Part Fifteen of an unnumbered and unsolicited gaggle of random thoughts.

WELL WELL WELL IT’S BEEN A WHILE HASN’T IT.

i had an inclination to sing the partridge family “come on get happy right there”, but then it passed. Now all I can think of is Shirley Jones in those pad flowered pants. And Danny Bonaduce and his wild red hair. David Cassidy…rawwwrr what a fox. Okay i’m getting away from myself here, i deeply apologize.

My real topic of discussion here is who would kick who’s ass. The Brady Bunch or the Partridge Family. Obviously Shirley Jones would WHIP Mrs. Brady’s ass. That’s a given. I mean HER HAIR, what was with that HAIR. We’d have to put Alice with the Manager of the Partridges and then just take Mike Brady out. I think he was gay anyway, so he’d be the referee, and OBVIOUSLY vote in favor of the Partridges because David Cassidy is so much seventies sexier that GREG BRADY. yuckerino. I don’t know I think the P. Family could take out the Brady’s. I mean Marsha did get walloped in the face with a football and what did she do. She just cried. Poor marsha. marsha marsha marsha.

SO. Today I had an appointment with Dr. Reynolds (or whom i just call. THE MAN) as I do everytime before i have my horrid chemo appointments with the frozen peas and the fun costumes that no one in the hospital seems to REALLY understand. Once I thought the guy next to me was also wearing a costume but it turns out he was just a real biker dude. I’m glad I didn’t say anything. Probably would have been rude. Anywhoots. So THE MAN tells me that my CT scan brought about a mixed response. I don’t like this answer. I do not one bit. To sum it up. Some stuff has grown, some stuff has shrunk and some stuff has just appeared OUTTA NOWHERE! like magic. i love magic. i think if i overcame my laziness i could have been a really good magician. one time, i did a card trick. it baffled everyone. but then i told everyone how i did it. was kind of anti climactic. So, the point of this mixed response means that, the aggressive chemo that is making me more tired than running five ten k’s in a day, barf a lot, and just all around feel like crap… that’s pretty much all it was doing. It just plain wasn’t working. I SHAVED MY HEAD. FOR LIKE. NOTHING. if I run into chemo in a dark alley, you better bet your ass it’s getting the tar whooped out of it. and i’ll yell things like “this is for the bags of peas i wasted” and “this is for that awesome taco bell lunch i barfed up” and “THIS IS FOR MY FAMILY” things like that. that people yell when they meet people in dark alleys. when they meet up with the chemo they were doing that just stopped doing their job.

So i bet what you’re asking now is OH MY WHATS GOING TO HAPPEN. And here I am to answer that question. I’m gonna start this new clinical trial. Where they inject my body with bacteria and it goes in and finds the cancer. I’m going to be honest with you. I kind of tuned out as soon as he said he was going to inject me with live bacteria. Not only does it make me dry heave, but I won’t even eat yogurt because someone told me there was bacteria in it. BACTERIA. So they inject me with bacteria and then it’s three days of monitoring me making sure i don’t get a fever and so on and so on. Then they give me an antibiotics to get rid of the bacteria. gross. it all just sounds gross. but i’ll tell you whats more grosser. JUICING. That’s where I stand. Tumors have shrunk a teensy bit, lymphnodes took the cancer back in, lung was like. HEY why don’t we join in on this party. What a bunch of jerks. What a bunch of organ jerks. All the love i’ve been giving these organs in my body and what do they do, just GO ALONG WITH THE TRENDS. be trendsetters organs. SEE WHERE THAT GETS YOU. Let’s hope and pray this clinical trial does it’s job. A little better than chemo.

Here I sit on this friday night, with this wicked wicked head cold, not being able to swallow or breathe from my nostrils, and i’m gonna tell you what, all i want to do is watch the babysitters club movie. but NOOOOO no one is screening it. no amazon. no hulu. no netflix. nothing. how could they forget about such a magnificent movie. i’m devastated. and sick. and the dog ate the grapes that were on the counter. before i get a whole bunch of comments that say GRAPES ARE TOXIC FOR DOGS. i’m going to tell you I KNOW. i didn’t voluntarily feed them to him. i thought it would be wise to get like… healthy food from the store. ya know. to make me healthy. BEEEEEEP. wrong again. the dog just eats it. Son of a basket weaving Melissa joan hart. I can never win in this game we call life. I just seem to never win. Now go and enjoy your fabulous weekends and i’ll just keep binge watching “melissa and joey” on ABC family. you’re welcome

WHOAAAAAA. (said in joey lawrence on blossom voice)

Part Fourteen of an unnumbered untitled series of thoughts. (a little change there)

I’d like everyone to meet Damon. He’s my UPS guy and you can hear his laugh from across the street when I scream at him every day.  Every day you say? (perhaps a touch of an exaggeration). Damon is my bud, the highlight of my day. We high five, he smiles like his life is probably the best one in the world. Brad Pitt? CAN’T BEAT DAMON. Dali Lama? (spelling errors are a must on that name, sorry yo no disrespect). AIN’T GOT NOTHIN’ ON DAMON. He’s a man that loves life, and a gentleman that I couldn’t be happier to be delivering my 8 thousand vitamins, my juicing books, my hypothermia mitts, my new tshirts that actually fit my body. I’d like to give a shout out to Damon, and if you’re around my block, or know he delivers to you…. give him a high five, maybe even an ice cold can of pop, A POPSICLE! because he just makes my day. Always smiling, always happy to see ya, he’s the man that Damon. He’s the man.

