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.