Last night I went with a group of gal pals to a murder mystery dinner tour and then afterwards to a local piano bar.  It was a rollicking good time with some sassy ladies who totally rocked the MILF looks.  FYI:  I wore a short blue/green dress with stacked heels, silver bangles, and lottsa, lottsa green eye shadow.  Even the lavatory  bar maid said I looked HOTTTTTT!!!!  And she would know after watching all those hoochie mamas stumbling into the piss pots...  Anyhoo...!  The French Canadian piano player and the Sex on Beach (dranks, y'all!) were just what the doctor ordered.

Speaking of docs... Today is the day I go listen to my "options."  Y'all know I hate technical talk.  And of course the doc is expecting me to come to the appointment with "questions."  Seeing as how I 've not given much thought to GDMF cancer,  I'm gonna have to pull one out of my ass so as not to appear to be an uninterested, uninvolved, slacker cancer patient-which is what I am, btw.  So this is my token question:

Can I have bionic boobs?  I want boobs that can rotate and zoom and upload pics to Facebook.  Oh, and I really need red infrared sniper boobs that can pout a bead on someone from a mile or so away-just to encourage folks to straighten up and fly right-or else.  Oh!  and how 'bout water gun nipple nozzles that squirt unsuspecting f*cktards in the eye???  But please, oh please, can I have a pair of disco titties that spin and change colors and play Stayin' Alive! Stayin' Alive!  Ah Ah Ah Ah  Stayin' Aliiiiivvvve!!!!...  Can I???  Please???  Oh, and I'd like a wireless remote with that too.

Now, if I can have all that,  I'm IN!!!

I'm counting my blessings!

Drama

Y'all know that I love drama: real drama,  made-up drama, speculated on drama, barely there drama.  I'm not picky.  It's probably the reason I watch every Housewives franchise on Bravo TV.  There is no drama too small or too inconsequential that could make me look away.  I'm IN, baby!  E'ry time.  So in the wake of receiving the "cancer" verdict, it was only natch'ral that I would feel entitled to some home made drama.  So I went there-gnashing, arm flinging rage was my drama of choice.  And my victim???  Why, Carnival Cruise Lines, natch'rally... 

And it went a lil sumpin like this:

"REFUND MY GODDAMN FUCKING $$$ BECAUSE I HAVE GODDAMN FUCKING CANCER!!!"

And the very nice lady, of course, is sorry to hear this (which makes me want to kick her in her GODDAMN FACE-natch'rally).  But this is just not company policy.  Can she schedule a cruise for me at a better time, perhaps?

"THERE IS NO FUCKING BETTER TIME THAN NOW TO GET MY GODDAMN MONEY, LADY!  FUCK YOU!  I HAVE GODDAMN CANCER!"

Conclusion:  So, it would appear that I will be taking a Carnival Cruise sometime in the future, should I care to use my credit.  For fuck's sake....

Tip of the day: The next time you loose your freaking mind, call Carnival Cruise Lines.  They are infinitely polite, amazingly conciliatory, and persistent in finding you the perfect cabin that can contain your FUCKING DRAMA.

C-word

Alright:  The biopsy is positive for cancer.  Dammit...

So taking the bull by the horns I decide to tell the boybarians right away.  I plan to say something eloquent, inspiring, hopeful... "I have breast cancer..." is all I can manage before bursting into tears.  They freeze.  Big kid has glassy eyes.  Lil brother stares wide eyed, alarmed.  They look from me to their dad.... breaths held.  The moment suspended.  And even I glance at Mr B who simply stands as a sentinel, resolute, not rushing the moment or pushing it forward with useless words.  We simply sit in this fragile moment-together.

I am sure there will be more of these moments.  And there has been.  As I explain to lil brother later, "I am mad and sad."  "At me?" he worries.  And I chuckle.  I assure him, no, no-he's off the hook-for now...

And indeed real life does eclipse the "big moments."  I did several loads of laundry today, emptied the dishwasher, and within 17 minutes of my major revelation, the boys were fighting, had spilled a cup of Ramen noodles on the carpet, and had already used 18 plastic cups that were spread on the kitchen counter...

A friend said to me today, "Our love stories and our tragedies are never as elegant as we plan." So true. So very, very true.

On Friday I will meet with the doc to discuss "options."  We caught this early (Mr B is feeling righteous and justified about this) and the cancer is small-a blessing, indeed.  Our little world is going to have a few bumps in the road, but we will take them one hurtle at a time.

Blessings-as always!

B Day...no, not my Birthday...