Now, onto cancerous things. which i know we all like to talk about. if i were gonna make a list of top 100 things to talk about cancer would be number one. all the questions i get asked over and over and over, some are good, don’t get me wrong. some are very well put together and make total sense and i feel like maybe I should have done more research to give you the correct answer instead of slouching down, mumbling “i don’t know” and slowly trying to walk backwards away. Here’s my favorite question. “are you in pain?” seems logical to ask that question i know, and i may seem like a total assbag right now for even addressing it. but. here goes. YES. YES I’M IN PAIN. I HAVE SEVERAL TUMORS GROWING INSIDE OF ME. I HAVE PEOPLE JABBING ME WITH NEEDLES. I HAVE LASERS RADIATING MY BODY AND BURNING HOT CHEMICALS COARSING THROUGH MY VEINS TO KILL…. WHATEVER THEY RUN INTO. so to answer your question… and cheers to you…. yes, i’m in pain. if you wanna talk what number pain, we can even do that, sometimes i like to act out the faces of the pain i’m in based on that chart they give you. i can do that too. but i will tell you. i have a new set of golf clubs (thanks steve fennell) and i’m not afraid to take out your knee after you ask me these questions. LISTEN LISTEN! i know you care! it means a lot to me. it means more than you know, but you know how you just have that ONE person… or even two… where it’s like. HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY ASK ME ANY MORE QUESTIONS. ANyways, poor me, i mean, could you be a little more selfish rebecca? shannon down the street lost her power for an HOUR yesterday, do you even KNOW WHAT SHE HAD TO GO THROUGH?! her cornish game hens are RUINED. and all i can think about is cancer. i apologize shannon. i apologize. i bet those cornish game hens would have been fabulous.  Here’s a sad emoji in old timey emoji for you 😦

So quick update.  They found another floating tumor.  Her name is Lucy. SHe is part of Ricardo. As far as I know she is just floating around my peritoneal cavity. SHe’s about 2 cm. She’s a real bitch. Biopsy a couple weeks ago. the doc said “it’s really no big deal”. then he decided that was enough numbing agent. i said. no that is not sir. he said yes it is. stabbed me with an eight inch needle. the curse words and sentences that came out of my mouth, ya know being stabbed with an eight inch needle with barely/none anesthesia will force one to forget the fact that there are other humans around and enter a space and time continuum that is unlike one you’ve ever reached. I spoke of things that one should never speak of. I acted as though I was some ex convict speaking of shivs and shanks (although in my defense, i then went on to speak of which was grammatically correct so at least i had some wits about me) REGARDLESS, the tumor was cancerous. Here we go again. This time they said. More aggressive chemo. Two full days (7 hours a day) and then a three week break… then two full days..  three week break. two full days then three weeks. you get it right? because for some reason when i was explaining it to the people who were asking nine hundred and forty seven thousand questions…. they just couldn’t grasp the time issue.  So there’s the update.. Am I scared shitless? INDEED. Am i gonna stay positive and kick this things ass? i sure am gonna try. but hey dont’ blame me if i have some negative days. this shit is hard to deal with. here’s a great example.

I was looking in the mirror the other day. and what do i see? A GRAY FUCKING HAIR. this is clearly my worst nightmare. MY WORST NIGHTMARE. nothing could at all be worse than this. NOTHING. my arms looking like a heroin addict? DOESNT EVEN COMPARE TO A GRAY HAIR. so i go to grab it. and yank that sucker out. and what do you know. what. the. fuck. do. you. know. a whole chunk of my hair came out. so i stopped. held said chunk of hair. said in my MOST grosse pointe, i belong to the hunt club, the dac, have a large boat, don’t shop anywhere but that one store in the village with all the fancy shit in it, outlet stores? whats THAT?!, vacations shouldn’t be shorter than five days, THIS MERCEDES WAS IN THE WRONG COLOR, RETURN IT, “i swear to god if you spill that bottle of dom on my sperrys i will have my bodyguard whoop your ass”, “my window washer didn’t come this week can you BELIEVE IT?!” I SAID IT IN THAT TYPE OF GROSSE POINTE VOICE.

wait. this can’t happen to me. i’m not supposed to lose my hair. i’m supposed to have a funny take on cancer, keep taking all these drugs, lost a little more weight, look fabulous and close this chapter in my life.

I was wrong. I am losing my hair. at a very rapid rate. yes yes yes yes yes i know. i always wear a hat. but guess what. i always wear hair under that hat. sooooo. don’t you judge me for being sad. no one wants to be bald. well unless you look super hot bald. and then please. be bald. and send me a picture of you smiling, i’ll put it up for moral support.

