Kid Score

I am pressing lil brother for compliments this morning and ask him to rank my mom skills on a scale of 1-10.  "SIX!" he promptly responds-no thinking involved-natch'rally.  Of course I am miffed that I barely pass the average mark.  So I insist he explain his reasoning...  Come to find out he's not a fan of vacuuming or putting away dishes-which I make him do.  "And then you ask dad to do stuff, and then he makes me do it!"  OK-I am guilty of trickle-down chores.  Resisting the urge to pinch his head off or squeeze his arm, I ask him to explain the negative long term effects that vacuuming and putting away dishes is gonna have on his emotional and psychological well being in the future...  But he's totally bored now and already channel surfing.  So I do what any mom would:  I pin him down and tickle him like it's Judgement Day....for at least SIX minutes.

HA! .....brat!

Oh, and btw-he screamed like a little girl.

Kids and Cancer

Y'all, I am embarrassed to say, that my kids don't see the down side to cancer.  E'ry night they're like:
"Where we eating out tonight!?!" 
"Cool!  Who made that cake?!?" 
"What's in that card!?!"

Big kid was like,"Whoa!  Your friends really like you, mom!  Do they ever just give you money???  And I assure him, cancer is not like your birthday ...dummy!

Mr B actually brought lil brother to see me after surgery while I was high on drugs and desperation.  And of course the kid proceeds to open cabinets, touch and successfully operate medical equipment, turn on the TV and find Sponge Bob (which will make you want to die right then and there), bounce on my bed which he put at a weird angle, and roam the halls loudly spying and reporting on the weird, sick person in the next room (who wants to die because Sponge Bob is laughing his pants off)-even though Mr B is hollering, snarling grim death threats, and giving him the crazy eye for all his carrying on.  I couldn't get outta there fast enough.  Having your family perform their usual antics in a "serious" place is well, just...awkward.

Mr B went with me to my radiology appt yesterday.  Mainly because I prefer to be carried places- driving is for commoners, in my book-but mostly because he says I am irresponsible about cancer and can't be trusted.  And he's pretty much right...  I am a slacker in the cancer department. And I have been known to tell a lie... or two... 

So the sweet lil nurse is going through my health history and is quite delighted about how generally healthy I am when Mr B pipes up, "Don't be too impressed, she cusses like a sailor."  Sweet lil nurse is naturally horrified and in disbelief that someone as charming as myself (I brilliantly translate as angelic when folks first me...) could have such a rotten, foul mouth.  At which I inform her that, "I am married to a liar-and she can put that in my chart."  And I smile in such a sickeningly sweet manner as to convince even the wall paper that indeed Mr B is quite correct...

Next I meet with the doctor-who is a distinguished Chinese gentleman.  And for the next 30 minutes, he will only look at Mr B while talking about my boob.  Poor thing, he couldn't look my homegrown southern boobs in the eye.  But I love him anyway, especially when he clasped both my hands in his while bowing and assuring me that he would take care of me.  I just adore Chinese knights in shining armor!  Even if big boobs creep them out...

Which is another odd perk to cancer.  It just makes you love everybody....seriously!

Nursing Home

I swung through the nursing home to drop off some flowers for grandmother and decided to snoop out the daily activity board before handing over my goods.  Hmmmm.... some pretty interesting options at the ol folks home, if I do say so.  Take for example the movie premier where the first part of the movie will be shown before lunch.  That's right-who the hell cares about the movie's conclusion anyway???  All the good endings have already been taken.  Screw it!  Watching 1/2 a movie in the morning sounds ultra-glam, like you got more important sh*t to do than wait for an overpaid actor to finish his lines.  After lunch is for napping and gossiping anyway.  E'rybody knows that.

I confess to Mr B (who is unwillingly tagging along with me even though it is his grandmother we are there to see) that I kinda like the nursing home.  You can park your wheel chair in the hallway and out right stare people down without any remorse or shame.  You can speak if you wanna...or not-while staring.  You can also watch those young, hottt orderlies working up a sweat while swabbing the deck...all the while peeing in your Pampers, if you so choose while wondering about how that movie is gonna end...  And just imagine all the gossiping about those sour relatives and negative nurses and slutty social workers and bored cafeteria staff... Why, that's more interesting than the conclusion of  East of Eden.  I could live on that for decades.

Mr B says he hates the ol' folks home.  E'rybody is always talking loudly to you, asking you irritatin' sh*t, only showing half movies, and making you go to recreation to bat around balloons with half strung badminton paddles.  Mr B is gonna be a terrible grumpapatomus with big ears and a bad mood when he gets to the ol folks home.  I can assure you that when he is not kicking up a fuss about missing the movie conclusion after lunch because he was taking an ol man nap, he'll be talking dirty to any nurse over the age of 57.

Let's just hope they put us in separate rooms...  and our grandchildren like badminton.

Slacker

Sorry, y'all...  I've been slacking.  I guess I could blame it on the cancer...  but honestly, I've just been a slacker.

*On the boob front-I am cancer free! Woo hoo!!!  I still have radiation therapy to slug through, but all in all, I consider this a blessing.

