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).