This question has been posed to me. “have you lost any friends going through this?” and I have to say I haven’t necessarily LOST friends, I haven’t heard from friends that i thought i was pretty close too. i have had people who have driven me to an appointment (which is the most amazing thing a person could do) and think WELP DID MA PART NEVER HAVE TO TALK TO HER AGAIN. I have friends who i used to go out drinkin’ with that, i don’t hear from as much. Does it make me sad? sure! but i feel like at the end of all this not only will it be a nice cleanse for my body, but for my social life. I know who my best friends are, and who i can count on.  it’s kind of nice to see whos in a friendship just because they are selfish and they know you’ll listen and do whatever they want, and who’s in a friendship because they genuinely care. Now trust me, these friends, it ain’t all about the canc here, i listen to them, i give em my two cents, we have intelligent conversations, WE CRY, WE LEARN, WE ARE BETTER PEOPLE. that was real dramatic, but i thought i’d add it in.

So i have to tell someone this. I’m starting this juice diet all organic blah blah blah healthy blah blah vitamins blah blah green tea blah blah large juicer diet thing. because HELL WHAT DO I HAVE TO LOSE. so i got some wheatgrass. who invented that. they should be shot. shot dead. it smells like horrid horrid hell. HORRID HELL. i had to set up my itunes to play eye of the tiger. i had to run into the room punching the air. i looked at it. i air punched it. i hesitated. i shook that sonnuva bitch up. i drank half. i fell to the ground. i dry heaved to the point of my chest felt as though it was going to cave in….one. tear. rolled down my cheek. I ROSE UP! punched the air a little more. kissed the dog. told him this could be it.  grabbed the rest of the wheat grass. chugged.  (at least college taught me somethin’.) I FELL TO THE GROUND AGAIN. COMMENCE DRY HEAVING. i ran around the room .i sipped green tea. I CURSED TO THE WHEATGRASS GODS. i swear to god if this shit doesn’t do anything. someone’s gonna have a big problem.

One more thing I have to address before I go. Have you even seen the show dance moms? Don’t you think John Kelly would be great on it? When we were at the hospital the other day I felt like i was going out for a recital that was the live or end all. He was getting frustrated i think at one point he cried. i mean. the man was all about this pet scan. acting like it’s no big deal but if i don’t do it right I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT KIND OF HELL I’M GOING TO HAVE TO PAY. if anyone knows anyone on that show… please. get this guy on there. he deserves his shot at fame. not being a famous politician. or a spectacular professor, or many other reasons.

DANCE MOMS.

Part THIRTEEN of an unnumbered untitled series… i can’t remember my own title….

THIRTEEN. such a negative connotation. Yikes.

don’t judge me because i don’t capitalize things. it’s my choice to be grammatically incorrect. MY CHOICE I SAY.

I sit here in my home office gazing out the window upon a beautiful lake surrounded by heavenly beaches, egrets flying around, a mama duck with her ducklings swimming out to find food, a little baby splashing in the shallow end yelling for her mother to splash around with her…. aaaahhhh the lies i can tell. the beautiful lies i can tell on this blog.

Lets get real.

I sit here at my desk that my parents purchased for me when i was in sixth grade, in the dogs room with a treadmill next to me (dust hanger) watching the garbage men outside argue about something unknown. I would like to assume it’s a tall tale of one of them having a date with a real vixen the night before, but… i fear it’s something more like “where we going for lunch, no i don’t want that” type of conversation. At least i know my hard earned cash that go towards my taxes means that my garbage will be picked up no matter where those men go to lunch.

SO onto the Cancer part of this blog which is why i started it in the first place so that everyone could enjoy this wonderful experience with me. Are you guys having fun? I SURE AM. i want to say it’s been a week since the last treatment, but let’s get real, i have absolutely no concept of time. the only reason i know what day it is is because stephanie texts me every monday asking whether or not i’m going to the bachelorette preview party.  which, by the way, I did go to, and I just HAVE TO SAY, i detest that bachelorette. Sometimes i feel like she could be a great ventriloquist because when she gets excited she talks through her teeth. So, Kaitlyn, the personal trainer from Oh Canada, you should look into a different profession because being a slut on tv isn’t working for you. I went totally off track there #myapologies.  To answer my questions from the LAST blog, I did not jump up put on my hat and sing to everyone in the hospital.  What i did do, is ring a bell in honor of my last treatment. It was invigorating! everyone cheered! hugs all around! “good job rebecca” “we’re proud of you rebecca” “see ya NEVER rebecca” …. of course i’m only assuming all of this happened because i can’t remember a damn thing. You have to understand people. i was completely knocked out. I know i have  a high tolerance for anything drug related or booze related (thanks irish roots). but that doesn’t mean i will remember things after pretty much a surgery. BUT thank god, it was video taped, so now i can FAKE remember it and tell everyone how amazing it was. of course now you all know that i’m faking it so i guess… it won’t work. ANYWAY. I still feel like complete crap. But i’m trying my hardest to get back to normal. If you’re facebook friends with me, make sure you like all my posts that say things like “LEG DAY. WHAT A ROUGH ONE” when i check in at the gym. Or posts like “34” and then make people ask me what that means. just so i can respond with “oh man, i rode 34 miles on my bike today, it was caarazy” or things like “nothin’ says a great day like when i’m liftin'” ONE. i would never post anything like that. TWO. if i do. smack me. smack me right in the face. THREE. i could never lift. i can lift a beer to my face. i can lift an amazon prime box into my living room. i can lift a video game controller. there’s your liftin’.