*Mr B gets bonus points for being a surgery trooper.  He was cool, calm, and collected the whole time-a reg'lar cancer cowboy.   He even called an asshole doc who stabbed me in the nipple with a big ass needle "a cruel son of a bitch!"  And I certainly agreed with him through my hurricane of tears.  Mr B also made sure I had my lipgloss the entire time and even insisted that I get some waxing done pre-surgery.  I had the best eyebrows, hands down.  And that's no lie.  He's also been a pill popping-Nazi making me knock back my oxy's like clock work.  It's been groovy, man...

*This week I've been recovering like a sorority girl at a Panhellenic lock-in:  messy ponytail bun, naked face, men's boxers, tank tops, and toothpaste.  That's about the extent of my personal hygiene or fashion efforts.  But hey, my eyebrows are perfectly arched.

*Most importantly-I've eaten like a queen this week.  One of the perks of being a southerner is just how seriously folks take feeding the sick.  The menu has been amazing.  Here's a lil taste for all you foodies out there:  lasagna, salad, pot roast, fruit tray, brownies and ice cream, pizza and cookies, alfredo chicken spaghetti bake, Nacho casserole, Mexican cornbread salad, homemade chicken noodle soup, and crock pot chicken and dressing...  And it ain't even over yet!  Laws!!!  I'd say that was almost worth getting cancer for!

Count your blessings, gals!  I sure am...!

I've been high on oxy for a few days while my boob has been hanging out doing...whatever boobs do...  Not only has the oxy helped me sleep off the trauma of surgery, but it's also emboldened me with another super power:  the crazy eye don't lie!  I'm hoping that this phenomena will last beyond my drug usage and work in e'ryday scenarios as well.  Nobody messes with the crazy eye.  And mine is pretty epic.  No lie.

Today my boob drain comes out.  I'm a little apprehensive about this procedure seeing as how Dr Asshole who harpooned me initially was completely unaffected by my fetal position crying jag when he casually speared me.  "It feels like a bee sting for just a minute," he drawls in a bored, I need another cuppa coffee voice.  Bee sting, my ass!  I seriously want to harpoon him in his balls-asshole!  My crazy eye is already warming up.  Hopefully my sweet, perky lil surgeon with hands like sparrows will make this process easy-as possible.  However, sometimes you gotta just grit your teeth and chew an f-bomb to dust and carry on...

No Spring Chicken

At my recent sojourn at the local hospital, I was proverbially thumped in the forehead for forgetting that I am no longer a spring chicken.  As if I needed a sour side dish of that with a serving of lumpectomy....  Anyhoo!

My first medical act upon check-in is to pee into a cup to see if I have a bun in the oven.  When the nurse peruses my negative results, I joke to Mr B, "Well, at least we aren't leaving here with a baby!"  And Crusty Nurse Cruella grimly confirms, "No, of course not dear, that test is really for girls who are still in their 20's and 30's," as she efficiently goes back to her business....  bitch!

Next I am wheeled into radiology when who should appear but Barbie's longtime boyfriend Ken-blond, golden, perfectly proportioned, and eternally youthful.  "Hello! Miz B!  My name is Corey!  I'm gonna be looking after you this morning!  So how are you today?!?"    ....for fuck's sake....  Are you kidding me?  A kid named Corey is now the boss of my BOOB???  ....for fuck's sake...  Anyone with the name of Corey cannot be a day over 15 years old...  for fuck's sake...  So Corey is undressing my left boob and appears to be puzzled and concerned, "Miz B!  What do we have here!?!" So I patiently explain to Corey in my best I am talking to a 15 yr old voice, "Corey honey,  my boob is covered in numbing cream and seran wrap BECAUSE THE DOCTOR TOLD ME TO!"  Despite my piss-n-vinegar tone, Corey breezily proceeds to wipe down my lotioned, numb boob...  ...for fuck's sake...

Corey may have been young and dumb, but I'm gonna give him pretty.

Laws...

Cancer Fashion Flare

Whew!  I survived the lumpectomy and am now at home higher than a cat's ass from all the pain meds Mr B is stuffing down my throat.  Truth be told:  I think he's doing it more for his pain, than mine...  Anyhoo...!  I'm looking a little road hard and put up wet at this point, but watcha gonna do when people have been chasing you through hospital corridors with a chainsaw???  I suspect that's what really happens when the anesthesiologist comes in to "drug" you.  It's all just a big horror story, for sure.

On a more positive note, I had some really cute boys taking care of my boob during my hospital stay.  However, once they start jamming you in the titty with giant needles and such, they're all just a bunch of sons of bitches  Pretty, my ass (spit! over the shoulder).

Now, on to the important stuff:  what does one wear for breast cancer surgery? 

Here's the break down:  a pink-plaid flannel shirt with cuffed sleeves, fitted black yoga socks, and pink and black booties to tie it all together.   Oh!  and pigtails and clear lip gloss just about wraps it up (always moisturize with SPF-even if you're planning to die on the operating table) .  Now that I'm home, I'm wearing the same pink-plaid flannel shirt with grey plaid men's boxers rolled at the waist-and a messy bun on top of my head and light foundation to even out the post-surgery blotches.  I might be inspired to switch it up and wear Mr B's red plaid man robe at some point.  Less is more is my cancer fashion philosophy.

