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.

The surgery site is for the most part healed up. I'm now able to shower. I don't trust showering yet, so I'm still spongeing it up. But now it's IN a hot bath. Goddess, I love baths! Hot baths and saki are the two greatest inventions of mankind! I"ll skip the "relaxation" music though. I find my chirping parakeets and the curious eyes of my chihuahuas more relaxing (humorous) than wood chimes or Micheal Bolten or whale music. Wow that last sentence was so 90's.

My spirits for the most part are up. I do have down, but this weather is too beautiful! And I have too many plants to put into the ground, and I want to shop. Now on to find a tank top that holds my still existing ta in while I heal up.

Oh, Yes. From now on ya'll can call me Amazon Amy. I think I should take up archery! ; )

I have this odd looking "chocolate pom pom" fish. Really she's just an ugly brown colored goldfish with such tiny pom poms that it seems silly to call her a pom pom goldfish. I don't even know if it's a female. I just call her "her" because..well just because. Her name is Renee (French for queen). She is the queen too. All of the other fish have avoided her like the plague except for the past few months.

For the past few months the silly fish has had this tumor aproximately twice the size of her brain growing out of one of her pom poms. That tumor has been source of sick entertainment for me. My mother pleaded with me to put her out of her misery. My friends shrieked, hurled, and burst out into laughter at the sight of it. One dear friend would not go into the same room unless she was tired and already tipsy. Yes, I think reactions like these are enormously funny.

There was only one reaction that upset me. I bet you can guess which it was. My mother's response to the tumor annoyed me not because she felt that it would be a more humane way to deal with such an unsightly deformity but because it was to ease her comfort and not the fish's. Hmmm.

I immediatey responded that yes things with tumors should be put out of their misery. She agreed, " Your grandfaher would never let an animal suffer like that". Hunh.

Humane- kind, tender, merciful.

She didn't get my subtlety. She didn't realize my sensitivity with all things aflicted with tumors these days. Nor could she ever admit to any grievous behavior. So my tart retort went unanswered. With her you don't compare my human growth with a fish growth. It's unfathomable.

Now with my tumor cut out and healing up fine, I think. We will now discuss my beautiful, ugly fish. The morning after the going away party for my tata, I went down to feed the fish. I shrieked not out of disgust but amazement! Well. There was some disgust in it. I do have to admt that. About half of the tumor was hanging on by a thread to the other half of the tumor. I like yucky things, but this was seriously gross. Nothing to see here folks, so I went about my day as usual. In the evening I noticed it fell off. Eww. Don't look. Don't look. Don't look. I removed the thing, and reported to the family that we were going to eat it for dinner. Of course PinkZilla and Personal Assistant know my sense of humor and knew we were not going to be eating stir fry a la Growth of Renee. We all laughed, and I secretly worried about our mental health.

The next morning was Saturday or HomeDay as my Pinkie calls it. We had no where to go, so arising from bed is always a lttle slower than other days (except sunday..silly religious folk). "How is that fish doing?", I thought to myself. I got up walked down to the tank and squealed again. The rest of it was sunk down onto the floor of the tank and Renee was swimming around like she owned the world while the other fish tried to hide behind the sparse vegetation. If she had a soundtrack it would probably consist of Singing in the Rain songs.

"Good Morning. Good Morning. It's great to be awake. Good Morning. Good morning to you!"

I however still could not look at "it". I got rid of it. You might wonder how this "Miracle" was performed right in the middle of this atheist/agnostic/pagan's (can't decide) home. Well, I'll tell you sister. I found a cure. Yes, a cure right in my neighborhood pet store. Natural fixative straght from this great green planet, bottled up, and bought by yours truly for 6.99 US dollars.

Please when you read this think of "Oh Brother Where art Thou". You see the accents of bible thumping Southerns are prevalent in the events of my life at the moment. Now back to My Story not Renee's...well I'm not sure who's story:

I told my mother about the tumor falling off. She asks me how it happened. I told her about the medication made from an extraction of an aquatic plant that acts as an antifungal for fish life. She didn't listen. What she heard me say was something like this:

This Miraculous food extracted from God's good plants ( food suppliments that she has guilt tripped me into, that are marketed basically as a cure all and that as a dutiful daughter I have agreed to to go along with it) has done the miraculous that even these doctors(salesmen) have not foreseen and healed my fish of her cancer! Praise God for what it's doing for me!