SOMEONE JUST YELLED HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUTSIDE I’M GOING TO SEE IF I CAN SNAG SOME CAKE.

I could not snag cake. and I may or may not have looked like a total d.bag fatty. whatevs i have cancer. it should be allowed to be a creep sometimes. right?

One quick question before i go, how does one wear Alex and Ani bracelets and they don’t get in the way? I have three, I love them dearly, my sister gave me two of them, she’s a gem. How do you people do it.  I tried today. I really did. I wore them. they jangled around. they got in the way of my money. my laptop. the cream cheesiest of cream cheese bagel. they dipped in my tea. i’m pretty sure they scratched my car. the knocked out the mail lady. i’m pretty sure she hasn’t gotten up yet. i mean how do you do it? do you wear them on your upper arm? like a BANGLE. do you tie them to your belt loop? use them as a key chain? educate me on these alex and ani bracelets. i’m going to target to get things on my list that i forgot to make therefore i forgot what i’m going for. let’s see how these bracelets do.  lets see if they survive a target trip.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to whoevers birthday it is.

part twelve of an untitled unnumbered series.

So here I sit. Jane Fonda frozen on my TV screen (paused netflix), dog taking up half my bed, rain dripping outside, police sirens blaring ensuring my security in my home OR telling me to take cover, which one i’m unsure. I’ve stripped my sweatshirt, on, off, on, off, on again mainly because i feel like such shit it’s either a sweat party or i feel as though i’m in an ice box. yeah i said ice box, sometimes i speak like i’m in the twenties, what of it? someone has just returned home, i heard em pull up the driveway, i’m sure it was a raucous evening filled with crue d’ete, champagne, black ties, conversation about wadsworth and longfellow followed by what I can only imagine (because i know i’d have it at my party) white castle girls on rollerskates serving them all jalapeno cheese burgers.  OR it was someone returning home from work, or stephanie from across the street coming back from the weekly bachelorette viewing party that i failed to participate in the last couple of weeks because my BRAIN FEELS LIKE IT WANTS TO BLOW MY HEAD UP and/or because my abdomen is throwing a 1995 rave inside the lower half of my body. REGARDLESS, here i sit. Staring at Jane Fonda’s large noggin and petite body thinking… hot damn how did she get that bod at seventy when i’m only35 and i look like a heap of clothes drying on the floor. I’m actually thinking this… Tomorrow is my last day of treatment for this tumor I have (Ricardo) growing in my belly… and not only am I scared, but I’m wondering… am I gonna continue feeling like shit even after all this treatment? or Am i gonna spring up tomorrow after they put me out for the sixth time… put on my tap shoes (never done it, but ya know i’ve always wanted too) and tap dance out of recovery singing “COME ON MA BABY COME ON MA DARLIN’ COME ON MA CANCEERRR FRIIIIEEENDS COME AND SING A SOONNG!” i don’t think it will be the latter. but sometimes it’s good to bring a black stove top pipe hat just in case.

I’m not gonna sugar coat this, i’m scared. i don’t want to feel like this crap for the rest of my summer, or the rest of my LIFE. i don’t want to sound selfish and like a total douchery, but i mean, let’s face it folks, this is my midlife. who wants to sit around in the half painted, half unstained wood floor house that the dog keeps peeing on, having people say, “do you want more warm tea?” when it’s 85 degrees out and i’m seeing people on facebook .. DOING THINGS. see how much i  don’t even care what they are doing? they are just doing things?! HOW EXCITED CAN I GET OVER AMERICAN NINJA WARRIOR?!?! I CAN’T GET ANYMORE EXCITED. i’d rather be taking my kayak out for a nice loop around the lake or my mountain bike out for a couple trips down a mountain. but instead i get excited because they are showing such good previews for FALL TELEVISION. i meannnnn what month is it even? FALL TELEVISION?! come on rebecca.

Like i said, I’m scared, but not scared enough to realize that if all this treatment works, and Ricardo finally swims with the fishes, if you will, there’s always a new lease on life. do you know how crazy i just got? i just bought FOUR count em FOUR tickets to the star wars DSO. who knows if i’ll even be ALIVE?! but i bought em. because i’m a rebel, a real renegade. Let’s list the positive of this horrid ricardo. you dick. i can’t even type the name without getting angry. ricardo. grrr.  i lost twenty five pounds, (doctor says THIS IS NOT A WEIGHTLOSS PLAN) MY RESPONSE. YOU THINK I WANT TO BARF EVERYTHING UP.  what i wouldn’t give to scarf down a nice $5 taco bell box and then house a twelve pack of miller lites.

