Snuggle up and give it a kiss

We have 2 new members in my little family. Their names are George and Kelly. They both have six legs and mandables that Bruce Campbell would be jealous of. They're big and black and shiny. They're beetles. My Boy put his name in a raffle where the prizes were 5 crawdaddys. He won. however one died last night. The other winners got to them first, so instead of having one large crawdaddy, we are blessed with 2 large beetles.

I can hear the eeewwws from Johnson County.

I'm glad to have these things instead of the other. And it's not because it grosses out grandma either. I already have one tank of watery life. I don't need another. Now I have this terrarium thing that completely encloses the lifeforms inside, AND I don't have to buy food. I just have to supply tree bark and water, and since we live next to a forest....wood smorgasborg! Cheap and contained! Slightly gross for the old folks. What more can I ask out of a new pet and habitat?

Hell Yah! to all and to all a good night!

I went to another Christmas party one night after the Goddess Christmas party. I'm tired. I'm getting old. I'm alive, and thankfully I'm still learning about myself and others. Like this: Goddesses are WOMEN! The girls at this last party are just that girls. Young and immature even for their ages. Almost all are English majors. Some seriously ruin the sexy librarian fantasy.

I learned a few things last night.
1. Virgin 26 YO who is afraid of sex and/or intimacy will seem infinitely more immature than Fiddler 26 YO who enjoys both of those things.
2. Virgin 26 YO wears Big Boob shirts but runs from sexy little Adrian Brody lookalike!???!
3. Knitting at a drinking party should be banned. It's too dangerous and a bit of a wet blanket.
4. My 15 year highschool reunion is next year.
5. That makes me an "adult".
6. I had to sit in the "adult" room where the 20 somethings were afraid to go. Kinda like their sex fear but funnier.
7. I am soooo glad I'm an "adult". I'm not afraid of sex. I'm not afraid of intimacy. I've been that way since teenage years.
8. Dancing should not be a thin cover up of a taught phobia.
9. Grumpy-pusses should not go to Christmas parties. They kill the holiday frivolity with their smelling of pooh everywhere they look. Go home, take laxative, blow your nose, and watch that stupid romantic comedy.
10. Fuck your idea of looks and age. Your gorgeous and everyone knows it! So let it hang out and jiggle those Christmas Tits!

Not all of the girls are prude. Some are seriously "I don't remember his name but his tatoo is cool". Ah, youth. They'll figure it out. Until then they'll run towards bad or away from good. Some will just run until their prince comes and they get married and never have to worry about life/love again.

Oh, wait. Sorry, that was mean. Back to Christmas Spirit and all that.

I just love being an adult (like I'm really that smart about relationships). While I saw 2 good friends from highschool and one great woman (Fiddler 26 YO), I still missed you grown up, gorgeous, intelligent, sassy fucking women that I celebrated with on Monday!

I heart yous!

Warning: mood swing

I woke up with the Shitty Life Blues this morning. Actually I went to bed with them. Blah. It took a full half hour sitting in the bathtub breathing and thinking before I remembered something small that lifted my spirits and energy level.

I am alive.

I have wonderful blessings in my life. I know and am loved by wonderful people. I get bored and amused easily. That keeps things interesting. Guess life can't be too crappy when you're fed, clothed, sheltered, loved, and needed.
not to mention breathing.

Can't wait for the Christmas party. See you all there!

Poisoned Bechemal

I love my mother, but she's crazy. She's making me crazy. She's made all my brothers crazy. And their wives and old girlfriends. My old boyfriends and PA would be inlcuded in that too.

I had dinner with her and the kiddos on Friday night. Her persistent whining and nagging prompted me to take her to a restaurant that I knew had great food, but had "elements" I knew she would find disturbing. We went to a Palestinian owned place. Muslim Palestinian not Christian. I have to make the distinction here because it's a small but important difference in that culture that I don't believe she knows about. She would be happy if they were all wiped off the planet so the Isrealis could take over completely thus expediating a jesus cameo.

Ok. Back to the story.

They (the restaurant) know me there and proceeded to give me my usual table. A family came in behind us. The regular "salaam" greeting between the host and the family followed while my mother looked on with apparant disgust that over the course of the evening grew into outright fear. I sat quietly giggling inside. I know, it's a sick humor that I have, but she's silly.

She kept staring at the family and the waitstaff and the decorations. Ooo. She was angered by a poster about Jerusalem that hung near our table. How dare they! I guess she forgot that these people lived there before the Jews and consider it just as holy, and she doesn't understand that it's a type of protection in very conservative predominantly Christian county.

I'm going back to the fear topic. She didn't look afraid just hateful, but I noticed she whispered "Praise Jesus. Thank you Jesus." while we waited for our food, she asked about the owner, about the arabic grocery store 2 doors down, whether or not they were jewish or muslim, and if that building down the street was a post office. I answered her Q's best I could and then ended it with a "Mom, there's the police station right across the street. You're safe." "Am I?" was her retort. Wow. If we were in Nazi Germany she would have been acting like this towards Jews. When the food came she picked it all apart and refused to eat anything that had a sauce on it.

I'm sorry, but all her actions stink of paranoia. Like she thinks they were trying to poison her or trick her mind with some muslim potion.

All these sides to the Great Human Drama, and I only get to view just this side. People people people. What are we to do with you?

Some traditions are best left behind

Last night I almost felt that holiday cheer I keep hearing about. You know the one that consists of sugar plum fairies, bright shiny packages, and cut down trees. It takes great while for that Christmasy feeling to enter my crusty soul. It almost got there. I wrapped presents, and that usually puts me in the mood. The problem was I wanted the kids to experience a KC Christmas, so we went to Crown Center and the Plaza.

Don't ever do this on a Saturday night. I knew it was going to be bad when the traffic around that area was clogged worse than my pooper mid-chemo. Crown Center was packed, and I had no liquor to calm my anti-social, anti-ultra-American-Consumerism tendencies.

Not only the crowd bothered my sensitive nerves. There is a ginormous Christmas cone thing that dangles from the ceiling. What could possibly be more Christmasy than a 2 ton tree covered with ornaments hovering menacingly over your head as you eat? It reminded me of the pressure to make every Christmas the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. Do it or the tree will smash you flatter than crepe suzette. Merry Christmas.

We escaped there with only candy. That was good. However leaving the place was about as painful as pooping mid-chemo. It took ten full minutes to exit the parking garage. I'm claustrophobic. I hate parking garages especially ones made before my time on this planet and are made for people shorter than 5 ft tall.

Now it's 7:17 pm. It takes maybe ten minutes to get from Crown Center to the Blahza if you hit every light imaginable. We got there at 7:49 pm. Every fucking Christmas fanatic was out there doing the exact same thing. And on top of it a few morons were causing wrecks to slow up the hell of driving thru The Blahza even more. Another ten minutes and we got away from there with only skirting the outside of The Blahza.

I mentioned I had no liquor, right? The kids were all hopped up on sugar. The sound in the back seat was deafening. Ahh Christmas carols sang by chillins who love 'em but don't know the lyrics.

I'm proud of myself. I cussed other drivers by using only a few profanities. We got home, watched Spongebob, pet the pooch, and I drank a bottle of wine. It ended up good. But I still wish I was Jewish.

Lo, and God will smite thee for thy shoes.

My favorite Mother story involves shoes. Back in the day (college) my mom decided that I needed new shoes , and that she was going to provide them for me. She was generous in that she took me with her so I could pick out my shoes. The story goes like this:

One cold Saturday morning the Judybat and Old Man came out for a parental loving gesture. There was a basketball game going on, so Old Man was more concerned with that instead of the lunacy that followed. This was the time when the Rivermart was a mall and not a hotel. Old Man stayed out in the main hall listening to the game while the Judybat and I looked shoes.

Since I'm an extremely picky lady I slowly walked the store, conscientiously surveying the wares. I came to the Converse section. I love those shoes. Yes, that dates a person, but who cares? I looked for my color (black) and size. Great! My shoes were there. My Mother was dismayed. "Those are men shoes!" "No, look, mom. See? Men's, women's, and European sizes. It's ok. It's unisex."

Big mistake I used the "s" word. My first year at college she noticed a small hickey on my neck and treated me like the whore I was for the entire Christmas break. I think she was just jealous cuz my sexlife was great and interesting. Hers consisted of sex with only one man for a lifetime. YUCK!

Ok. So I walked around the ailse and noticed walking shoes. Great! The walk up KU's hill demands sensible walking shoes. I thought I was being smart, and that she would notice and compliment me on my very mature purchase. No. She was distraught now.

"I don't know what's wrong with kids these days. Girls want to look like boys. Men want to look like women. THAT'S why God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah." Notice the diminutive on the "girl" reference.

"Mother! I do not think that God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah just because I wanted to but these shoes!"

Please understand my volume levels. I started the statement out at a very strained whisper and ended in yelling it. I was also stomping across the store up to the counter and practically threw the shoes on the counter. I ended the tyrade with pointing at the shoes and yelling "I want to buy THESE shoes!" at the poor cashier. The entire store was staring at me and my Mother. She would not look up she just kept her head down and whispered over and over, "Just shut up. Just shut up."

I love that story. I have many, many, many more. It's kinda funny. She thought I was sleeping with everything. She probably thought I was doing things non-human. I wonder at what people were telling her about the dormitory I lived. You know all the orgies and drug parties. Well, ok. We did have those, but we were kids and no one got hurt. I wonder if she thought I had turned gay. I had been accused of that by straight and gay because of wearing things such as sensible shoes. I made many lesbians angry because I wasn't gay. False advertisement. I guess. I love ambiguity. It messes with people.

INCONCLUSIVE Hairy Santa Fun

"Inconclusive" is what doctor # 7 said about the bubble on my neck. I was worried both doctors # 6 and # 7 were going to have to operate on me at the same time. However, he's going to check me out in a month. That seems like an eternity to me that I know will go in a flash. I'm beginning to hate doctors. I already hate hospitals.

On the lighter side of things...I love my hair. Thank you, Bertha, for the wonderful color! You deserve an Oprah moment on the subject of female social hubs, connections, support, and friendship.