Oye. Oiy. Aye, my aching tit. No. After I explained to her that I used a product designed for tanklife, I still had to sit through another "yes all of our answers lie in nature" sermon. Um. Ten years ago she was telling me that tofu and the health and wellness industry was a conspiracy of the New Age Movement! I'm still quaking in fear of people asking crystals and tarot cards for enlightenment. Love my folks to death . Can't do a damn thing for 'em though.

Now on to my fish and me. We're both healing. I am a bit jealous of her though. One of my poms was removed and I still have to sit through chemo. She just had yucky tasting water for a week, AND she gets to keep her pom. Lucky fish.

I have aprox 14 hours till my left boob gets chopped off. I go from being calm and confident to tears welling up in my eyes whether or not I'm talking about it. I really appreciate the support my little A Left has received from friends and family. I'll let you'll know how it all ends up.

Health and longevity before tit and vanity.

Two things that heard from my Pink Zilla this week:


"If you pour water on the ground zombies grow there."-Pinkie

"It's a tornado if the feathers of chickens get ripped out."-Minizilla

I'm glad to read that the French are resisting their businesses' attempts to erode their worker protection laws. As a member of a country that excels in fake work for little wage for long hours, I am glad that there are folk that won't put up with it. There were articles this past week talking about the riots that students (backed by unions and other groups) participated in that were incited by Chirac enacting a law that enables employers to hire and fire on an at will basis. In the past there had to a reason for an employee's dismissal. Now that protection was taken away for those under 26. Interesting some say. So what other's say. I find it disturbing. At first the young will be hurt, but if the common folk will put up with it and the companies see that, even the older generations will be in danger of their protections being taken away.

Think about it. Companies have figured out that the American public are tolerant of crap work for crap pay with no benefits. We as a nation are steeped in "Temp" culture. Trogolidites of the workforce, we are. We despise workers that find no reason to do their work properly since the worker knows that their hard work won't protect them from a "layoff". I'm guilty of that philosophy.

I have a strong work ethic, but my past luck had it that I didn't get well paying jobs. I've been lucky enough to find a permanent job with benefits with an ok starting wage. However, we'll see how lucky I am when I get to start my chemo and radiation. We'll see if the benefits cover the medical costs or even if I'll be able to keep that job. I don't know how my body will handle the drugs and radiation, so who knows? Maybe I might not be able to fulfill the requirements of my job even though this not under my control, but the company knows of the issues that I'm facing. So we'll see.

Now back to my being guilty of judging fellow disgruntled temp workers. I'm not begrudging of single parents. I know what a burden it is to be the main caretaker for a household. The person I'm thinking of was a single man with no kids who half assed his projects/assignments thus creating more work for the rest of us. Ok. He's not innocent either, but what I'm getting at is that the rest of us were being complaisant in the treatment we received from the company by working the overtime and following the rules of no food or drink at our work stations, no slouching, no searching through our cds for music( no down loading of mp3's or you'll lose computer privileges for good at the company), and no talking in between breaks. I hate the cubicle world. It was all grey with no windows to outside world.

Oh yes. The job was easy. We were in the lax department. I just couldn't stand the lack of paychecks and when we got them there were always hours or stipends missing from them. Why not get a better job? There are very few good paying jobs in this area. Why not move? It costs money to move. This is a very good place to raise a small family. Kansas does not for the most part hold to what I consider good family values or progressive, intelligent views of science and social issues. This is an oasis in a desert. Lawrence has a multitude of good and likeminded folk raising their offspring here. The Goddesses are a good example of that.

Now back to this gentleman. He hated the lack of concern that the government contracted company bestowed upon its workers. He acted out in his own subtly rebellious way. I applaud him for it and wish that more blue and white collar workers (myself included) stood up to our jobs leaving and wages and benefits being slashed like a Walmart sale on a Saturday afternoon.

Ok I'm done bitching. I'm just going to leave you with a poem that I found and gave to you a awhile back...