sorry, i’m back. i wrote that, and then i barfed because just seeing it in writing, is barfable. (add in a volcano taco)

took some antacids. back.

so tomorrow, last day of treatment. i have 40 minutes to eat something substantial. for all you people who like miso soup. we’re not friends anymore. COME ON. it’s so gross. (thanks john kelly for trying, but… no). sickening. tofu chunks? WHAT ARE WE CAVE MEN?! i shall settle for oyster crackers before my long nap till the break of dawn when i hate to get up. haha that was a typo. hate to get up but i meant HAVE too. freudian slippppp whoaaaaa. so. last day of treatment. i keep wanting to say so i know it’s real. no more driving to ann arbor. every day. no more people sticking things up my lady parts (unless i’m lucky HEEEEEEEYYYYYYY! just kidding just kidding swearsies), no more laser beams attacking my insides, no more “DID YOU TAKE YOUR MEDS?” just me. ricardo. and waiting for september 9th for a pet scan to make sure that this didn’t spread and that i’m not gonna die. that’s easy right?

do me a favor. tomorrow. while i’m getting this last treatment. this last hullabaloo. this last ken watanabe (i love saying that dudes name) the last babaganoosh, the last samurai, the last “toss her in the fire irv”, the last nugget o gold in davy jones locker, the last IV poke, the last “please get naked and put only this gown on open in the back”, the last “breath in this oxygen backwards from ten” the last “your next appointment is”, the last bean in the bean dip casserole, do me a favor. go out and eat a lunch you’ve wanted for the past couple months, do something crazy, drive with your turn signal on too long, eat a whole box of popsicles, kiss your dog MORE THAN ONCE, get some ice cream from the ice cream man like a real creep like i did the other day, give your barista an extra large tip, say i’m sorry to someone that you said something dickish too, or to someone who’s feelings you hurt, go for a bike ride by the lake and then throw a large stick in there and say GOOD BYE RICARDO YOUR DAY IS DONE! do something you wouldn’t normally do.

don’t get all sicko or emotional about it either ya weirdos.

*if you’re gonna do the popsicle thing, i recommend the twin pops, OR toasted almonds, but not from the ice cream truck they are different, a little smaller the consistancy isn’t as good. maybe try fugdsicles from the ice cream man, or lady for that matter. the one that ripped it down my street the other day, she had four teeth. it could have been a rolling meth lab for all i knew. i guess i should have checked it out. and not even THAT, but when she gave me my chipwich? you know the ice cream in the middle with the two cookies on the outside like an oreo, and back in the old days they had these TEENY TINY choco chips surrounding the outside? that’s what the picture said it looked like. IT DIDN’T. i don’t know why i just ate it and didn’t return it. i’ve never returned anything to an ice cream man before. can you do that? does it have to be the same said ice cream man? what if she knows it’s me and drives away. i’m a cancer patient. i can’t run that fast. i suppose i’ll have to bring my razor scooter out with me next time in case she guns it. will she just give me a new one? or will she refund my money. should i hold onto the truck? should i just call the police? make a report? no tiny chips on my chipwich. false identification. and it’s a rolling meth lab. i mean, you can tell by the lady. that’s what i’d say. i’d say LOOK AT THIS ROLLING METH LAB and then she’d give it all up. and i’d say. well too bad if you just would have given me teeny tiny chips then you could have continued your lifestyle meth lady. NEXT TIME REMEMBER THE TEENY TINY CHIPS.

**i apologize for that rant ^ i get fired up about misrepresented ice cream.

Part Eleven of an untitled unnumbered series.

Remember that orange you ate for breakfast? Do you remember the SIZE of that orange? I just found out, I think mainly because I either wasn’t paying attention or I failed the measurement category in both jeopardy AND the third grade, that the tumor that was hanging out in my cervix was actually the size of an orange. Like. one of those suckers you see in Florida. Like. a tiny dolls head. Like. an enlarged light bulb. Like. one. big. mother fucking tumor. It says visual at the top of this little blog thing (that I’m still unclear as of how to use correctly, my deepest and sincerest apologies), so I shall show you a visual. When looking at the MRI, it took up the entire side of my body. A LARGE ORANGE.

This is what an Orange tumor looks like. Not the color dimwits. THE SIZE. #yourewelcome
This is what an Orange tumor looks like. Not the color dimwits. THE SIZE. #yourewelcome

So you’ve taken it in, realized the caliber of how INSANE this reality is. I’d like you to ponder the thought, the thought of having something of that size in your bod. Yes, I know people that have given birth, I get it, I know, you’ve had a baby in you, but i hate to say. It’s a tiny bit diff. I shortened it to sound more casz (casual) to sound more off the cuff. to sound more. “wassup an orange is diff than a babes”. Because it is. The idea of having a foreign object in my body scares the living shit out of me (pardon my French in times such as these I find that using obscene language and immoral text seems to cushion that harsh reality that is. the orange.)  The idea of something that large, something that.. FRUITY. in my body is so abnormal, it’s hard for me to grasp this concept. But  actually, it’s hard for me to realize that this orange could have killed me. An orange size lump, could have ended what was, (is), my life.

