ADRIENNE'S HIV BLOG – Hivine's Weblog

HIVINE is written by HIV positive women but still with a sense of humour

Archive for September, 2010

Bottoms Up!

If you are following me on twitter and if not why not – I will quickly rephrase that to if not please do because I want to be like Raelt the American woman and HIV Diva who is raising awareness through her constant tweeting and now has a huge following, whereas I only have 27 followers (pathetic and worse embarrassing).

Anyway, if perchance you are, you will have noticed that I was stuck in Liverpool on the eve of my sixty first birthday, no less, at John Lennon airport, waiting for Ryan Air to deliver my son safely back from his hols in Ibiza. As it turned out the delay wasn’t the fault of good ol’ Ryan Air as I previously suggested, it was the pesky French refusing to let anyone pass through their air space.

During the three long hours I was forced to endure anxiously waiting, I had no other option than to repose on a selection of very hard chairs, which reminded me yet again of my favourite HIV gripe of why do the HIV meds strip us HIV positive women of our precious bottoms? We need our bottoms, men and women, for various reasons and perhaps some best not to go into, but most of all we need them to sit on. Without a reasonably padded bottom, sitting can become an uncomfortable, painful and as in my case last night, extremely torturous business.

There are solutions to this as I have mentioned before, for example some of my positive African girl friends have invested in a bottom enhancer. According to an article on an old BBC News page a national dance craze on the Ivory Coast spawned a black market in bottom enhancers and painful sounding treatments such as injecting the buttocks with vitamin B12. The dance itself the Babaraba, which means big bottom, was inspired by DJ Eloh’s hit song of the same name. African footballers have since adopted the moves and that is why they can often be seen to be engaged in a curious on-pitch dance after each goal scored.

I do hope it doesn’t catch on here like the vuvuzela, which sounds like a rude word for women’s parts, as the thought of Wayne Rooney wiggling his babaraba is enough to make me feel physically quite sick.

If like me you don’t fancy the thought of injecting your babaraba (Ba ba ba babaraba Ann) or cannot afford to invest in a bottom enhancer, I suppose a couple of scatter cushions stuffed down your jeans might do the trick, a bit like when men used to stuff socks down their flies (or a banana) to give them the appearance of being well endowed, or a cut off hosepipe in some cases (as opposed to a sawn off shotgun!) – or even an entire hosepipe if the man really wanted to impress.

“Is that an entire hosepipe from B&Q in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

The more enterprising amongst us could stitch some extra padding into our knickers, or a few old past their sell by elastically challenged socks or knickers if you fancy the more natural appearance, a bit like stuffing a tired old sofa or sagging armchair. If you are concerned that the dreaded meds might be stripping you of your rightful bottom, you can try the following test. This involves sitting on a leather sofa (if you haven’t got one head off to DFS who according to their continuous adverts are practically giving them away) and if you leave two pointed indents in your wake, you know that this is sadly the case. Women or men who are not positive will be curling their lips at this juncture and snarling, I should be so lucky. But rejoice in your big bottoms I say, as us positive bottomless women and men hold nothing but envy for you.

Songs have been written about big bottoms, by Queen for example, or the aforementioned Ba Ba Baraba Ann by the Beach Boys, or the clever play on words by ‘Spinal Tap’ in their song ‘Big bottom’ – Big bottom, big bottom, drive me out of my mind, how could I leave this behind? I wonder if they also wrote the famous classic, “Everyone needs a bottom for a pillow” – or maybe that was a bosom?

There are a multitude of products available on the market if you want to inspire pop bands, DJ’s and rappers to write a song about your bottom – the list is seemingly endless, for example you can purchase, Butt Lifters, Booty Pads and Buttock Enhancers and if that is not enough to tempt you on Amazon, you can order the ‘Bitty Bum Padded Hipster Panty’ or the ‘Better Bottom Padded Panty.’ During my research I came across this –

“Hey pancakes.”

Who me?

“Yes, you, woman with the flat bum – you look like you could do with a lift, am I right? Why not try padded pants to give your scrawny heinie a boost.”

My scrawny what?

“The LoveMyBuns padded boy shorts come with foam butt pads to give you a booty Jlo would envy.”

I always wondered what a booty was. Booty for me was always something robbers stashed in their shoulder sacks.

But men and robbers, there is no need to feel left out because Aussiebum (yes, that’s their real name) have come up with the Wondercup – described as the wonder bra of men’s swimwear. Please bear in mind that this is the same company who invented nutritious underwear incorporating vitamin enriched ingredients which remain active for 15 washes and can be reactivated – although they didn’t say how. “What’s fascinating about this technology are the potential enrichments; think caffeine, nicotine or Viagra, the possibilities are endless.”

Hmmm – bet they are.

Then there’s the Bra for your Bum – Sweet Cheeks. Or the be all and end all of bras, lingerie maker Triumph in Japan have come up with the solar powered bra, which features a waist mounted solar panel that can be used to power an electric billboard or any other electric device on the chest. A toaster perhaps for your currant buns? It also boasts features to enhance the bust size and to top it all, the bra has a pair of reusable drink containers attached to the cups. Great for all the binge drinkers and ladettes out there to carry their pints of lager around from pub to pub. Triumph are hoping the bra will inspire to people to think about global warming.

If you are a green thinker how about some edible support in the form of the cabbage bra designed by the artist Edith Zinnerman, which you could also eat after wearing, or chop up and add to a nourishing broth or stew.

Anyway, that’s enough about bras and bottoms for one day and wonder bottom or no wonder bottom, I’ve had a lovely birthday – so wonder bottoms up, keep shaking your babaraba and have a drink for me.