Whew!  I've just about run out of steam...  I'm off now to go pop a few pills and then slobber into my pillow.  What could be more fashionable than that???

Y'all stop by again soon!

Mystery

Big kid is now a high schooler.  Weird, right?!?  So I ask him, "Have you picked out your outfits for the week?"  And he looks at me like I'm a creature from the deep.

People with penises-there ain't no understanding them. 

Laws, y'all...

Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

I remember eavesdropping on my momma when I was young-and foolish.  She would spend hours on the phone trash talking neighbors and husbands and church ladies and school teachers and irritatin' relatives for hours in hushed tones punctuated with bouts of raucous laughter with her best friend Gladys Carrier.  She would talk so long that she would lie on the floor, tangled in the mile long phone cord with her feet propped up on the counter and a watered down TAB drink in her hand.  It would make my father furious that he could never call his own home and talk to a solitary soul.  His only compensation-a chronic busy signal.  The more my mother whispered, the more desperate I became to learn her secrets.  I knew that whatever she was talking 'bout was important... and juicy...  and likely sacrilegious (even though she was a devout Southern Baptist).  To my great dismay, my mother had ears like a cat and could hear the whisper of tippy toes on carpet.  Indeed-she must have been a ninja.  No matter how careful I thought I was, I always got caught and suffered (willingly) a stinging slap to the behind for my poor detective skills and trying to mind my mama's business.  This is the greatest sin a Southern chile can commit.  Lying can be forgiven.  Listening to your mama's inner most secrets-NEVER. 

Which is why I have retired Blither Blather Bitchin' to a more secure location where the young and the restless aren't minding my bid'ness.  Of course, I forgive them for their sordid and perverse curiosity.  I'd probably do the same in their shoes...  Laws, y'all- who wouldda thunk that lady chat could be so dang...interesting???

Anyhoo....  WELCOME TO UNABASHED BLATHER!!!  I hope you will appreciate the face lift and the botox, but just a friendly warning:  just the same ol' drivel posted here.

I am thrilled you stopped by and would love it if you'd take a moment to become an official follower (see side bar).  It does a blogger's heart and soul wonders to know that there's an audience out there who is never too busy for a bit of vulagarity or absurdity-my personal preference at any rate.

Y'all come again, here?

Blessings!

Today I saw a little yellow goldfinch dodging pattering raindrops as it flitted through the trees, and it gladdened my soul.

Perks

Cancer is mostly a hassle:  ... the appointments ... the paperwork ...  the pamphlets...  not to mention constant discussions of grody body fluid...  Laws...!  I need an extra Xanax just to forget 'bout all that...

Mr B also pointed out another cancer phenomenon.  Whenever anyone mentions the dreaded word "cancer,"  they instantly lower their voices three octaves and look over their shoulder and take a step backwards.  Indeed-it is a creepy word...  kinda like the word "plague!"

Recently, however, I discovered a cancer perk while talking to an irritatin' sales guy on the phone.  "Excuse me!"  I rudely interrupt his rehearsed pitch.  "I have cancer!"  Y'all, I almost felt sorry for him seeing as how he couldn't apologetically scramble off that phone fast enough.  And that's when it hit me:  I just pulled THE CANCER CARD.  Who knew the power of that one lil phrase???

So here's some other ways I plan to pull THE CANCER CARD in the near future:

Pass the salt??? Excuse me...!  I have cancer!
Me first!!!  Do you have cancer???
I'm not interested in your bullshit...  I have cancer!
You talking to me?!?  I have cancer!

As y'all can see, the potential for abuse of power is pretty darn great here-like 110%.  And what fool what turn away from that??? 

...B'member-  I have cancer!

Update

I guess it's time to return to my day job since the sounds of cartoons are starting to rake across my one frazzled nerve, and lil brother has become even lazier than even I thought possible-which is pretty epic to begin with.  I'm pretty tired of seeing him slumped shirtless on the couch with freaky hair wrapped up in a raggedy blanket, circa 1978.  I feel the same way about Cartoon Network that vampires feel about silver...  Egad!   Make it stoppppppp!!!!

My B was a little shocked recently when he picked up my cancer folder and saw the letters GDMFC! boldly scribbled on the front cover.  "It took like .7 seconds for me to figure that one out.  You're not gonna carry this around are you?" he muses.  And yes, I assure him, I AM.  It's my GD cancer folder, and I can write any GD thing I want to it on it.  I also assure him, that should he ever need a cancer folder, I will decorate his folder with butterflies and rainbows and HELLO KITTY stickers...  Pardon me if  GDMFC! is not very politically correct and makes others uncomfortable. 

My lumpectomy surgery is scheduled for Aug 14th, followed by 3-6 wks of radiation.  And honestly, I am just sitting around tapping my toes ready to get this show on the road.  August is a real sh*t storm for me with my day job slamming around like a raging, drunken tornado sucking up the innocent and evil alike.   Laws...  Where is lil brother's blanket???  Think I'm gonna wrap up in it and watch another Housewives episode....  or two...