*for those of you that are consuming alcoholic beverages (please make sure you are over the age of 21. or at least 19, but I urge you to move your reading choice over to Canada, I recommend bentleys, the electric fish, cheetahs, ya know where it’s legal to drink) I urge you to take a shot of fireball every time you read the word ORANGE. not only will you think i’m the FUNNIEST person alive, but also fireball tastes excellent, and it’s a vunderbar way to start your friday night. again. you’re welcome.

Anyway, my point, right? my point in all of this is…PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT COMING LITERALLY RIGHT HERE: if something is bothering you, check it out. go to the doctor. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that my father. my father who drives with two feet. (we’ll discuss later). and sometimes wears clothes i can’t explain to the modern fashionista, took me to the hospital. Although the memory of that dr. skinny indian lady telling me “it’s cancer” will ring in my ears for the rest of my lifetime, I couldn’t be more relieved. more… i’m searching for a word that i cannot find here. i couldn’t be more. EXHALE BREATH NOW. than I did because my dad scooped me up and dragged me all the way out to UofM. He saved my life. He nagged me into saving my life. He’s the most wonderful man on this earth to me for saving my life. Go to the doctor if somethings wrong. You may not want to hear it. You may be in denial. You may say “SAY WHAT?! NO WAY” but at least you’ll know. you’ll be relieved. you’ll save yourself that internal voice that says “what if”. because ya know what? what if it is something? something you could have even PREVENTED?! PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT OVER. ONTO A SUBJECT THAT BESIDES ORANGE SIZED CANCERS HAS ME WONDERING…..

WHAT IF PEOPLE JUST KNEW HOW TO USE FOUR WAY STOPS?!

I could have covered this already, I’m not sure because to be honest, when I write these things, I’m just going, writing, because I have to get it off my chest, I have to have an outlet. So let me tell you, if I’ve covered this, please move onto the next section titled: Driving with two feet? why? is it safe? does it make you more stylish?

Four. Way. Stop. Just the way it sounds. Four ways. Four Cars. (not always) Four stops.  NOW I KNOW, I know it can be difficulty to drive. I mean, we learn when we are sixteen. We are dumb at sixteen.  I was drinking ZIMA at sixteen, that could have been the dumbest decision of my life. ZIMA. Man it was so good though. with that tiny jolly rancher in the bottom. who thought of that… ANYWAY. Sixteen. That’s when we learn. I, unlike you, did not get my permit via drivers training. I got my permit in the most illegal, inappropriate, wildly inaccurate, DUMBEST and most dangerous way ever. I had a man (my friends uncle), drive over to my house and I literally got in the car and drove him to do his errands. I had absolutely no clue how to drive. He said, “put your foot on the brake, shift into gear and take me to Kroger, I need beer and sandwich making things.”  Me being sixteen, and THEEEE smartest person alive, responded with “aye aye captain” and drove my “teacher” to Kroger to get such necessities.  We next went to his house to drop off such things, ya know, went on the freeway, the easy stuff. Four hours later, Permit in hand. So besides the fact that i went the SAFE ROUTE on learning to drive. I STILL KNOW HOW TO DRIVE AT A FOUR WAY STOP. So get this, get this, (this is how you know i’m fired up, i repeat things). SO GET THIS. there’s this four way stop by my house right, i’ll describe it to you.

There’s four stop signs.

So. every day on the way to Ann Arbor I run into this four way stop. every day. And do you know, DO YOU KNOW?! WHAT HAPPENS?! I end up sitting there. I sit at the four way stop. Because someone. Mainly the person who GOT THERE FIRST. They don’t think it’s their right to go. Why. Why is that? Who taught you that? Do you think it’s the second person to get there? are we to get out and do rock paper scissors to see who shall pass? I firmly believe there should be a fire starting challenge like in survivor (yeah i watch it. don’t judge #jerks. i know who here watches the bachelor so zip it).  So everyone gets to the four way stop, IT DOES NOT MATTER WHO GETS THERE FIRST. we all immediately get out of our cars, grab whatever we can around us, now we are in detroit, so i hate to say it there’s some pretty good stuff. I’d probably pick the milk carton, broken baseball bat shards, and some dandelion weeds. and WE GET TO WORK. whoever makes fire first. gets to pass the four way stop. IT’S AS SIMPLE AS THAT. fire = you go first. I’m not gonna lie, i’ve been practicing.  on my back porch. it’s wood, whatevs. so DARE I SEE YOU AT A FOUR WAY STOP! YOU BEST BE ON YOUR GAME!

OR. here’s a great idea.

whoever gets to the four way stop first. passes through. and then whoever is next? they go through. and so on. SURE it would save time… but would it be as fun?! I. DO. NOT. THINK. SO.

