Snuggle up and give it a kiss

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

I can hear the eeewwws from Johnson County.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I heart yous!

Warning: mood swing

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

I am alive.

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

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

Poisoned Bechemal

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

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

Ok. Back to the story.

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

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

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

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

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

Some traditions are best left behind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo, and God will smite thee for thy shoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INCONCLUSIVE Hairy Santa Fun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy Lady's Pre-Holiday Musings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ultra Fancy Body Bubbles

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

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

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

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

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

Whisky List

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gotta love a doctor who can laugh at that.

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

Old age and trickery will overcome youth and skill.

Old age isn't for sissies.

The queen is not accepting an audience today.

Drive slow. Let the little shavers grow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know what feels good?

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

mascara.

Scratching with your fingernails.


Do you know what tastes good?

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

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

grocery store sushi.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had these words to keep me going

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

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

Calling all Goddesses! Calling their humble servants!

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

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

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

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

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

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

This skinny chick can eat her heart out.