Little silver fish
Pointing upstream
Moving downstream
In clear quick water

Oye. It's only 10 in the evening and my hang over from today's Irish-for-the-day frivolities is in full swing. The drinking was a great way to forget the stressfull shit that's been going down. Am I going to have to go through radiation or not? If I do will I get a plasti-tit? Will Sam Donaldson's eyebrows go with my snakes that are already nestled lovingly on my chest?

I'm bitch cranky. Ask my children the PinkZilla and my personal assistant your friendly neighborhood ass ooze. One day I swear I'm going barbeque my chihuahuas. Hangovers and yipyip dogs don't mix. Do parakeets go well with Shiraz? Did I mention I was cranky?

Well...Thank you Goddesses and Mike for revelling in the beginning of my left tit's last week on my body. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the hootin' and hollerin'. I can't wait for next week when all those children of goddesses will converge upon my abode and tear the roof off the sucka. It'll be a blast! Just remember GDs not accustomed to loud noisy paks of chillins, that a sip of liquor never did a body harm, but it sure does git the tension the F on out of the house. Godess bless and goodnight!

It's not so simple.

That's what the doctor said. It's a nice way of saying you have cancer. What the fuck?! This has got to be unreal! I can't drive away from this, I can't wake up from this, and goddamn it, there's no bad trip to come down from!

It's funny I understand the figure of speach "There are no atheists in a fox hole." I've caught myself praying, and I don't know exactly what this thing is that I'm praying too. I honestly don't believe in that desertgod that most of the world prays to, but I prayed to something...

Now I've been told to either cut the breast off completely or risk looking "udderly" ridiculous. After the last one I can see the difference in sizes between my breasts. I used to love my itty-bitty titties. Their shape just never changed much, but after a biopsy and a lumpectomy both taking out about 75% of mam tissue well....My little A left went even smaller than my little A right.

So, I'm gonna have one real tata and a lump of flesh, plastic, and liquid simulating a tata. I actually toyed around with th idea of leaving it. An asymetrical field glaring and daring the world to behold it's outrageous deformity brought on by a grotesque disease and retaliated by an even more grotesque "treatment". In that place I want a tatoo to symbolize the shape of the thing lost. I was thinking of tattooing Sam Donaldson in his early years in place of my beloved ta. Him or W. C. Fields. I think Fields' nose would be perfect for a nipple while I love Donaldson's eyebrows.

I'm just glad that the cut and paste section of this is almost finished. I want to thank you Goddess Friends for supporting me. I love that you guys try to help in what ways you can for Kalli and me. I think we're all lucky to know each other. Goddess bless and goodnight!

I haven't been blahhhging lately but as I have no internet access at the moment. I hope you will forgive me.

I feel like a rather large set of vicegrips is clamping down on my mind. A smaller set is working my torso. I'm nervous and a tad scared about tomorrow. I can't help it, but I do have one ting that does get me through...

"Always look on th bright side of life."

Goddess bless Monty Python!

and thanks for your support, ladies!

I need to get this out now so as not to be so negative tomorrow at the Goddess Holiday Dinner.

NCS Pearson has a bad habit of not paying their employees whom they require overtime hours and have stricter rules than a crazy West Virginia snake church. I keep thinking that this illegal. Other companies have been reprimanded for this behavior. I know of one particular lady who has not been paid for 1 month of working there, and one mother who has been given an eviction notice. I kid not. This shit pisses me off. It pissed me off before and now it pisses me off even more.

I wasn't paid last week. I have disconecction notices, half of rent to pay, and Christmas is coming this Sunday. I had not gone shopping. Luckily last night my mother loaned me the money to get the PinkZilla presents. As much as she can get under my skin, I am so thankful that she is there to help me!

On to my next big saga that I've added to a list of sagas that have acculmulated over these past few years. I call this my Neverending Story, complete with utter nonesense and dire circumstances just before little rays of light.

I got a call late Friday night from Assooze. After what seemed to be a rather long illogical conversation, I realized that I was the incoherent one. What I thought was a silly plea for attentio after a bad fight turned out much different. He got ran over by a car while crossing 23rd St at Mass St. He does not remember anything except EMT's working on him. From what he gathered the driver jackrabbit-started before the light changed and got him pretty good. He's gonna find out what really happened tomorrow at a doc visit.

