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.