I Like to Move it Move it!

Off we go again, time to move on.
The summer for what it was, or wasn’t, is over, autumn is almost upon us and the nights are drawing in. And don’t you just hate it. I know I do. Off with the Asda ‘Romanesque’ sandals and painted toe nails (off with her toes and feed them to the lions!) and back on with the bloody boots and wellies.
Change is supposed to be good for us, a change is as good as a rest – well, who decided that I want to know? There is nothing whatsoever restful about change as far as I can see. Change unsettles me, makes me nervous and at this time of year its happening all around me. Added to which Thrivine our local support group for which I am Chair changed rooms on Saturday.

This was no mean feat, I can tell you, as we have collected an abundance of accoutrements over the last year including heavy desks, filing cabinets and other chairs (apart from me) which all had to be carted down the stairs by some of our more able bodied members.

Our new room in the interest of economy is much smaller, but has the added advantage of lots of cupboards and not only one sink but two. This is the height of luxury for us, but as we still don’t know if we have funding for the coming year, it might have been a bit premature to change rooms. Maybe we should have just packed up and called it a day, which leads me nicely on to the new Thrivine phone, which is also a 24hr helpline. My old ‘Hello Moto’ now classed as an antique, was simply not up to the job and things like sending group texts was beyond its (or my) capabilities. Unlike me it didn’t have a blue tooth in its head, or an app in its entire body and like me, didn’t even know was an app was.

Planet of the apps – and talking of planets, you have to keep up with this fast moving world so I’m currently trying to do just that with this new phone. But somehow along the way I managed to download, ‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag’, instead of the dialling tone for when someone is ringing me, so anyone who calls me now will get that blasting in their ear hole whilst waiting for me to pick up the phone, which could take a while as I still have a problem answering it. I swipe away at the screen then the caller disappears or I tap the mute button by mistake and no one can hear me. It’s far too sensitive an instrument for the likes of me.

Don’t tell anybody will you, but I don’t know how to get rid of it and what’s worse, it’s costing me a pound a month. What if it’s an emergency and the caller is traumatised, they are going to hang up before they start, or worse hate me. I’m already guilty of harassing the long suffering members of Thrivine, who I now pester with my group texts or with my mad brainwaves like some kind of bossy HIV mother, or maybe it should be HIV granny as I am the oldest, albeit not necessarily by any means the wisest. Therefore my role as Chair should really be rocking chair – hopefully as in I still rock as opposed to not.

The new room is great and we soon settled in, although there was some dispute about the positioning of the furniture and what should stay and what should go. I am a clutterer by nature but my colleague Chi Ko, being Chinese, of course insisted on everything being arranged according to the rules of feng shui. Someone misheard him and thought he said French wee, so the room now has to be organised with the best French wee in mind – although we would have preferred French wine to be honest, especially the ladies. With that thought in mind we decided to introduce to our support services a women’s wine night, a bit like loose women – although the men, pissed off at being left out, said being all women it would be more of a whining night.

So yes, some changes are definitely for the good; changing rooms, the change of life – the change of husband if needs be, not to mention change of knickers whether needs be or not, in the interests of general hygiene. Unfortunately HIV is not a pair of knickers and our mothers would probably state the obvious and say that if only we’d kept them on etc. but I think I’ve mentioned that before. Some good things can come out of being positive though and for me it is our group and the whole bonding together against adversity process. You should have seen us, we worked together ‘changing rooms’ like a smoothly oiled wheel – well, there were a few creaks and grinds, the odd exhaust pipe dropped off, or big end (as in mine) packed in.

Cars, like people, have numerous parts, but unfortunately people can’t carry spare parts in their boots, or their wellies, for when some erring body part packs in. Car parts have some very peculiar names, don’t they? We all know about gaskets, shock absorbers and carburettors, even if we don’t know where they are or what they do, but do you know that cars also have wishbones, engine cradles and poppet valves – how sweet! But as for catalytic converters, bleed nipples and exhaust flanges (better not go there) or Stub axle who sounds like the lead singer of a heavy metal band or a friend of Ozzy Osbourne.

Researching cars and their peculiarly named parts, I discovered that we should all really be driving hybrid cars. Like apps and blue teeth I wasn’t quite sure what a hybrid car was, so I looked it up on wikipedia.

  “Many people have owned a hybrid vehicle at some point, for example a mo-ped is a type of hybrid because it combines the power of a gasoline engine with the pedal power of the rider.”

Is that like in the Flintstones? Perhaps I should knock a few holes in the floor of my old Mondeo (another antique Hello Moto) and start running in to town – literally. Although according to Rocket man from my local garage who somehow manages to get it through its MOT every year, it might just as well be from the Stone Age as its now twelve years old, which is pre historic in car terms and probably ready to be put to sleep.

Talking of sleep I must get to bed. With this new phone I can actually tweet in bed. Twittering in bed is a disgusting habit, although not exactly new, my ex husband accused me of twittering on years ago. I must put a stop to it I suppose, but like all things bad for you it helps me to relax. Anyway, it’s a good way to promote Thrivine and this blog, well, that’s my excuse. I keep tweeting Stephen Fry but he hasn’t tweeted back as yet. I even dreamt that I was doing the tango with him the other night, although what that’s got to do with anything I do not know.

Anyway, must move on, onwards and upwards as the actress said to the bishop. Maybe I should move my bed whilst I’m at it? It might not be in the best French wee position, or maybe I just shouldn’t drink so much of it before I go to bed, then I wouldn’t have to get up so often in the night.