Santa Claus! I'm trying to get a very kid friendly party together complete with a St. Nick. I think it will be at LuLu's, that infamous home of The King and absolutely perfect place for any gathering of women with their kids. Anyhoo...It will be on Friday the 22nd. We haven't discussed time. There will be little gifty baggy things for the youngsters, and some spirits for the Goddesses and any Humble Servants that might want to attend. POTLUCK! Bring yummies. I adore any holiday cookie things with jam, but you can make what you will. I do have one stipulation though. No Gizzards! You know who I'm talking to, Rosie.

I sent an email out, but I don't have some folk's email, so here you are. The invite's out on the wide world of net. Since there's items to be distributed, please email either myself or Lu with your RSVP. And a Jolly Chrishanakwanztivus to everyone of us!

The love of money is the root of all evil. Or was that just love?

After a tiring day I come home to no lights and house sans everyone else. Yea! A night free of pestering old people and whiny young people. Say "hello" to my dog and proceed to look for my mail. Something shiny catches my eye and I investigate.

It appears to be a plastic gold coin with words and images on it. The side I see first has a dove with "peace, love, good will"....good liberal hippy shit. I flip it over. There's a picture of a person with the words "David slew Goliath". hunh? I flip it over "peace, love, good will". I flip it over "David slew Goliath".

I didn't read it wrong. It said that. It got me to thinking about the absurd "reality" in which my old folks live. The one where hate and destruction = divine love only a male desert god could provide. However my contemplation doesn't rest there, so I sit here still contemplating it. I turn the phrases over in my head. There are so many meanings that you can read into. But I can't escape the origin of the thing and that clouds whatever good message I could possibly get out of it.

The coin comes from their church as a way to entice young hapless victims into their belief system. Their church is very much a Fundamentalist/Zionist church where they're giddy for the destruction of the MidEast and the return of their Lord and the rapture (of course). Get them with promises of love and then burn hate into their little minds. Then call it good.

I just find the coincidence and irony of the object fascinating. While I was revulsing (is that a word?) in the monetary attempt at washing my children's brains and hearts, the JudyBat called home, screaming at me to deliver it and other fake church money to her church or risk never receiving any help from her ever again. I kid not about this. She actually threatened that.

I feel like the sane cityslicker from Green Acres that has to put up with low educated, bumpkin, crazies. I'm going for a glass of w(h)ine. Goodnight.

MidwesternCountryUrbanLiberalWoman. Pass her a gin and tonic and a PBR. She wants to salsa

I was a thespian in a rural highschool but not a very good one. I don't like performing in front of people unless I'm kindy tipsy. My bestfriend in highschool was one too, but he was much better. We spent our times in arthouse cinemas, bookstores, and at improv shows. Lastnight was a lot like those times of yore except he was driving and we ended up getting sloshed with youngsters (20somethings).

We started the night in KC at a Christmas musical version of Carrie done in drag. I had at least 3 drinks by the time we left there. I had one before we left his place. I think that was the only way I could sit through the entire thing without getting bored. I think the majority of the audience not related to the troupe felt the same way considering the lines to the restrooms during the intermission. Like all venues the ladies' room was way too small without an adequate number stalls. I decided that since I technically have only one tit and hair shorter than most guys that I could go into the gent's room. Kinda manish, kinda womanish. I love the laidback attitude towards sex and expression that culture has. I made three flaming guys giggle when I informed them of my revelation and physical landscape. The show had both male and females drag performers, so I'm guessing the assumption in the small venue was that I was either butch dike or semi-drag boy. ahh, sexual ambiguity!

The next stop couldn't have been further away from that sub-culture. We went to a small blue-collar, redneck bar in Merriam where we met up with a bunch of younger absolutely delightful 20-26 year olds. The best singers in the bar where these large women who sat in an unhappy pack until they'd get up and belt out with passion that the queens at the last place would have been jealous of. Yes, I ended a sentence with "of", Gypsy. After dancing, karoake, lastcall, and finding delight with the fact that I was the oldest woman in group with the most men and boys (11 years younger than me) hitting on me, we took off for more dancing at the big big gay bar in KC. I'm not homopobic, but I hate hate hate gay dance music! There is no soul! Just boom boom boom. Read thrust thrust thrust. Read I want to swing my hips and spin in circles! That was not going to happen with that music.

After that we ended up in a Mexican restaurant till the wee hours of the morning. That restuarant is my absolute fav in Mexican cuisine! They have the only Haurache in town, the best Al Pastor I've had anywhere, and you can see little kids even uptil 11 pm. Even there we were accepted by the overly maked-uped and fantastically dressed crowd. My only beef with them and all Mexican places is that they don't serve hot tea. That and for some reason my girlfriend's boyfriend (he works there) kept putting on that horrible song that repeats "you're beautiful" over and over and over. three times. annoying. I'm going to have to talk to her about her choices in sappy men.

So. My conclusion is...I love my upbringing for certain things. My family was working class with a tinge of middleclass. we lived in the country, and they were very conservative and religious. However! As soon as I got my car, my friends and I headed for Midtown and Lawrence to broaden our experiences. So. Now I can easily go in a lot of different societies and do fine. Well, I do prefer not to be around conservative types, but, hey, I can chameleon my ass in them for a few minutes at a time before my "uniquenesses" show up.

Crazy Lady's Pre-Holiday Musings

I have too many reasons to be thankful. PinkZilla and the lack of cancer are on the top of that list. I have a lot, but I want to save them for my chillins to hear. Plus I think it's holiday cheese.

I have 2 requests for this season. Time and Space. I have things to get done if I'm going to become a woman with no regrets. I'm getting there slowly.

I'm experiencing feelings that I have only felt while premenstrual. That leads me to the conclusion that I must be going crazy, but at least I'm getting things done. These things are awful and only done during those times. Things like (ick) housecleaning and checkbook balancing. My poor Frankenstien Artmuse is being neglected because of the holiday cleaning frenzy. I can hear her crying in the backroom.

Am I maturinng or just hormonal? I feel like I'm on coke half the time and the other half I feel like I'm on valium. I'm not on anything but a hormone blocking drug, and I'm drinking only one cup of coffee and only one beer daily. These energy swings are why I think I appear crazy to everyone who doesn't know me....well, maybe to those who know me too. I just hope I can control the moodswingin' when Thursday hits and my family and my brother's wife's family come over for dinner.

I am hormonal, but I can tell that I'm maturing. I willfully bought loose jeans. I'm wearing them right now. My ass is covered and the seams don't look like they'll rip at any moment. Eeesh mom pants. I swear though, I will never be the mom that wears pumpkin sweaters, moose sweatshirts, pinetree blouses, pleated light blue (not faded) jeans, or tan (not cargo) slacks. If I do, I give you Goddesses permission to perform a fashion intervention. If that doesn't work try beheading, but after I get my will in place please.

Now on to my behavior disclaimer as if this whole thing hasn't been one until now. Before chemo I had social filters that only worked sporadically, and now they don't seem to be working at all. So if I start beligerently ranting nonsense, please feel free to calm me down. Just say "Hey, Crazy Lady!" and throw something preferably soft at my head. If I say anything ridiculous at all you may throw something at me too. Just make sure I'm not ranting political or social or you might get the thing thrown right back at your head.

Happy Thanksgiving! As you might have guessed this was conceived before Turkeyday. I hope you all had a good one!

Ultra Fancy Body Bubbles

Today I had 2 doctor appointments. I really don't want to see Olathe Med center for awhile. The next time is in 2 weeks. I should be paying rent there. However, there's good news on the boob front. I'm the "January Girl" for this ultra new, ultra fancy tit insert that doctors are for some reason only allowed to give out in small quantities each month.

What makes it fancy is that the custom fit is better than with the regular cc mode (more shapes for each size), there's less of a chance for rippling, and the silicone gel adheres to itself so if any problem arises the goo will stay put clinging to itself inside the tissue envelope that forms around the implant.

January seems like a long time away, but Ha ha! I'm on the December waiting list. So if another doctor in the KC area doesn't need the implant then the person next on the waiting list gets. Unfortunately, there are so many recons going on that it seems unlikely that I'd get it. Hmmm....that many? What the F is going on?

The next thing is about the small bubble residing on my neck. But that's just it. It's just a bubble. Small and annoying but the doctors feel it's benign. After this past summer I don't think it could be C. I had a very very hard time typing that sentence. I don't want to jinx myself.

So happier subjects! Bigger Boob Bubbles, one small thyroid bubble, and one small cold to blow small snot bubbles! I'm estatic!

Whisky List

I originally wanted to comment on Gypsy's blog, but I feel that this will be too long.

Lists. I made one last night after a rather listless night of working on artwork. Wednesdays are my solitude/creativity day, but it wasn't working. I got so frustrated I ended up crying and boohooing my lack of talent and direction. Cry Baby. Cry Baby. Wah wah wah.

The old folks and the kiddos came home from their midweekly brainwashing session at church. And all the tension and anxiety I felt kept building. One kid wanted me to hear him read while the other kept bawling about nobody liked her because noone was paying attention to her. All I wanted was to relax and concentrate on an 8 year old reading some silly story involving cat warriors and their adventures in the forests of where ever. I have to mention the sausage/football creature that serves as a pet trying to simultaneously bite and lick my fingers and nose off during the entire exchange of "Stop touching me!" "Nobody likes me! You hate me!" "Bark!" "Oww!" "Quit it!" "Bark!" Then I'd look around my room and see the surviving confetti of my life that escaped the mass cleaning of the piled up shit that's accumulated since living here. My mood darkened.

It's my fault. I'm a slob, and when I start on project I lose all sense of cleanliness. MUST...DO...ART...UUGH... That's the Frankenstien art monster that lives in my head that serves as a my muse's voice. It's funny. My muse is a creature made of a hodgepodge of bodyparts hastily put together and is the result of an opiate induced literary bet of some repressed Victorians.

Ok. Lists and whisky. After getting the chillins to bed I poured myself a rather tall 3 finger whisky and coke to soothe my frazzled nerves and boost creative juices. Yes. I drink alone. I admit it. Not the point of the story though. I made the list to get a real grasp of what I have been doing and where I am going with this "art". I collected everything within view and jotted down the pieces, numbered them, described them in detail, and named a few. I surprised mysellf. I have 14 projects going. And some are series. None of them are finished. Some are close, but not any where "complete". Artists never feel fully "complete". That's a good thing. It means complacency is no where near. I made a daily schedule to push myself into finishing them, and started on it late last night. We'll see if I actually stick with it.