I know some are going think, "hey, that would've solved a problem", but my oldest two brothers had to be told at a young age that their mom died. My brothers did not fare well at all. She died on Christmas. I DON'T want that for my PinkZilla. I don't think that scenario would play out in my kids' lives, but I do have a reasonable fear that someday it will have to be discussed.

That being said...I am glad that all he got was a glued up forehead, scrapes and bruises covering his body, and an achy sternum.

Wow. 2005. How many more days left?

I think this my third week of cubicle ecstacy. I feel like I'm at the zoo. I've made sporadic friends. At this place I've found like minded folk intermingled with different minded folk, and the differences setting people apart range the typical gamuts between race, aesthetic, political, and whether or not you smoke.

My favorite personality so far is a woman that I go out of my way to talk to and the action is reciprocated. She's not from Lawrence or Topeka. She's from the South. Funny I thought she'd be unwilling to talk with me. But just like a Southern she quickly warms up tells all, but unlike the other Southerns I've met...she's nice!

She's just had her first baby and says she's done! She's just got into contact with her biological grandmother (she's adopted). She's had her amount of storms and unabashedly relays them. Her stories are not to make her seem pitiful or super-ego strong, but they do reflect an inner strength that makes others respect her. She's a Diva. We use Goddess, but her culture uses Diva. She's young, but I see it in her. She rocks!

She doesn't judge. There are A LOT of pregnant women there, and what's different about her is that she's a non-hypocritical pro-lifer. shit happens. Messes happen. cleaning up after that happens. There's no need to kick a person when they're down, and the babies should be treated like royalty. I've run into too many people who disparage a woman or man for procreating too many times, and have no compassion for that situation (parent or children) at all. Honestly, only the higher tax brackets can truly afford their kids! I know I can't afford my PinkZilla, so how can I spite another person who's made the same accidents!?

I did make an Enardaesque remark during a discussion over the topic of birthing pain and scientology. The ladies were going off on men that are against relief of any kind for women in labor. "Poor Tom Cruise's girl!" It kept distracting me, so to stop the inanity and shut the Clucking Hen Syndrome for a few secs (it'd been going on and on), I blurted out, "If men were to bear the babies then abortion would be sacrament!". And you thought 11 degrees was chilly! I've never had frost bite before, but I came pretty damn close right there! Ha ha ha! Devilment vein! Those ladies are a bunch of incompassionate folk who rail against everyone for nigh near everything. Yargh! 8.5 hours a day!

So to keep my brain from melting into an oblivion reserved for office gossips, I went to data entry. Jeesh! That's saving my brain?! Well...yes. On a cd a friend of mine burned, I found a couple of lovely videos. I squealed with delight when I found them! Beautiful African music! Made me chairdance and get giddier than what the snow was doing for me. A person looks pretty stupid wiggling and staring at a screen. I was afraid someone might try to "save" me from an epileptic episode.

Another day at Temp Slave HQ. i got annoyed and over joyed on the same day. That's a job. Right? Then I'm off to drive through the snow and curse everyone else's driving while they curse mine!

Little Silver Fish
Pointing upstream
Moving downstream
In clear quick water
-Soseki

I must have a Devilment Vein somewhere! I know you all hate things that creep and crawl and scurry, but I've got a place you should check out. Sorry I can't show any pictures because I still don't understand this damn MAC!

Anyways, I love Fiber Arts magazine. I usually see something in it that makes me smile instead of groan about pretentious arteest assholes who think they're pushing an envelope or are just being "ironic". Did I say that?! Oops.

I checked what I believe is the current issue, and my jaw dropped. Here t'is: www.fiberartsmagazine.com/back_issues/11_05/angus.asp

I love all sorts of patterns. Loud, big, subtle, flowing, jarring, soft, femminine, masculine, etc...you name it.

This is where it gets fun...It's bugs. bugsbugsbugs. Enormous patterns of gorgeous, brightly colored, impecably kept specimens delicately laid out as rugs or pinned on walls like bug wallpaper. Made me miss my dazed days of highschool and early college.