I guess the main question here after that insane A.D.D. moment I just had is, why do they not not know? Why do the people who use this four way stop every day not know? i even RECOGNIZE SOME OF THE CARS and they still… don’t know. They sit there. Until I spaz out. wave my arms like a crazeball lunatic and scream. GO GO IT’S YOUR TURN. DEAR HEAVENS IT’S A FOUR WAY STOP LEARN TO DRIVE. and it’s especially endearing when the top is off the jeep. i immediately duck when there’s no lid on my car, doesn’t everyone hide when they scream obscene things at people that are wildly inappropriate? well you can pretend all you want. but i do. i sometimes hide. don’t you dare judge me. i have cancer you guys. #theCcard #yeahiuseit #sometimesigetfreechickenforsayingit

So. I sit here. and I wonder. Should I just remove two of the stop signs?

DRIVING WITH TWO FEET AND HOW IT’S NOT ONLY FASHIONABLE BUT EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.

My dad has some nice shoes. I notice them every time he slams on the brake with his left foot to stop in the traffic we have to endure on the way to Ann Arbor. There’s not always traffic, it’s sometimes a nice drive and highly enjoyable. I just lied to you. I’m sorry. There’s always traffic. Every time. And  a curse word here and there to decorate just how wonderful that traffic is.

My dad drives with two feet. I could say that I’m not judging him, but I am. Hell, my mom drove with two feet too! I’m wondering… was this a thing when they were growing up? Did they teach them to drive with two feet? I just spelled feete like this and actually enjoyed it, but because it’s wrong, i changed it. but i wanted you to know that i liked it that way. it seems more… fancy. and because i hate feete it made me like the word more. i will not spell it like that again. feete. because it’s wrong, but i wanted you in the know.

Before anyone answers me, I’d like to say that I love my dad with all my heart, the mans a boss, but when he brakes, it’s like there’s a dime. and he’s on it. i think mainly because his reaction time isn’t quick enough with his left foot. do other people do this? drive with both feet? do other people see that dime and say in their head. GOTTA STOP ON THAT. LIFE. OR. DEATH. TIRE. ON. DIME. is that what happens?! I’d actually like an answer for this. because i’m truly baffled. and he has no answer because. well he just doesn’t. he was just taught that way. so he does it.

wwwhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy (emphasis on that Y please)
wwwhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy (emphasis on that Y please)

Okay so back to the cancer part. ugh. vom. sick. gross. who wants to talk about that. the dog even grumbled. i wanted to give you guys some good news. a little hope. STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE. Dr. Jolly. yes that’s her real name. and yes she is Jolly. had a conversation with me yesterday due to the fact that i had an off day, i lost it. i had surgery two days in a row. my throat was sore. my abdomen was in more pain that it had ever been in. i was broken for a minute. she had a conversation with me that went as follows. (it did not go as follows because i can’t completely remember it, but just know, i will embellish and exaggerate parts of this, so #justdeal.)

J: so, you had an orange on your cervix yeah?

R: yes. yes i did Dr. J. yes i did.

J: well that orange, is no longer an orange. it has shrunk. that orange, has shrunk into a clementine. That orange has shrunk almost half of what it was.

R: Dr. J. that is THE FUCKING BEST NEWS I’VE HEARD IN A FUCKING WHILE! I’m sorry i said fuck dr. jolly. i should not have said fuck. i get excited and i say fuck.

J: Well just know rebecca that we are shrinking that tumor till it is gone.

and then i kissed her. no just kidding i didn’t kiss her. i hugged her. i hugged her like i’ve never hugged anyone in my life.

it’s shrinking. and not in the pool shrinkage that’s not cool for dudes.

like. life saving shrinking.

the orange. is no longer an orange. look out clementine. we’re comin’ for ya.

Part Ten of an Untitled Unnumbered Series.

I’m not gonna lie to you guys. Well.. let’s rephrase that. I may lie to you guys. Right this moment.. I’m not gonna lie to you guys, it’s been a rough week. We’re really getting into the.. how do you say NITTY GRITTY of all this tumor bullshit, and it’s taking a toll on this perfect body of mine. PERFECT BODY.  (I have cancer, just go with it). The throwing up, the headaches, the rumbly stomach… just the side affects of everything, they can really make you feel down.  DOWN I WILL NOT FEEL! okay, i did, i broke, i cried, i lost it, maybe i got a little hysterical. Sometimes you need to just do that, you need to just say. HEY WORLD, F. YOU MAN. WHY ME. WHATS HAPPENING. DO YOU REALLLLY NEED ME TO THROW UP RIGHT NOW? I MEAN I JUST HAD CHINESE FOOD. Sometimes you just want to flick off the world. But then, you wake up the next day and you realize… was that chinese food EVEN THAT GOOD?! and it’s a whole new day.