Like a few others I know, I don't do well with authority or rules even if the authority and rulemaker is me. Damn destructive behavior. I need...(Don't ever tell the Old Folks that I said this!)..some discipline. (heebie jeebies) Hopefully this new trick of keeping lists and notes for my memory will keep me from losing focus and drifting into another project.

Calloo! Callay! I'm clean! I'm clean! 2 doctors gave me 2 clean bills of health. Now on to the next 2!

My primary doctor is awesome. She's 36 and smart and sassy. I love her. She meditates. She's in Johnson County! Olathe! The place that was used as an example of neocon religous assholes successfully overtaking the government on all levels. A friend of mine in Boston read an article about it up there. He called to tell me that he was happy about not being down here. Yet! It was here that I found someone sane!

Another reason why she's delightful...she laughs at jokes like...

This year I've had more people feel up my tits than I've ever had before, and I don't even have a partner!

You gotta love a doctor who can laugh at that.

I love my ex-mother-in-law. I heard that "huhn?". My ex-mother-in-law (Tennessee Tilly to me, Yaya to the kids) has cute little sayings all over her house in the forms of old vintage ads or products and cutesy little crafty crap hung on the walls. She has a few that I love. They make me smile and remember to put the backbone in every morning I wake up. I can't remember them ALL. That's impossible. They're collectors in every sense of the word. I'm just going to give you a few that I like.

Old age and trickery will overcome youth and skill.

Old age isn't for sissies.

The queen is not accepting an audience today.

Drive slow. Let the little shavers grow.

Street girls bringing in sailors must register at the front desk.
This is a real sign issued from Alexandria, VA city commission during WWII and is framed on their wall next to other old posters with the same theme.

As you can imagine. She has a sense of humor perfect for a little old lady who drinks at least 2 whisky-on-the-rocks precisely at 5 everyday. She's constantly sending me silly forwarded emails that should have the trumpet wah wah waah sound effect attached to them, and for some of the other kinds if you listen closely you'll hear the national anthem being played while some poor patriotic sap is wiping snot from their nose.

She rarely helps out or anything, but I'm fine with that because then she doesn't obligate me to anything and that makes our relationship a little more honest. I take that back. She does help. Her help is the same help that she gave me a long time ago when me and PA were teenagers. She's a sanctuary from the Old Folks' Home. She's a hoot but not a good babysitter. (whisky at 5 sharp EVERY night come hell or high water just check out what's in her plastic coke bottle)

Here's to one of the many interesting women in my life!

For this morning's blogging I feel that I should recap my weekend. It was fantastic and eye opening. And at times eye closing followed quickly by another eyeopener. Friday started off interesting. Nothing major expect one huge blow up between me and grandpa regarding my Zilla and some "defiance" that supposedly he was acting upon. Stressful, yes, but I went out that day dead set on having a great day. I have awesome kids. I'm biased, but I know they're great.

But that particular bitch-a-thon isn't the point of this entry.

I went to the First Fridays with a friend of mine. We saw a rather silly shadow puppet play complete with hippy jazzy band and silly narrator. He called us out for leaving early, but hey! there was Borat to go see and we were not going to be late for that!

Here I must advertise. You should go see Borat. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. The audience at one point laughed continuously for at least five to ten minutes. I looked around at the them. Everyone had tears and were holding their sides. It was literally the funniest movie that I've seen in long time. And to make sure I feel that way for a long long time, I will not ever see it again. Don't get me wrong. I loved every minute of it. It was shocking, offensive, and you could tell Sacha Cohen wasn't awful just ...edgy. I think I love it for almost the same reason I love John Waters. Sick wrong humor.

Later that I night I met lovely people at a bar. I talk more now to folk since this shitty C thing's happened. One particular arteest-boy got me thinking about my work and the direction it's going. "Why is it going there? What is it that makes it Yours?" Simple questions but very thought provoking. I need to be able to articulate these things if I ever want to show and sell.

I ended up not meeting cute arteest-boy at the next bar. I didn't feel like it. I had other things on my mind rather than flirting. I had things to think about. I got home and tried to think about those things, but I kept having a few images popping up in my mind all night. Every time I woke up to turn over, pull blankets on or off depending upon heat flashing, get a sip of water, or go to the bathroom. I'm up a lot at night if you can't tell. fuck. Unfortunately I can't tell you what these images are. You have to see the movie. But then I warn you...you'll be woken up by those images in the middle of the night too.

Halloween is over. That's supposed to be a holiday that celebrates the Heebee-jeebies. This is not the case for me. It's only a precursor to a more frightening date for me. November 1st signifies two things for me. First of all, it's my wedding anniversary. (shudder) Secondly, it's the month where I found IT...looking back at me in the mirror from its place on my tit. (yet another shudder) These two things have changed my favorite month into a horrifying symbol of deadly things in my life.

That sucks because it's absolutely beautiful outside with just enough chill to get me invigorated for Life and not enough to go scurry back under my covers. Once wintery cold starts to set in, I'm good. I want to be out in it just like the summertime heat...if I start out early in the morning.

So, I have conflicting feelings this morning. Isn't that just like a Pisces?

I love this time of year, but I dread it too. It signifies my mortality, life continuing, my internal strength (stubborness!), and the clothes are much better! Not to mention I love the animal activity in the skies and on the ground, the flowering plants, colorful grasses, and the changing leaves. So many great things that somehow get clouded over by two shitty things.

Well, I have to admit it's only partly cloudy and with NO chance of precipitation.

You know what feels good?

Dunking your head in water then coming up and feeling the water get caught in your hair then roll down your neck.

mascara.

Scratching with your fingernails.


Do you know what tastes good?

Apples baked with a Snickers bar, Mars Bar, Caramel, red hots, Hershey's Kisses, Reece's peanut butter cups, etc...

French silk pie, apple pie, pumpkin pie, gooseberry pie, cherry pie, apricot pie, etc...

grocery store sushi.


I'm going to go eat a brownie and scratch my ass.

Last night I enjoyed walking around the Red Balloon Art Walk with my kids. It's a lot more relaxed than the First Fridays or any of the other art opening nights in KC. Although this year's walk had a lot fewer artists and shows, it was still delightful and made me miss home a lot.

At dinner a lovely Goddess met up with us. She told us about another show at a local watering hole which we went to, and she gave me a present. I don't think I told her how much I appreciated that gift. I have recieved gifts from people, but none of them had the emotional effect on me as much as this one.

It's a book. Not a very well written one but one full of heart and sincerity. It's about young women who went through this same damn thing. I cried at least three times during the half that I read last night after we got home. Bawling. I couldn't read the words there were so many tears. I think I had tears in my eyes the whole time and there were sentences I would stop at and find very difficult to continue. None of the women and their experiences were exact to me or among themselves (duh). One was a mom. One was single. One woman had an attitude very similar to mine. She's dead now. She died at 29. We were born the same year.

I cried at the mom's reaction to her news and to her fears of not being able to watch her son grow. Damn. PA's dad died when he was 15 months old. He doesn't remember him at all and has depended upon others' memories of his dad. I don't have a lot pictures of me. I always had the camera. I know, I know....that's dire and unneeded, but thoughts like these pop into my head A LOT. I just shoo them away sometimes quickly sometimes not.

On to the dead woman. I freaked out on her story. Her attitude was as I said before very similar to mine. This was a disturbance that should be quickly put behind me, and my life should resume back to normal. As much as a woman with a fleshy/plastic bump posing as a breast can. I had a hard time reading her story even though I was mesmerized. It kind of reminded me of being a child and being mesmerized by the Holocaust. Sick. I kept reading and panicing inside until I got to one paragraph of hers. She didn't like taking "unnecessary pills". She was talking about Tamoxifen. She opted not to take it. She died. That paragraph was ominous.

None of the women mentioned anything about hormone recptors or Hercept-blah-blah (I didn't have that so I don't remember). There was no testing?! They didn't say. No mention about something that seems so obvious to me. This was at least 5-6 years ago. Yes, research has gotten the medical field progressed to the point that it's at. I'm grateful. Unfortunately that progression is based on the mistakes, omissions, ignorance, and lack of certain drugs and testing that have affected the outcomes many many women (and men) before me and it will continue after me. Has anyone heard anything about the cause? How come those Nazi bastards got the cig/lung cancer thing down (Nazi=bad bad bad), but here in a more humane process we can't figure out what the F is causing this and many other nasty diseases?

Through chemo I balked a lot. The best desciption I have for this is an old, sick tigeress being whipped by a cruel trainer until she jumps through the ring of fire. She knows she will get hurt, but she has to do it to prolong her life. The trainer will be forced to kill her if she can't perform anymore. She'd jump, and the fire would singe her fur off and cause excruciating pain. And she'd have to do that over and over again or face the gun. You can imagine the stress and the unwillingness to do it again, the whippings would continue to keep her going.

I had these words to keep me going

It's your life...your life...your life...
this pain and sickness for a short time in your life or....
the baldness for a short time in your life or...
One breast for the rest of your life or...
Tamoxifen/menopause or...

I'm glad I did it. My chances are greater. Thanks for the book, Bertha. I heart you!

Calling all Goddesses! Calling their humble servants!

I suggest we have another KC (Lenexa) soiree and visit The Red Balloon! If you don't know what the Red Balloon is, imagine a bar dive full of red necks and blue collars but sprinkled with brown skin folk and young Midwestern urbanites (the self-proclaimed IN-THE-KNOWS).

It's beautiful! Irony at its best! KC area karaoke at its best! Audiences at their best! Drinks at cheap prices! Sing-a-longs welcomed! Dancing encouraged! Applauding appreciated! Stuff Shirts not allowed!

No fear Ladies and Gents! They're all amateurs.
Come on! Let's show 'em what the Goddesses can do!

I had a great time on Friday with the rest of the Goddesses. Anyone reading these blogs has had to figure out by now that it was a memorable evening had by all. Including myself. I had the pleasure of dancing with a lovely 23 year old boy, kiss him a few times, and not care if he'd ever call me back. You know...that's out of the ordinary for me. I have too much on my plate to fuck around with youngsters and their beautiful bodies and delightful mouths. ahhhh..life.....