I also had the strong urge to take a high tea. This is not a drug reference, but literally "tea" complete with silver utensiles and little sandwiches that don't deserve to be called a sandwiches since they're the size of my thumb.

Which brings me to "Johnny". I have this delightful friend who makes short films in claymation. He'd love this. He has a penchant for yucky things. slimy things. creepy things. He looks normal. VERY normal. Watch out for those! A few years ago he wanted me and my partner at the time to dine elegantly while hundreds of cockroaches scurried across our plates.

HMMM...no I didn't take him up on the offer, but the idea was interesting and this exhibition makes me want to try it out just for laughs and a few retches from others. I'll think on that idea lttle more. mmmm...ok, no, I don't think I will.

This is what I WAS thinking: You folk with unwelcomed extra roommates might think this would be an interesting and beautiful way to display any "trophies" that you acquire.

Hmmm. Vaccines are invented to rid society of communicable diseases. Right? Well that's what I thought, so for the last week I've been pondering about the Minizilla's fever, cough, achiness, etc... So after only one day on the new job and now two days at home with a sick zilla and bored 4 year old (thanks to babydaddy showing up late and three sheets to the wind from night before),I have found out that Minizilla has CHICKEN POX! Hunh?!

Do you recall the commercial of the kids giving funny answers to questions about diseases that we unfortunate adults had to suffer through in childhood? I do. I want to smack that PR man at Merck. Damn! Where's Amy Goodman and Jerry Brown when you need a consumer advocate and media outlet to inform the world of this travesty and sham!

I have had a grump-a-thon this morning that would make the Grinch proud. Grrr, I still say, but after a conversation that the entire nieghborhood woke up to and some serious theraputic cleaning, I can now calmly talk to the passed out Assooze in my son's room without wanting to kill him (ASS not MZ). Well, sort of. GRRR.

I am positive though and I do have things that make me thankful, grateful, whatever. I am glad that MZ got sick during a time when he'll only miss 2 days. I'm glad to have found a great Persian restuarant last weekend that you all have got to try! I'm glad Pinkie ain't sick. (cross my fingers) I'm glad to know you ladies and gents! I'm glad for the time to devote to my creative side. I'll be glad not to be let go from this newly acquired job. I'm glad to have a caring mutt to cuddle up with. We both need heat rocks in cold weather. I think I'll ask for one for Christmas.

So if Goddess Pheonix (Mazzy? I like Pheonix, great alegory!) reads this...sorry to have missed your birthday, and sorry GDs for missing "Thank you" dinner at FS last night. I was a little busy. Happy Women-Do-The-Work-Only-To-Thank-A-Man-God-Who-Had-Nothing-To-Do-With-It Day!

It's been a coming...now it's time to brag about the Pinkie...We had parent/teacher conferences at her PRESCHOOL last week. Why four year olds need those is beyond me. I have problems with religion and uptights as you all know, and this place is (ack) religious and (ick) uptight. There's only the facade of laid backness, but really they're anal diamond producers.

So, why I am proud of my little Pinkie? Good question, I guess. I think it's rather obvious though...they described her as friendly, but in a couple different places they described her as being direct, unique, and (my favorite) rude. Twice rude was used. I laughed at that much to the teachers' consternation. She "had trouble transitioning from an outside voice to an inside voice". I laughed at this too. Redirection was used a lot! They very politely described instances where it seemed like she gave up working a partner and walked away. I know this routine. She was either throwing a bitch fit or the other kid was just not stimulating enough. I laughed here as well.

I think they were being "kind". What they said could've been seen as left handed compliments, but I took them all as wonderful things! It's the same as when a girl in the nieghborhood told my son that we were "weird". I heard her and thanked her. She looked confused and sheepish. The teachers had the same look as that little girl.

Pinkie's Momma and her Assooze always have been individualists. So it makes sense that she's friendly, but still ends up doing it her own way. That's my Pinkie. She runs with scissors, pokes at cacti, and does flips on her bike! Aye!

