’ll spell it out for you. This is where the shit gets real:

Dammit all, but life is not what we expect.  It doesn’t come to us in the pretty package we love, that is easy to handle and comfortable for us to “live” in.  Life comes to us with a bunch of loose tools, nuts, bolts and moving parts (some with a will of their own), and we attempt to put it all together without an instruction manual.

The fact is, I am Lisa J. Davis.  I am Ms. Cheevious. Ms. Cheevious is everything I truly am and I am everything she could ever hope to be… Fun-loving, free-spirited, thoughtful, energetic, intelligent, fearless, fierce, loving, kind, giving and MOTIVATED beyond belief.  All of these traits (and so many more) are the essence of me… and the essence of Ms. Cheevious, and what I hope for any Ms. Cheevious woman.

So, if my son (or any loved one) has deep-rooted beliefs or misunderstandings of what it means to “be” Ms. Cheevious or me, and chooses to take on a fear of association without really knowing what it means… well, that, my lovely boys and girls is truly and quite simply their choice.

That’s it? That’s where the shit gets real?

Why… yes! And that is a friggin’ EPIPHANY people!  That choice is what makes those loved ones who “they” are. And I choose to allow them to “be.” To sit with that.  I may ache for a bit over their choice, knowing there is so much more that could set them free if they only tried to see beyond their paradigm…  that there is so much more we could share and love and live together, if they only could see… I can hurt for the rejection.  But I also love them without attachment. I love my son for everything that he is, for the life he is building with his tools, nuts, bolts, willful moving parts… and with no instruction manual. I love seeing what’s coming out of his life. It thrills me, warms my heart, makes me laugh, cry and shine with pride. And I will continue to do so.

But this is my life, my friends, in real time. I am Ms. Cheevious, and I always will be.

Before the Boobie Era, After the Boobie Era, come rain, shine, sickness, surgery, health, love, loss … I am very happy in my own skin. I am glad for my life, for who I am, and I look forward to the next adventure.

Bring it… because I am sticking around…


Image Credit: http://www.thinknice.com/cute-inspirational-pinup-quotes/

Now go out there and be just who you are, come hell or high water.

“Believe in Yourself & all that you are. Know there is something inside you that is greater than any obstacle.” – Christian D. Larson Quote

Love you people!!!! Mmmpphhhuuuhhh!!!!

xoxo,

Lisa Jey Davis

aka Ms. Cheevious

Editor in [Mis] Chief

Before You Go:

Please post on Facebook or tweet the below statement, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month:

SAVE.YOUR.LIFE. If relatives suffered Ovarian or Breast cancer, GET THE GENETIC SCREENING. #BRCA #BreastCancerAwareness @MsCheevious

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Other articles you may enjoy from Ms. Cheevious:

Before the Boobie Era (BBE) (On Singles Warehouse)

Lack of attention to her boyfriend spurs Lisa Jey’s creation of a new era! (Read More)

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Why I’m Glad I’m a Woman – And You Should Be Too

 

I’m fairly confident I could write an equally flattering post on how wonderful it is to be a man; however I’m not one. It’s great to be a chick. (READ MORE)

 

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All Blog content copyright 2012, LISA JEY DAVIS aka Ms. Cheevious