Last night I did something I've never done before. I played DDR. That's Dance Dance Revolution for you oldsters. After realizing that I cannot dance even after the craziness on Friday, I checked out a fat kid play the game on YouTube. The kid was a great dancer though enormous and I laughed at something as sad as the boy falling off the pad in exhaustion. Don't tell anyone that I'm human.

I love getting in shape and being physical and I giggled at his fall, but I have to admit that hugely obese kid could kick my ass out there on the dance floor.

This skinny chick can eat her heart out.

I'm going to pity party this one last time.

Some have said that I've gone through this gracefully, but they haven't really seen me at the worst of moments. I cry at odd times and at the weirdest things. I have this nagging fear that will not go away. Sometimes it drives me into a near panic state. It makes it so I can't sleep at night, and I fly off the handle at everything.

The last couple of days has been like this. Fear, pain, anger, and anguish. I've said before that I don't want my kids to have the experience that my oldest brothers had when they were small. Their mom died at the ages of 7 and 9. Mine are at 8 and 5. Not the same I know, but that fear is still there. 5 years is not enough for me. 16 years is not enough. Not enough to see my children grow. I want more, and I'm scared.

Almost everyday someone has to give me a horror story of someone dying. I see one everytime I go into my yoga class on Mondays and Wednesdays. She has stage 4 now and has been given a time. That scares the shit out of me. How will I know if IT comes back? I check my anatomy books for clues as to where my liver and kidneys are. If I ever feel pain there then I know I have to go in. If I feel pain in my chest, I stop everything I do because the chemo could have hurt my heart and I might (weird chance) have a heart attack. I check the amount of alcohol I consume. I feel like I'm going to puke half the time from the stress, but if I have more than a sip, I might hurt my body even more and invite IT back in my body. I get scared, so I have another drink to calm my nerves. Stupid catch 22. Stress causes it. Alcohol has been linked even if it is extremely slight. So what do I do? Pop a top again....just so my teeth and stomach muscles release.

On top of it...I'm still bald on my head. My arms and legs ache ache ACHE. My nails are still separating from my fingers. I haven't been laid in almost a year. My hormones are screaming at me. I'm still not ok with menopause or Tamoxifen. I figured that out when I had a dream declaring my want of another baby, but pregnancy scares me more than the hormone therapy (SWTF?). I woke up crying. I hate getting exhausted from watching a game of soccer. I hate the heat flashes and bouts of uncontrollable coldness in rapid fire repetition. Those keep me from sleeping too.

Sorry to complain. I just feel like I'm about to explode and not in a fun way. I don't want anyone telling me I'm handling this beautifully, gracefully, or amazingly. I'm not...just ask my family. Goddess, I just want this shit to be behind me!

breathe...

I guess my lessons with this shit are self-value and patience. I just wish it could've been an easier task than cancer.

Last night a dear Goddess came over for pizza, beer, and good times. It was great. The old folks were away on vacation, and we were drinking. Sounds like high school, doesn't it? Except that we're both in our thirties and have children. That's only a small discrepency in the rowdy teenager senario, but if we want the fantasy of youth for a fleeting moment the kids will have to be omitted from the story. But that's not really the story, so we can keep the kids for awhile...

See, last night She set me straight on an issue that's been growing on my mind. Hair. I actually complained about hair. Not the lack of it mind you, but the presence of it...all over. very annoying. She of course laughed at me and reminded that I was crying for hair a few weeks ago. Yes. I know. I was lamenting and begging all the Powers That Be for hair of any kind, but now I have to shave. nyaah. I forgot how quickly my shaven hairs grow.

The one good thing about the chemo experience would be the lack of body hair. I am going to miss those carefree, razorless days of smooth skin. I won't wax. I've been in pain too much this past year to take that up.

The other day Goddess GB laughed when I told her that I felt like a yeti because I noticed all the microscopic hairs growing on my face and arms. I am so used to being completely bald, but now I'm too hairy for theVGER lady from Star Trek. So who should I go as for Halloween? GI Jane? Sinead O'Connor? Or Ripley from Aliens?

ahhh. human nature...when it's summer and hotter than hell how we wish it were winter and colder than a witch's tit.

Is anyone else having fun with the Republican party these days? I've been giggling for at least three days straight now.

On a similar note my folks actually think that Kissinger and the Pope are wise. hmmm...nazi youth...Vietnam "Conflict" war criminal....you'd think they pick winners instead of losers to listen to.

Fundamentalists are getting loonier and more desparate for the return of their god everyday.

At a party on Saturday night I got a glimpse into what I think might be what PinkZilla's life'll be like when they reach puberty. Zilla ran from a Pink Pixie. Pinkie climbed all over her BestBoy friend. We separated them for the sleep over.

I've had this sneaking suspicion about girls chasing Zilla. He'd come home and say things to his sister like "I don't like girls". He wouldn't say that to me of course, but tattletale Pinkie reports the atrocities to me. I laugh each time. Now I know why he does. The Pink Pixie was relentless. I wonder if she ever got a kiss off of him or just good exercise. That makes me laugh too.

Now Pinkie seems to be like her momma AND her PA. Bad combo. I've made the prediction that her sexuality will be wielded like a weapon. She's a tomboy and pretty aggressive...polite but aggressive in play. She clung onto her BestBoy friend like there was no tomorrow. It got to the point that the poor boy HAD to run away from her. I laughed. So did BB's momma. I hope Pinkie learns as she gets older how not to be clingy and crazy about a guy. Nothin's scarier than a co-dependent in-your-face loony.

The next morning, she loudly informed us adults who stayed over night and were eating breakfast in the town cafe that they climbed all over each other. uh hunh...well, that's why they were separated. Thanks, Gypsy, for finding that funny. The old folks sitting next to us were giggling too. I've heard duck tape is good to quiet a kid down, but I've found peanut butter is much more humane and tasty. I should've used it.

And I was trying to put on a good impression for a cutie at the table myself. oh well...

Funny as I'm thinking about it, I've come to the conclusion that she's very similar to Pink Pixie. And that both Zilla and BB are similar. They all love the attention. The only difference between the boys was that BB hadn't got to the "girls are icky" stage.

I think Zilla learned that at school or his grandparents' (ick) church. I hope he gets over that soon. It's gotten so bad that if there's kissing in a movie he gets uptight and asks why he's allowed to watch that. The violence I've allowed him to view (cartoons, kung fu, etc...) doesn't even register. uh hunh...okay then.

I'm getting nervous about them hitting the touchy feely stage and then the full on puberty stage followed closely by the active fumbling sex stage. I know how I was. I know how PA was. Unfortunately I have no fingernails at the present to chew on whilst fretting over this topic.

I do have a sense of humor and practicality about it all. Active fumbling sex stage is hilarious, but I don't want accidents happy or otherwise. I'll have the condom jar next to the cookie jar. I'll be the 'coolest mom" around until none of my kids' friends are allowed back over. I won't be offering liquor just common sense protection.

I think what it really boils down to is that these stages also mark my advancing stages towards middle and old ages. But at least I'll be the "cool mom". yah right.

John Stewart for president.

I saw that on a bumper sticker yesterday. My reaction:
He can come in my oval office any day!

Goddess, it was a beautiful sunset!

Wow. Last night.
I'd like to thank you Goddesses, Rumblejetts, and Tanya of the Jazzhaus for last night. I was pretty nervous the entire time. I don't relish in spotlights, but that was a learning experience for a lot of us. Roya, your dancing is awesome! Jingly ass and all!

I was fairly shocked about the turnout, but I guess that happens when there's a lot of people who've been affected by this disease. However....no more news crews! That made me more jittery. What made me giggle was that there was at least one Bombshell girl there even though she looked a little uncomfortable. I will never understand the dymanics between the GDs and Queens in respect to BS girls. You know what I mean. I'm a lazy typer not punster. not right now.

I loved the boobie cake, boobie jello mold, and the boob mold that were there. The location was perfect....naked boobies, bootys, and pregger bellies plastered all over the walls! How fun is that?

I'l leave you with just a few words:
breast boob booby tit teat ta tata fun flaps skislopes bananas coconuts melons peaches udders milk jugs earmuffs etc etc etc....Add what you will

Elvis went to my wedding. He's actually a relative of mine. He's lived in Nebraska for almost all of his life. You didn't know that, did you? I can't believe I'm blogging about him, but he died last night not thirty years ago.

Ok. That's obviously not true, but my mother's cousin DID look like Elvis... an old greasy one. He did die last night. He was fat and dyed his hair black right up until then. I don't usually think too much about my mom's side of the family, but he was an exception. At my wedding I was proud of him and the rest of the fam because they contrasted so highly from that of PA's.

My romantic fairytale story wedding looked like this:
The prodigal son of a wealthy man sowed his wild oats into a lowly peasant's daughter. Her family then tries to climb the social ladder by marrying her off to the wealthy man's son. Oh the shame on the Noble family! Complete it with her friends bringing the kegs of beer and bags of pot, the bride laughing about it being a shotgun wedding, and the awesome brokendown camper with Nebraska plates that chugged onto the Estate Lands that unloaded what seemed to be an unsafe amount of people from its bowels. Elvis was in that throng of travelers from Nebraska. You'd half expect to hear "Shake, Rattle, and Roll" being played as it rolled in. My dad's side would be more"Dueling Banjos".

Ahhhh. The feathers of those little old rich biddies were certainly unruffled that day! As to be expected the sides never got on, but the Noble family did notice the good charateristics and qualities of the peasant's daughter. She became a staple in the family even after the marriage ended.

Now, back to Bernard AKA Elvis...I will remember him fondly for his kindnesses to me and for shaking up those complacent people. I will cherish and respect his determination to abide by a certain aesthetic right upto his death. Cheers, Bernard! You never let that flame die out!

Last weekend I went with some friends to a BBQ. While BBQ's usually raise my spirits, fill my belly, and intoxicate my soul, I came away with a rather sober feeling. I had begun to think about our confidence in our immortality and bright shiny futures juxtaposed to the paths our lives take.

The night started out like any other poorly written roadtrip movie where three friends from the past set out on an adventure. Whoo. We didn't even leave the school district , but we can forgive the three the short distance they went, right? All three were happy and excited to reminisce and laugh about the past and present. We even thought of crazy one-liners and theme songs for our roadtrip (can you tell we're geeks?). We ended the joke with we're on our way to Vegas in the small Toyota with my drainage bag flying out the window and a trail of dust rising in our path.