My Girl is direct, opinionated, independant, expressive, assertive, noisy, determined, stubborn, and straight forward. Damn! What great traits to have in your 4 year old girl!

What'll I think when she hits adolescence? I'll be PROUD and maybe a little concerned with crazy behavior. But that's as long as she doesn't let anyone get the best of her!

You go, Pink!

I don't thank vets for my freedom. I thank Activists. Feminists in particular. Whatever, I'm a Woman! I know it sounds like I'm ungrateful, but in the last 50 years where's the IMMEDIATE threat? Yes, we had a cold war. Scary commies were the immediate threat. We were their IMMEDIATE threat. I heard a greatline in a R&B song..."I'll fight your war when I finish fighting mine". Women and other minorities still have got a lot of work to do. Within their prospective groups and outside them.

I don't think that conservatives are thinking logically, practically, or in long terms about problems. Most of what I hear from them is pure emotional reaction to uncomfortable ideas and attitudes. Gay marriage bans, abortion restrictions, religious encroachment in public schools and science standards, ridiculous conservative based punishments on personal matters(extra taxes or bans on stores that sell sex products and the sex entertainment industry), and willful blindness and disregard to problems in rural and urban areas all the while blaming the victim (sorry,...person).

I do care about vets by the way. I find it distasteful yet understandable that 25% of the homeless population are vets. Hmmm...what does that mean when you take into account the working poor and those about to become homeless that served US by placing their safety and lives on the backburner? Their reentry in civillian life, addictions, physical and mental problems SHOULD be handled in a more appropiate manner.

I do not think their's are the only shameful problems we have spotting up our pristine US. I do not think that they are the only ones that served US either. I'm raising the next generation. Guess what! I'm serving the US. The trashmen are serving the US! Damn it! FS brewers are serving the US! We all are! In someway or other we are all doing that.

So who is the most deserving of my respect and reverence? I have decided upon those people who ardently fought for social change and equality of my fellow sentient beings and faithfully lived those ideals thoughout their lifetimes. Goddess bless them all!

My family is in love with things that make most people squeamish. The Pinkzilla's interest in snakes and bats at the moment are no exception. So, to make up for the crabiness in the last few entries, I will now give you a poem that my Minizilla wrote:

Corn Snakes
Allmost all snakes
are venemes
but corn snakes
are not. I
never fond
them in
Kansas
but there
in Kansas
cool. there
not venemes.

I could not damage the integrity of the poem by editing it, so enjoy it in all its creative glory.

All things related to bats are currently in picture form. I have no dig camera or scanner, so they won't be here, but the items will show up at some point.

Goddess bless you all! (I just sneezed)

Pay your fucking child support if you owe it! Fucking Deadbeat dads! Happy 29th month of no child support! It hurts them not just the Ex!

It ironically is my wedding aniversary to that crackhead asshole. Thankfully yes we are divorced, but when I get calls from collectors for medical bills piled up by the kids and can't afford to pay any of the other bills, I want to disembowel that fucker in the middle of downtown on bright sunny afternoon.

Sorry the anger wouldn't be quite so extreme if I hadn't just tried looking on the internet for legal advice that goes beyond prison/jail time for that assooze. It was all pro-man, anti-momma legal advice on how whittle the payments down...it wasn't all bad honestly, but most advice was "to stay the course" and how bad it is to be a single family household.

Your children WILL start sex early or become drug addicts. I don't have to worry about that. I became sexually active at 15 even though my folks were strict disciplinarians who never divorced, and his side are all addicts of something to some degree or other. My kids are undoubtedly screwed.

I don't think Focus on the Family and the rest of that conservative tripe has anything that I would value. I don't follow recipes very well. I tried to follow their recipe for life, but that ended dismally and dangerously. My hodgepodge way of throwing it all in experimentally is much more interesting and fulfilling. Especially when it it's about OUR happiness, mine and kiddos.

On another note my Halloween was not quite as scary as I thought it would be. Assooze didn't show up. I wasn't really surprised, but it's strange to hear your son say to his friend on the phone that he doesn't have a dad. Creepy really.

On the happiest note..My Minizilla was in the KC Star last week. I'm soooo proud! He looked distorted and silly just like he always does!