Biopsy Day:  It's noon and I am higher than a cat's ass, dancing in the kitchen as Mr B badly sings a rendition of...   ???   ....  Oh hell,  I can't even remember.  But it was groovy.  And I didn't want it to stop...  I can see why folks might be trolling street corners looking for a hit of this...  The doctor has given me a Valium to knock back my nerves a notch before harpooning my boob with a giant forked needle (this is what my brain is telling me-not the doctor). 

And FYI-I am not afraid of cancer.  I am terrified of needles though.  I beg Mr B to not make me do this. I am totally comfortable with not knowing.  But he stoically insists that we deal with this now.  Which figures since it's unlikely his boob is cancerous, and it's ever so easy to sign someone else up for a giant needle through her boob.  So I grimly threaten him,  "Just wait until I have to make a decision about your balls!  Oh, yeah!  No mercy, mister!  I'm gonna REMEMBER THIS."  He just compassionately squeezes my knee and makes the appointment anyway.  "Bastard!..."  I acidly think.  And btw:  I hate pink.  I am not wearing pink.  No matter what...

Mr B, who is my keeper while I'm high off my ass, is taking his job seriously.  "Hey, I watched this show about a man with a 160 lb scrotum that he carries around in an upside down  hoodie, and his home health nurse, her name is Precious, comes by to wash it everyday..."  And he graphically goes into detail how Precious has to wash out the penis folds that are inches deep..  Gah!  I thought my job was bad...  And as planned, I am revolted and oddly amused and cannot stop thinking about a 160 lb scrotum... 

Finally, it's time to go, but I'm piddling around the house picking sh*t up per my usual, putting on more lip gloss.  "Goddammit! Get in the car!"  Mr B barks.  "...Please???"  he amends.  Looks like I'm not the only one nervous about boob harpooning...

Once there:  I have on my comfy pink (sigh...) slippers, yoga pants, and open in the front gown.  I take one more look in the mirror to check on my make-up.  "Damn!  That green eyeliner is really working for me,"  I think, before putting on my sleep mask which a wise friend has given me.  If you want to lead an ornery old mare out of a burning barn, you'd better put blinders on her...

A few hours later:  It is done.  I have survived.  I am bleary eyed and trussed up like a turkey with a cold pack on my boob, but my make-up still looks good and the green eyeliner is still working for me.  Triumph!

Once home:  The boybarians cautiously check on me, so I tell them that the doctor has special boob orders for them:  if/when the boob falls off, big kid is to pick it up and toss it to lil brother who will hold it up for a pic while his brother uploads the picture to Facebook.  Of course, everyone will LIKE the pic, and they will be boob heroes!  They are horrified. Naturally...

And y'all, for what it's worth, I am feeling strangely blessed by this lil life hiccup.  The support of my friends and family, well, it's enough to make even an ol' belligerent battle axe like me blink back a tear or two...  And honestly, at least I don't have a 160 lb scrotum to carry around in a hoodie.

Blessings to you ALL!

Stuff

Big kid says to lil brother:  "You should write a book and title it STUFF MY BRAIN TELLS ME. Probably be the best fiction book ever."

Sarcasm is totally the domain of 14 year olds.  They OWN it.

We're off to see the new Dark Knight Batman later.  Christain Bale OWNS this smoldering role.  He's one of my fav super heroes.  Probably because I think he's a tortured soul in real life.  Love, love, love his craggy Highlander look, too.  Can't wait to be alone with him and my popcorn bucket in the dark!

Life in the Fast Lane

Mr B and I were having a parenting argument the other evening:

... blah
....blah blah
... blah blah blah

Mr B summed it up this way:  I'm MS RIGHT and he's MR WRONG.

And that pretty much closed the barn door on that.

...evil grin!...

Cra-Cra Part Deux

I had to run an errand at the butt crack of dawn yesterday, and on my way through town I spot a homeless man sitting on a guard rail smoking a cig.  And I think to myself, "Now that's the life..."  Detoxing is kinda still happening.... mostly.

Later that afternoon I call the therapist for an appointment-after coming home from the pharmacy with a crate of tampons. Yeah.. I know-Midol is cheaper.  Anyhoo.... "Yes, I will take the next available appointment!"  It's not like I need another person to tell this same 'ol same 'ol BS too, or even that I'm searching for answers or clarity.  I just need a pill.  And the b*tch had better hand one over....  OR. ELSE.

In the meantime Mr B keeps running bubble baths the size of Lake Michigan for me and doling out my tightly controlled daily ration of "peace and happiness"-keeping one eye me at all times and never turning his back to me.

Smart man, I think.