The party was typical...ribs, corn, beans, beer, whiskey, rum, tequila...It was fun. But the night ended abruptly when the Reason for the Story decided to steal another person's painpills. The girl just had dry sockets. Painfull. I'd be mad too. So after watching the Reason drift in and out of consciousness and wobble by himself at the other end of the lawn we decided to take Reason home before the girl in pain and the owner of the house deballed him. I don't want to see that. I'm getting squeamish in my old age.

We shoved our bloated bodies back into the small truck built only for english teacher, leftist bachelors, and headed off for the Reason's home. English teacher decided to confront him with me sitting in the middle. I've had dealings with defensive addicts before and was not too interested in uncontrolled outbursts anywhere near me. Amazingly it stayed fairly calm even if it was emotional. I kept a hand on both their legs in a small attempt to remind them that I was in the middle of all of this. I knew neither wanted to hurt anyone, but an extra reminder is always a good thing.

Reason made every attempt to make us believe his innocence, but he kept looking skeptically at me. Did I know he was shit? Yes, Reason. I do. These were only looks in our eyes and not the words said. The words we said were all words I had exchanged with another addict that I cared deeply about. English Teacher and I left Reason at his door step. We headed out.

Eng. Teacher didn't know how to read Reason. I told him that Reason was guilty. I had seen the behavior and heard the words tooooo many times to not be able to pick up on it. I'm not stupid. PA thought I was. Reason might think I'm gullible. I'm not. I'm just tired.

Eng Teacher was amazed that Reason "was afraid" of him. I almost snapped that it was intimidation not exactly fear. What'd he expect? We knew Reason since before he smoked pot or even had a drink of liquor. Those two boys had been friends since kindergarten. Seriously long time for anyone to see the path you either chose or gets chosen for you.

So here we are. The Aesopian morale to the story...I guess.
We all have potential to come up golden. You see it in the faces of children when they're posing for their school pics or just losing themselves in a game. The Promise just doesn't happen to some. This is what has happened to Reason (and a lot of others). I know some of you are thinking that it was his choice, some are thinking it's where he's supposed to be, and some are thinking that his problem is bigger than himself. I've known him for a long time and saw what propelled him into his future of herion dependency. I believe it's mostly out of his control. I didn't say completely.

It's sad to see the your life go sour and see that others who've known you during better more hopeful times notice the fall. It's even sadder when you see those people whom you thought were lifelong friends turn away because of heavy shit. I've been on both sides. Fuck, I sat in the middle of it Sat night. I sat in the middle of it when dealing with my family and PA. And I still feel like I'm sitting in the middle of it. Funny how life goes.

I'm trying to mend my daughter's comforter without making my fingers into veritable pincushions. It's not going so well. I'm trying not to eat the entire brownie pan I made twenty minutes ago. AND I still have this damn drain hanging from my body! Gargh!

Fuck it. It's gorgeous outside. I'm goin' outside, eatin' another brownie, and washin' it down with a beer. Have a great weekend, ladies!

I decided last night after another night of being unable to sleep that Will Farrell is actually funny. In fact, I laughed so hard at his anchorman movie that my entire torso hurt hurt HURT until about 2:30 am. Now I know why my cousin said, "Scotch. Scotch. Scotch. I like scotch." to me. She was referring to my love of gin of which I haven't allowed myself to enjoy this past year. Not sure why...could be all the drugs I've been on.

Yesterday I started my last phase of recovery. I now have a "boob" on my left side. I won't be able to see it until tomorrow, but there's a bump there that has not been there since March 24 (or 22?). My other side looks youthful, but that's just conjecture because I haven't seen that one either. I'm just not wearing a bra and it floats in air. So that's why the youthful description.

Needless to say that when I'm not concentrating the achiness, I'm estatic. I look normal. So...I'll have to have a welcoming party or some sort of commemoration for my new aquisition. That'll probably be at the end of this phase. Thankfully, it'll be sooner than what I originally thought!

As you all know, my life has been stressful and frustrating for the past year. Labor Day weekend is usually seen as a capping off of summer fun and frivolity. This Labor Day weekend was different ( just like the rest of my year). This year my parents tried to help me relax by taking me and my kiddos with them on an extended weekend getaway to visit my brother and his pregger wife in the mountains of Colorado. What my extremely Republican family does not understand is that they DO NOT relieve me of any form of stress whatsoever.

We were in the van sooooo long that my daughter out of vehicular frustration begged, "How many more minutes do we have?". At which point I responded with a gravely, I'm-going-to-die-from-ennui voice, "HOURS". At which she shrieked thus causing both me and my (s)mother to laugh. You see, we spent 10 to 11 hours driving to and then fro and hours driving around Colorado in what (thanks to the now thrice seen movie RV) shall be forever named the "Big Rolling Turd", while listening to religious nuts ranting about their nutty beliefs.

I did find somethings wonderful and unforgettable that weekend...three extremely interesting women that I met in 2 different boutiques, the smell and crispness of autumn air and the beauty of the scenery, the fun I had with my kids alpine sliding after 20 years of not doing it, and the awesome handbag and earrings that I found in one of the boutiques.

There were truths that I learned from the trip although they were not the truths my parents wanted me to learn. I have learned that more than a few hours in any vehicle with 3 generations and a dog stuffed into it is WAY TOO LONG, Colorado has some the hottest men ever bred living in it, FS beer and food is WAY better than Breckenridge's, interesting people are found hidden amongst the banal, and my life is way too short to go through vacationing with the old folks ever again.

It was a fun trip for awhile. I do give it that, but it makes me think of the provebial teen question...Do I really come from these people?

Thank Goddess, I'm back! Pass me another beer on Monday. I need some churching!

It's been a little over 2 weeks, and I'm having more and more dreams about hair. It's not just about scalp hair either. I dream about eyelashes, eyebrows, pubic hair, toe hairs, hand hairs, arm hairs, armpit hairs, and leg hairs. Every kind of hair you can think of. These all kept falling out right up until last week. gargh! The good news is that my head is itchy. Really itchy. 4 more weeks to go till I get a good GI Jane going.

There is only one kind of hair I DO NOT want back....chin hair. Come on Ladies...can I get a witness?

8 down. 0 to go. Today was the last day. It took them 4 times to get a needle in my arm. My right arm hates me. I can get my recon anytime I want. I start the Taxol in a month, and don't have to see the oncologist for a month. BTW, I can't stop smiling.

Thanks Goddessess and Queens and various friends, humble servants, and chillins who came last night. It was mellow, and that's exactly how I wanted it. Ya'll are beautiful!

Here's to health!

My week has delightful.

I learned a lot like I'm a wiennie. There's no complaining when there's babies out there who go through 30 treatments of chemo with heavier drugs than what I have to deal with. My heart goes out them and their families.

I got A LOT of yard work done and found out that the reason why I've gotten so tired and dizzy was cuz I'm anemic again. Whatever...get a shot and it goes away. I still have work to do, but the weather is cooperating and the yard is coming together. So if you're coming on Sunday no talking about various holes and weeds throughout the yard! There's a lot to do.

Tennessee Tilly (ex-mom-in-law) who's extremely conservative (public schools shouldn't exist and America is god's gift to the Earth kind) sent me one of those cutesy emails people send. What sets this one apart from the other 1,000,000 cutesy emails she's sent is that it ends with this quote: Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. hmmm....... She did spawn my ex...

I have woken up every morning this week singing these lyrics:

I can see the light of a clear blue morning
I can see the light of a brand new day
And everything's gonna be alright
yes, everything's gonna be alright...

You get the idea. Now it's off to the Elvis Parade!

Yesterday I took the PinkZilla to the KC zoo. We had the best time! I lose energy pretty quickly, and I was wondering how I was going to handle it all. PinkZilla was a treat! Zilla helped pushed the stroller, watched Pinkie when I need to hit the restrooms, and informed us about the animals we were looking at. Pinkie came up with her own information, ate her food (miracle), and demanded to go shopping only two or three times. They didn't argue until we were almost home. They're typical siblings full of pranks and various consternations specifically designed for the bedevilment of the other, but that day they were angels with only tiny horns and itty-bitty vibrated tails.

It was the most relaxing time I've had out with the kids since I can remember. We saw everything we came to see and a lot more than usual even though I didn't put them on the death march that my usual speed is. I let them eat candy. They didn't argue, complain, or whine. I think hell froze for awhile yesterday.

People looked at us. I know it can't be helped. Folk look at folk, and we had a tired looking bald woman (me) leading a small ragtag troupe of baboons (PinkZilla). I got my laughs at Pinkie. I kept taking my hat off and walked about with a snakeskin print umbrella to the amusement of others. I'm not paranoid. I could hear giggling. I would've giggled too. Pinkie was mortified. Can a child get mortified before puberty? "Mom, I don't like it. Put it back on." "Please, kid. You don't know these people." "Why do you talk to people you don't know?" "Because they're human, and that's just who I am." If she'd just notice that I also talk to animals.

I got my laughs at Zilla who would not use the public restroom because "It's too noisy in there, Mom." Me and Pinkie sat there for twenty minutes waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to pooh. I made him get out of the way of a grandpa who waited patiently for his brood's time to enter the family pooh room. I shouldn't laugh. I'm not a public pooher either except for one horrible incident at a busy restaurant. That cured me of my shy shitter....maybe not.

I guess that's the vacation me and my PinkZilla got this year. We needed that small excursion emotionally and physically. Go there when it cools off again. They got the short cut opened, and the Kid Zone is a blast (AC).

I have been wondering when the mother-daughter confrontations and tension would begin. I thought it was when puberty started rear its ugly head. No. It's not. My Pinkie is 5 years old, and she rolls her eyes at me with such effort that only the most adept eye-rollers can muster. She is also queen at making the most astound and loudest assertions with the most profound belief in them. I WILL see those Asian giraffes someday, Kansas IS just a small part of Lawrence (Johnson County is actually another country), and snacktime IS at 6 pm no matter what I say.

Hot is cold and cold is hot, by the way. You don't want to contradict her. Not only would that embarass the little goddess but it would seriously piss her off into a tyrade that Eris herself would never have been able to conceive.

I am proud of Pinkie. She has confidence and knows what she wants. It can be a little annoying when she's screaming at the top of her voice because foxes only come in red and she has to wear the blue and green striped tank with the pink and red plaid skorts.

What I'm proud of is that she will contradict the religious mores being instilled in her by her over-zealous grandparents. She's sassy and she thinks ...sometimes. Ahh....my little rebel.

7 down. 1 more to go. I want my hair. I want my eyebrows. It'll be a few days before I stop hurting. My nails look like they'll detach from my fingers at any moment. My doc says they won't, but I've heard tales. Sheesh. People tell their tales, and sometimes it's just not helpful.

All these drugs are keeping my body exhausted but my brain working on new ideas (which is good). I've been down these past months. It's kind of hard to work on projects when your mind is obsessing on something. I've now decided to turn that obsession into something to keep my creative juices flowing. So the next set of stuff might seem depressing, but I swear it's not. It's just about my determination to be over this shit for good. Of course it'd have to physical. I'm "innarda" after all.

I'm going to count my blessings. Someone I've just come into knowing and caring about is having a harder time.

If only it'd cool off and rain, then maybe this bad funk would lift a little.

Growing up Midwestern in the country there are certain rules that must be followed before the developers and their hordes of construction workers and the suburbanite assholes invade the place. You have to go swimming in creeks or ponds. You have to go batting at mailboxes while driving drunkenly 20 MPH over. You have to go tromping through the fields and woods before their gone. You have to learn to deal with nonhuman neighbors.

I hated living in the country as a teen. I have to admit that. BUT there were things that I loved like hanging out late drunk or stoned, talking, and listening to nature with friends. Sex during that time was interesting. It was kind of like the postal service. Neither rain nor shine nor dead of night kind of thing....

Now as I drive around, I'm having hard time recognizing my neighborhood. My favorite field has been turned into a golf course. There's housing developments where I used to hike. And strip malls and fast food icks that people go to and then subsequently throw their trash out of their car windows just to make this place prettier, I guess. I know it's all too common to hear someone like me bitch about it, but when you see your favorite things and memory filled places bulldozed for oversized American ugliness you get a little sad and miffed.

At least my ex's parents place is still isolated. I still go there with PinkZilla of course. They love it there. YaYa (Tennesee Tilly after 5) and PaPou (Mr. Quintano by night) are my Ex-parent-in-laws. They have this awesome pool completely surrounded by trees and invisible to everyone who's not in an airplane or looking at satellite pictures. There's also a pond thirty feet off of it. It's also hidden by trees and has been the inspiration of many a spinetingling tale to tell gullible children. Kids love it. We go over a lot now since we live out here. Convenience sometimes is a secret love of mine.

At this pool one has to call ahead of time to ensure a thorough snake search (I hate copperheads). So it was a bit frustrating to me that the last time we went to YaYa's house to swim and we only swam for aproximately 10 minutes before dragging ourselves and the myriad of toys, drinks, and clothing back up to the house. It's a hike.

We got down there and YaYa searched the skimmers for any hidden friends. We found one. a large bullfrog. O Joy! O Rapture! We start swimming with said frog in pool. (He was probably shitting himself) 1 friend but now the "unfriendly" start to come:
1 horsefly deftly killed by YaYa.
1 wasp coming for drink and then politely leaving.
1 floating in the air spiderweb string that unfortunately landed on Pinkie.
1 other horsefly seeing who of his kind died (he left too).
1 dead ant floating in the water.

My Pinkie had enough. She was crying so pitifully! "Momma, pick me and take me back up to YaYa's!" I don't pick up 50 lbs of anything at this moment, so no way (chemo). I'm a mean mom. Both the Pinkie and Zilla were clinging to me like I could save them from the fate worse than death of being landed on by a bug. Butterflies are ok.

Are these really mine and PA's kids? Both of us were raised in the country, and now our offspring are afraid of bugs. I was actually priding myself on raising 2 animal-loving and nature-conscious children, so WTF? oh well. They're still my life and breath.

Whatever, Enarda. Tell them the truth.

Ok. Ok. I jumped and squealed this morning when a big bumblebee buzzed my head while watering the flowers.

As I get further away from the AC treatments, there are small signs of healing that seem almost insignificant to others but raise my hopes and outlook on life. I had one of those small signs last night in the form of a very rich and delicious Triple Chocolate Cake.

My brother and his pregger wife were in town, and we were celebrating her birthday at a high priced Chucky Cheese's out at the Legends. I ate and ate and ate and still decided to eat dessert. I figure I deserve it. I wanted it, damn it. I haven't had sex since last December, and I wanted at least the endorphins the chocolate provide.

I could taste that slice of cake. It's been months since I've been able to taste sweet things. There was no metal taste. There was no "nothing" taste. It was heaven. I cried...in public. My brother tried to comfort me. The people sitting at the table to my right stared me. My mother exclaimed this to be my "worst year".

Those who know me, know that Me crying near anyone would have to mean something serious was effecting me. I had no clue that I would react that way, but I'm learning a lot about myself. (Like how to love 5 year old Me and late 20's Me) I have a lot more to learn about myself, and thankfully I'll have the rest of my life to learn it all. But right now I'm going to go eat a cookie.

Imagine Ed Asner wearing a red plaid flannel robe with matching spaghetti-strap tank top and thong underwear. Now. Answer me this....why did I dream that?

I have 3 more weeks till my last treatment! 1 till my next, but who cares? I can see the light at the end of this horrible tunnel! Add this one to my list of ten (now 11) things that make me smile.

There is something oddly beautiful and yet slightly disturbing about Johnny Depp on a cereal box. I usually require breakfast to be somewhat healthy for the kids, but I had to buy this. You know it's for me.

Now if only they would make Jet Li or Bruce Lee into a cereal phenomenom I'd be happy.

As a teeenager I heard a country song that made me despise the style until my later years. I just could not understand why the music was filled with God and country and love won or lost (yah yah that's most music) and in this particular one I just couldn't figure out why they made the song. Until Thursday.

You see the song was about how much the singer loved his dog. He actually recorded and produced a song about his dog. Ok. I was a cynical bitch growing up. Still am for the most part, but I learned something about myself on that Thursday. I love my dog.

I was giddy about it being only 97 degrees outside (?) and with the possibility of rain and cooler weather for the next day, so with Kool-Aid in hand and dog at feet I walked outside to enjoy the outdoor bathroom that Kansas had become this past week. I noticed 2 crazy cyclists coming up the road. Cyclists happen to be Chika's favorite prey, but our road is 30 MPH and routinely has people going 50 on it. That makes for a very unfriendly road. I kept Chi's eyes on me as I walked up to her and was just about to grab her when she heard the 2 men. She caught sight of them and bolted right after them.

I have been in pain these few days. It's the sideeffects. Every time my foot hit the ground as I hobbly ran after Chika, severe pain shot up my spine. I had to stop running. I kept screaming. Literally shrill screams. A car was coming. The driver slammed on her brakes but it was too late. I heard that heart wrenching thud and dog squeal. I dropped my glass and fell to the ground. I really don't think I could gracefully handle anymore crap in my life right now.

Luckily, my damndog came running towards me still squealing and yelping, tail between her legs. I was bawling. My little familiar was potentially killed by her stupidity and my bad ownership. My children saw of course and were running up trying figure out what they should do. The driver took note of the situation and came back. She felt so guilty. I kept telling her that it wasn't her fault. I feel sorry for her. She had her kids with her too.

Can you imagine? You're driving with your kiddos and run over some other kiddos' small dog in front of them while their bald chemopatient mother is screaming "NO" and falling to the ground crying. I feel sorry for her. That'd suck.

Fortunately, I didn't have a "Pets Are Small Tragedies Waiting To Happen" moment. She was just scratched, bruised, and scared shitless. I hope she (I) learned her (my) lesson

So now to the song and my inner gooiness. I love my dog. How could I not? She stayed with me and protected me during the horrible parts of this past year. I kept waking her up that night to make sure she was alive. I pissed her off a few times. That's a good thing. I remembered that song that night and finally understood it. I still don't like the tune, but I love the message.

While at the oncologist's office today, I heard a bragging teenager showing off to his family his knowledge of the American language. He insisted that a certain word was not in our dictionary. What I can gather is that he either heard this gem of knowledge from an indiot and he didn't look it up or he had NO CLUE how to spell the word. The word was "gullible". His momma told him how to spell it and gave him the definition, but the boy insisted that it wasn't in the English dictionary.

Poor gullibe thing.

To be fair...I remember my adolescent insistence of my superior intellect. But now before a final judgement I want to be faced with the other side of the issue. I'm female I like it complicated.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm trying real hard to understand our country's "liberal" (conservative) media's attempt to villify Lebanon when you take into account Israel's past history of unfair treatments of Palastinians, brutal retaliations towards terrorism (poor man's wars), and the current attempts of eradicating Hezbollah ( Southern Lebanese people).

I know you automatically know my position from this, but I'm still trying to figure it out. My fundamentalist folks are eagerly awaiting the Armegedon with a sickening childlike zeal. In past outbursts of mine I have described my dislike for the desertgod and its followers. It seems that they're trying their best for a self fullfilling prophecy at the expense of others. So the next quandry I come to is this: do I secretly want it to happen to get rid of all three sides of this silly tri-monotheist religion? I'm at a philisophical crossroad.

I understand I might sound like an antisemite. I'm not exactly. I just don't like policies of ethnic groups that decry their bumwrap while bestowing the same upon other ethnic groups. I understand the arab world not trusting them because of their arsenal either bought from US or made by them.

We certainly sell them hardware for interesting purposes. If you recall the American by the name Rachel ( I can't remeber her last name) who stood in front of the armed Catepillar bulldozer that destroyed not only the house that contained a family but the life of that 21 year-old woman.

That house was the home of a "suspected" hamas fighter not a convicted one. Seems harsh. To dislocate an entire family on the grounds of being relation, don't you think? I don't hear of justice when Israelis attack Palastinian kids on their way school seriously injurying their escorts. Fuck. All I worry about is my kids getting hit by a car. (They had an escort last year)

I'm not saying that the Palastinians are innocent. I remember the bomb that killed 11 one year-olds in a pizzeria a fews years back. I'm not saying Hezbollah is innocent. They did kill 8 and kidnap 2 another country's soldiers. By no means am I saying any of them are innocent. I'm just saying that the news media's coverage is so one sided to a country that has consistantly exasperated situations. Yes, I know who is the biggest monetary supporters of Israel. Stupid, stubborn, prideful, unempathetic people. all of 'em.

Sorry. I came home to find grandpa glued to FOX.

Treatment number 6!

The festivities start the day before, so today I've had my blood drawn and quartered to see if my body's reacting negatively to this shit. Interesting word...negatively. Anyway, I eat my 5 steroids tonight and 5 tomorrow morning along with a benedryl and a pepcid. For afterwards I take 3 advils in the morning, 3 in the afternoon, and 3 in the evening to stave off painful aches and what not.

Ok now. Do you want to hear this part? If not don't read this paragraph. It's the reason why I might not get this treatment right away. I've been bleeding out my ass for well over a week. Do I win the embarassing poopshute story competition yet? Yes, I have an excuse, but still this is about to break the proverbial camel's back. I'll find out later if I get to go through with it, postpone it, or get a blood transfusion. If you read this and are grossed out...serves you right. I warned you.

But Dear Ones, I won't leave you in a dark formidable place such as that.

While all the commotion in my life seems to get me down, I do find lots of reasons to smile, laugh, and have a sense of peace.
1. I know my PinkZilla loves me (even when I'm cranky).
2. I know PinkZilla would be taken care of and loved if anything should ever happen to me.
3. I have kept not only 1 but 2 rose bushes alive and disease and pest free (thanks Bertha).
4. My dog doesn't leave my side except for a few minutes at a time.
5. The chicory is blooming. They're blue flowering weeds you'll see on the sides of roads in
Kansas. By far they're my favorite flower. They're tenacious.
6. I have an open road in front of me that's full of opportunities. (Did I mention blue flowers
make me happy?)
7. I have an interesting set of friends near and far that I love. Goddess bless 'em everyone.
8. I ran bald headed toward a group of about 20 men on bicycles (yum) with my arms waving
and screaming "sorry" (thanks, damn aforementioned dog). I really I wish had a camera.
9. I got to see a movie with my favorite things: giant octopus, beating hearts, & Johnny Depp.
'Tis the stuff dreams are made of. Yarggghhh!
10. I have a strong albeit extremely annoying woman behind me encouraging and pushing me
(thanks mom).

Some of this sounds silly, but seriously all of it and much more have made it so I don't fall into an emotional pit.

Kalli, thanks for your encouragement! You're an inspiration!

I've been bald for about two months. Luckily, I've kept my eyebrows and lashes. I've noticed that those are starting to leave me now. I noticed that yesterday. yay.

I've been having vivid dreams since I don't sleep very well, but I never noticed my hair in those dreams. Now I've noticed that all of the dreams that I remember from last night were about my hair and different styles I could get with my hair.

I miss my hair. I didn't have exceptionally beautiful hair, but I liked it. I can't help but to wonder what started me to think about it. Could it be my bald cousin (male) who came over for a cookout and insisted that I spend the afternoon bald with him? My fear of taunts from the neighborhood teenagers that passed me by while I biked around the block that morning? (I biked! No, they didn't taunt. They just looked quizzical.) Could it be because I watched "Pretty in Pink"? (It had many interesting hairstyles from the early to mid 80's.) I think it was a combination of those three things.

Wow. The things aerosol spray could do! The things Bertha can do! I want an appointment for a color and a cut! Yarrgh! All this bemoaning the loss of hair, but I still don't want to put a wig on yet! Go figure.

I had a bit of a deja vu last night. My folks had friends over last night for a game of cards. That's been a tradition with this couple ever since I was about Eva's age. The deja vu was what me and the tykes decided to watch. Drunken Master. Jackie Chan in his earlier years.

I spent much of my childhood watching old kung fu movies because those very same people who came over last night didn't have girls to play with and god forbid me playing with the boys. So lonely girl me had to content herself with Kung Fu Theater on channel 62.

I learned early the thrills of loud kicks, swooshing fabric noises, and the occasional clanging of weapons. Those nights began in me a desire to learn about other cultures and eat foods other than the meat and potatoes my farm raised mother prepared every night. I also believe it started the division of understanding between me and the rest of my family.

This division is still alive and well. (I know you all feel that gap in understanding between you and your folks.) While the guests were leaving, the last most important fight was taking place. My father who loves good Manly male on male violence in movies sat down to watch it. He didn't get it. There was heart in it that he didn't pick up on. You know. The whole Asian familial piety thing. It gets lost on a man who still wants to be John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in his younger years. (Clint's too emotionally complex now and violence should always be used to defend your vulnerable woman or child)

Now comes my Proud Momma Moment. My kids decided to emulate the movie by taking turns being teacher and student. Kicking and punching into the air and imitating the silly pratfall antics that Jackie Chan puts into all his movies.

Grandpa was beside himself. He flat out told me that these movies were inappropriate for kids. I asked him of his lack of concern of what I did when the cards were dealt while I was gowing up. He then pointed out the "bad" outcome I've had. Interesting.

I had to smile throughout the whole conversation because not once did my PinkZilla hurt themselves or stop playing. I think I might get through to my babies yet even though we're here in ultra-christian-land.

We're almost moved in, and we're adjusting to life at the old folk's home. It will be interesting to say least. To get our stuff here we enlisted the help of friends and family and then treated them to beer and BBQ. This was a tiring week, but it's almost over.

Two nights ago we watched 5 foxes play on my new/old neighbor's driveway. It was great! My kids were taking their baths,and I told them to get out and take a look. Grif jumped out and ran to their room where we could see them. Eva stayed in her bath. She has a habit of not listening to anyone. Finally Grif couldn't stand it any more. He started hollering at her to get out or she'd miss 'em. She jumped out, I handed her a towel, and she ran to the bedroom. She watched the foxes for awhile getting all giddy and dropping her towel on floor. I had walked back to my room when I heard her giggling and yelling something at the top of her voice. I turned and saw a small, naked, pink human skipping down the hallway screaming, "it's exciting! It's exciting! It's exciting!".

There are somethings that are going to happen here that will make this all worthwhile.

I have one last treatment to go through. I kicked PA out for not helping in the hairiest (baldest) of times. I moved in with my folks to have someone around during the scariest of moments.

I'm scared of the next one. The last one I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking that if I fell asleep, I'd die. I kept hearing cracking noises, and if anything moved, I saw tracers just like I did when I tripped in highschool/ early college. The first one I thought of death. The second I just thought sucked. This one I actually thought I was dying. That's a weird feeling. I don't want it ever again.

I couldn't take care of PinkZilla. I needed someone in the medical field around me. PA was smoking crack that whole time completely oblivious to what was going on in his home. This why we're at my folks. It's temporary (2 weeks more). I know you Goddesses would've helped if you could, but I kept thinking that at 11:30 on a Saturday night either ya'll be out or asleep with your children. It would've been hard to find someone able to come over. So no guilt trips please!

I'll be back out in good old Lawrence soon. I come out almost everyday. I literally have no energy, but that won't stop me from getting in my yard for short amounts or starting a project sitting down. It was good to see the Goddeses and their friends that I saw this weekend. It really cheered me up. Thanks.

I was nervous and embarrassed about my shaved head. I still don't like males staring at me. That happened this morning at a gas station where there were swarming landscapers and contactors. PA was kind and told me I was still beautiful when he noticed my reaction to the situation.

Later in the morning I took a shower. I now have less hair than my last boyfriend. I'm going to have PA bic it when PA gets home. It's funny cuz now even though I cried about the cancer, I have more confidence about the hair (scalp) thing. It's true. Baldness can be liberating and strangely beautiful. I kind of like it.

It's obvious that I have the esteem of a lowly worm, and I used my hair as a security blanket to shield me from (supposed) looks and judging of folk that don't mean a damn thing in my life. Silly goose that I am. In my younger years I found shocking behavior hilarious, but as an adult I didn't want to be looked at by anyone. Now I'm going to test myself even more. I will have to find my worth and beauty without some of the things that women make worthy (beautiful).

I don't like saying that but deep down or even at the surface we all have to acknowledge the societal temperaments towards "accepted" beauty. I'm not talking about personal preference, but generalized attitudes even the most stout hearted people can unwittingly take to heart and mind.

I think everyone of you is gorgeous. I don't flatter and can't stand insincerity. I don't like sameness. I get bored easily. Thank Goddess ya'll are different. Goddesses and Queens. You know there's a few fellas I have to acknowledge as well. Mazel Tav to you all!

This time around it's not so bad. My DOCTOR said if this round doesn't go right then he's going to scrap the whole thing. That's even scarier. That being said. I've only had to take nausea meds once today. It's been almost 12 hours. Phew! I think the doc and (s)mother are right. It's stress causing all of this extra sickness. So, I handed the birds to my neighbors, and a lovely lady took the smaller chihuahua in for a few months. I can't get rid of my walking sausage. I need her. Now all I have left are the fish, one dog, 2 kids, a garden, and an assooze (his days are days numbered). I can do this. I just need patience. Maybe some wine (not from Pinkie...from grapes).

The last time I wrote a comment I had to type "waxseu" so the comment would get logged. I think the fellas working this site are funny.

For the first time in a very long time I have no PinkZilla for a Friday or any night for that matter. I'm almost beside myself.

Happy Mother's Day, Momma Goddesses!

I'm hairy. At least I let myself go to see how hairy I could get. It's pretty hairy. I was actually afraid to shave anything for fear of slight nicks turning into ghastly infected sores. I'm slightly paranoid right now.

Has anyone ever waxed their pubes? You know how it hurts like an MFer? Well, with this you don't feel anything. That's a plus. Right? That the one good thing about chemo is that I won't have to shave, pluck, trim, or wax anything! It just falls out with a slight tug from a comb or a finger. I was mesmerized today in the shower. The process has already started. I was told to expect it on the 17th day, but I was also told that if I get sick at all it'd be the day after the treatment. So go figure. I'm getting this early too.

Wow. What will my cranium look like? Pumpkin? Pinhead? Charlie Brown? Sloth (Goonies)? I'm kind of excited that I'll be able to turn geeks on now. Geeks not nerds or dorks. There is a difference even if it's small. I'll just tell them that I have an affection for the VGER lady in that Startrek movie, and watch the trekkies quiver. Goddess, that's sad way to get a jolly but I need fun too.

I'm still on the look out for a henna arteest to design my scalp. So if you hear of any please let me know. I don't know how long the balding will take, but it won't be long now.

I completely forgot that I had the menstruation talk with my kids yesterday. Wow. That was an easy hurdle. Easier than telling my paranoid, knows-too-much-cuz-I-let-him-watch-the-news Zilla that his momma has cancer. Whew! That was an emotional stinker of a conversation!

Now if they could put the "Purpose of Boy Parts/Girls Parts" and "Women Make More Blood & Menstrate So We Can Procreate" conversations together then I don't have to fully explain the baby making process! Ha ha. No "Babies in Bellies" images for me! Yes, I have my limits. It stopped at two.

I have never thought that getting an animal stoned or drunk was funny. It's slightly sick. I do know of animals that steal beer or wine, but to purposefully get them silly is just kinda wrong. If it happens on accident though...It can end up with some pretty funny results.

So we all know I'm chemo. (Blah blah get on with it) I didn't realize how sick I would get on this shit. I don't like taking meds for any reason. So this is a true lesson of how to put away my stubborn side and allow for some comfort. I'm all about comfort now. And it's only been 1 week. So meds natural or not are being consumed. I thought that maybe I'd have to be wary of Personal Assistant what with his love of meds natural or not. I found that he was not my biggest problem.

I have an adorable chihuahua/toy pincer mix. She's brown/tan colored and shaped like a large sausage or football complete with itty-bitty legs for running and a tiny tiny muzzle for LOUD yipping and pointless nipping. She is my constant companion (borderline stalker), guard dog, and vacuum cleaner. I apologize to each of my friends who have felt her wrath.

"Chika" is a binge eater. If she can't find food she will eat paper, toiletpaper, paper towels, etc. She has been known to scarf down the eyes, noses, and insides of my children's much beloved but very vulnerable stuff animals. This time she headed for another item. One that holds more importance than any sentimental toy could offer at this moment in the 4 house.

I was on my way out to work when I decided I should probably put the meds out of reach of any curious child. Like that was important because they stay away from my stuff anyways. I just had a feeling. I went to my nightstand and looked...all over...my room...hmm. Damn fucking mutt. I walked into Pinkie's room and looked under her bed, Chika's favorite munchie hideout. I found a tiny corner of wrapper from one of my natural meds. That sausage with legs ate one! wrapper and all! OOOOO! I'm gonna shish kabob that dog one day!

I hobble downstairs (no energy, lots of nausea, on chemo) and start to walk out the door when I notice she's sitting in a sunny spot in the dining room looking very out of sorts. "Serves you right, damn dog." I hobble off to work. Dumb. I should have stayed not just because my co-worker said I looked like shit, not because I felt like shit, but because my dog through my negligence was WAY too fucked up to be left alone! Priorities? Where are they?

I got home and was greeted by the ever energetic Chile with jumps and yips and licks, while from Chika I received a rather shaky head nod. Stoned bulgy-eyed dogs that can barely keep their eyes open are hilarious. I let them out like a good owner, but like a bad owner without their leashes. Chika quickly sprawled out literally in the middle of the road. She looked like road kill. She only batted an eye when I picked her up and plopped her down by the front door. From there the Regal Sentinal of the neighborhood could only jiggle her head a bit, stand up on two front legs, and then immediately drop back down to her place on the ground. She was like his for the whole day. I would intermittantly curse her admidst my giggling at her.

I had been wondering how to cure her of her indulgent eating habits, and I think that this might be the way. I just hope that she did actually learn HER lesson and stops trying to eat every little thing she can get a hold of. That's the intellectual side of me. The other side of me is still cursing her especially when I'm sitting next to the toilet losing my cookies or having a hard time stomaching a bowl of Rice Krispees.

Ok. I have a lucky fish, and I've been told that I'm "lucky". My chances getting of this shit is 0.03%. My chances of getting sick to point that I did yesterday is 0.02%. Fuck! Why, with my great odds, can't I just win the lottery or something?

Side note: the shot I got today and will receive 7 more times costs $8000 a pop, stick, and slight pain.

Another note: How can illegal immigrants be bleeding ME dry when it takes $30 bucks till fill my gastank while Exxon and Chevron have BOTH experienced record level profits? Fucking fuckers.

At least I can get my fastfood and my plants cheap! Vive Mexicanos! Where's Che when you want him? Hmm...That's right he's under a landing strip.

Chemo will not be fun. I got my injection(s). I have hard time focusing on letters, and I think this is making me sick. Quick very quick. I got what I'll call evil Koolaid and a clear drug. I feel stoned but without the munchies or paranoia. I have 17 days till my hair falls out. It's (side effects) supposed to really kick in tomorrow. yuck. I gotta do it. Take care ladies and remember to get mamgrams and feel yourself up a lot or have someone else do it.

Ok. Chemo starts tomorrow. I'm ok aside from an embarrassing bit of crying on the front porch at FS Monday. To get ready for this I got the Pinkie vaccinated for Kindergarten, got the chihuahuas vaccinated before they become rabid, and I've cleaned cleaned cleaned every fucking inch of my pigsty except for my room. It's still an absolute fright. Eh. Administrative paper cowpoop that keeps piling up just showcasing my half assed attempts at managing my life!

You know I think I've done more preparation for this than for my pregnancies. Ok, maybe not. I didn't scrub light switches or mouldings. Damn. I definitely got fewer presents. Maybe...people could have chronic illness showers! Complete with pretty packages and potato salad. Maybe those silly mints that you see at weddings and showers. They could be colored according to the representative color of the individual sicknesses.

Tomorrow I think I'll force my mom to sit through a kung fu movie while I get my injection. I'll let ya'll know how delightful it is. I'm talking chemo not my mother.

Layers of dirt, dead matter, minerals, heat and pressure form rock over eons. In my life, pressure has formed rock in my 32 years of existence. I have yet another form of pressure to add to the list of things that push me into unwanted circumstances but that strengthen my determination to better my situation.

My son is my (s)mother. How can an 8 year old think that he can decide what you eat and how much you drink? Ok. He does have concerns that younguns just should never know about. I didn't know about cancer. I knew about other horrible stuff, but noone I knew had anything that could spread like an invasive weed throughout the body.

By the way, cancer and weeds will probably be the subject of another blog since we're going into the growing season.

Back to layers....my bits of consciousness that poke and pester me to be healthier. Could I have a healthier lifestyle? Well..yes, I could stop drinking (I will try during chemo) and eat more organic things (I'll have to work on the miser in me) and cook from scratch (I don't...no). I do love physical activity, and Goddess willing I'll be able to ride my bike on chemo!

My son is picking over my food. "Mom, you're not supposed to eat cheese." It's cheese for fuck's sake! "Mom, did you drink all that alcohol in one night?" He's looking at my recycling that has sat on the side of my house for almost an entire year. Aye. A little pressure can go a long way!

Hee hee. My mom's a good 'un. Her: "Do you know what the ink in your tattoo is?" We were discussing my snake (family) tattoo. Me: "uh, no mom. But do you know what the pesticides, that you and dad sprayed in the house (and on my bed), could do to a growing child?" She actually conceded to that. Sometimes she does surprise me.

She's conservative only on the basis of abortion, death penalty, and guns. She does, however, have a strong belief in education, social welfare for the needy, family (and how our market system does not give a hoot about it), and a burgeoning sense of environmentalism and healthy lifestyles being interconnected. She also doesn't judge single moms (as long as they're on the look out for a man) and will defend a "lady of ill repute" when it comes to violence towards women. I swear, I'll be able to turn her away from the dark side someday.

But this is not about her or her beliefs. This is about me. It IS my blog.

The next direction of pressure is the father (not babydaddy, Personal Assistant, Assooze, etc.). My father is still pushing those nutrients like a crack dealer in DC. Damn. Maybe I should say...like a fundamentalist christian talking to their "dying" heathen daughter. As if. "Not dying here or anywhere else for an extremely long time. So please back it off," said heathen daughter.

Now to the last. This is Babydaddy, Personal Assistant, Assooze, etc. Wow. You'd think a guy would go out to get laid if he keeps being told "no". That's all I'll say about that.

So back to being a rock. I don't like diamonds (Not my son's friend, Diamond...the rock diamond). I think they're tacky and not in a good way. I love stones where you can see the veins of other minerals streaming through them. Goddess, I love jade! I love garnetts and amythysts. I love the deep earth tones that you can see while driving through the southwest and west. I love seeing fossils in them! I love the look rocks bring when they're placed stategically in gardens either English or Asian. They are beautiful, and they are reminders that existence goes on and on even though you don't.

So, when I'm accused of being a lizard with no emotions, I'll just remind myself and the accuser that with all the pressure from circumstances and people over my lifetime, I've become quite a beautiful stone. Maybe not precious to them, but definitely to those who count.

Dj Shadow has song called "Midnight in a Perfect World". I heard it the other morning, and it got me to thinking. What does he mean by "perfect"? The song is beautiful and only slightly melancholic. Great for driving on a quiet city highway if that could be possible.

I kept thinking. Silly, It's already perfect. We have extremely beautiful and precious and extremely painful and horrible events that happen each every second this place (earth) exists. Hey. I got cancer. Someone else raised their offspring into adulthood without a hitch. Genocide is occuring in the Dar Fur. The plants are waking and blooming. Slavery exists. My dear friend Marty is helping rescue women and girls out of it right here in the USA. See? Beauty and divine along with demonic and sick.

I know this heavy and cheesy. It's just the stuff I'm thinking about. So then what am I getting at? Well let's see. I don't consider this hell. I don't consider this heaven. I know folk who believe these ideas. I don't believe in them now or after this existence. One without the other seems sorta....unharmonious. If in order to have life there must be other life to feed off of. That life then dies. So how can this system be considered "imperfect" when everything (lifecycles and what not) is set up so perfectly?

How can I think "perfect" with my left tit gone? My existence and those of others that I hold very very dear don't really matter much in the grand scheme of things. We're insignificant. You guys ARE significant to me but not to nature. Things get shit on without it being personal. I understand this and hold no grudges. I just want this rollercoaster of a life to calm down and roll without the crazy peaks and valleys.