Now, here’s something I know everyone can agree on. When you’re sick, who do you want the most in the world? YOUR MOM. Dont’ deny it, don’t try and be a hard ass and be all… i dont’ need my mom. because newsflash YOU DO. it’s your mom, come on now. Anyway, most of you who know me, know about my fabulous mother, Toni. She was a phenomenal woman who passed away nine years ago from meningitis. Went to sleep, never woke up. It was a sad day, it affected everyone of us in our family, especially my sister and I. We lost one of our best friends, and it was rough.  With mothers day this weekend, I decided instead of dwelling on how sad i was and how i don’t have a mom on earth at this time, and how it’s soooooooo sad. It’s mothers day! Celebrate your moms! buy em a drink! get em a mani pedi! maybe even go on a bike ride with em! they’re your mothers they deserve it.  My point in all this is, to put it bluntly, when you’re sick, you need your mom, so all of you with your mom’s out there, give em a hug. they deserve it. and well, if you hate your mom or something’ weird like that? hug your dad. cause my dad can be just like a mom too. i mean. he can be annoying, he likes to cook. he pretends he knows about putting floorboards in when he clearly does not. he drives a powder blue car. sometimes he wears womens jeans. just give whomever is important to you a hug, because you never know, you might get a little cold and all you want is a hug. a hug from a man wearing womens jeans.

MORE IMPORTANT THINGS: I HAVE A FIT BIT.

i do not use it for fit bit competitions. i do not use it to brag about my steps. i do not use it to look cool (fine yes i do.) i use it for the silent alarm so that i know when to take my pills. i have many pills. NONE THAT WOULD BE OF ANY USE TO YOU. *that was a disclaimer to my pill poppin’ friends.** not that i have any (i’m sure i do).  I only use it for my silent alam. but my nurse the other day just about had a heart attack due to fit bit. she thought it was the crown jewels. she wanted to try it on. she just RAAVVEDD about it. i don’t get it. someone explain. whats the big deal. they are just pieces of plastic strapped to your arm. that cost an arm and a leg. I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER #carriebradshawreference WHAT ISSSS THE BIG DEAL ABOUT A FIT BIT?!

More later, i’m off to get this apple in my pelvis shrunk down. that really made for a gross visualization didn’t it?

YOU’RE WELCOME.

Part Nine of an untitled unnumbered series.

So it has come to my attention.. or my non attention because I’m ADD to the max. For example, what the hell is the guy behind me doing to his garage with a jack hammer and why doesn’t he remove that stupid wood cow that has been there for years that stares at me through the back yard i hate it so much dear lord just take it down.

So it has come to my attention that the blog that I wrote about the Telly’s Fundraiser never came to fruition. It could have been the overwhelming number of people that were there, the fact that i was sweating so much or … the Tito’s vodka that I consumed (against doctors orders none the less).

If you were there, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything, if you were not THEN SHAME ON YOU WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM HOW DARE YOU WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE YOU. Just kidding, I understand people have many many other things to do then come party with the best of the best, but either way, I understand (kind of 🙂

THANK YOU. Thank you to everyone that attended, donated, danced, drank, spilled dirt bags, yelled at actual dirt bags, sprayed silly string (and brought silly string KJ, Brittany), carried that dog around, tipped the bartenders extremely well and drank as much Tito’s as their little bodies could handle. Thank you, it means the world to me that all of you would come out to support dear old me during this horrible time I am having. Words can’t express what it meant to me. I’m sure the three panic attacks from how overwhelming it was helped to express it, but otherwise words can’t help me to tell you what it all meant.

THANK YOU to Mr. Jimmy Brennan and Tye, for being a witty, wonderful and brilliant host. For letting us use his bar, and pretty much destroy it, and for donating his time energy and establishment for such a wonderful cause. You are a genius my friend, a wonder of achievement in the bar industry and an  overall amazing and beautiful soul.  Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, now and in the past. Oh yeah, and thanks for bidding on the date with me where you have to pay for everything. I WILL TAKE YOU UP ON THAT (London Chop House..eeeehheemm.)

THANK YOU to “Team squirrels and shit” for making an impeccable fundraiser. It was the epitome of organization and couldn’t have been pulled off by better people.  During this time of my life where I don’t know where it’s going, what is going to happen, when i’m going to be able to see you next, or whats going to happen, it is a WONDERFUL feeling to know that people like you are behind me 100%. It makes all the horrible things I’m going through so much better.  I thank you for your time away from your kids, your family, your friends and your very important drinking time to put me first and make the most perfect fundraiser a gal could ever have dreamed of. I don’t think I need to name names so I’ll just leave it at this, Team Squirrels and shit? Thank you. Ever so much.

THANK YOU to the Telly’s staff. For donating your tips, your time and your energy serving the drunkards that I love calling my friends. The fact that you would take time away from your day just to serve these assbags that came in to donate their money and give it all to me shows how wonderful you are as humans, and shows what kind of patience you really do have. Jimmy, They deserve a raise.

THANK YOU to everyone for helping me throughout this time, for helping me with my horrendous medical bills, for bringing me meals so keep up my energy, for driving me to radiation, for sending coloring books in the mail and blankets, and cards. For just being there if I need someone in the middle of the night. For just sending me texts that say “how are you today”. All of these things are an attest to your wonderful wonderful personalities and how much you care. I know I keep saying I can’t put it into words but I can’t. It’s impossible to put so much love into a couple words for so many loving and wonderful people.

Thank you, for being my friend, backing me up and buying me lots of presents. just kidding. Thank you for just being there. You have no idea what it means. I love all of you so much and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Thank you.

Side Bar: have you ever done that thing, where you get a blue slushee at the “high class” gas station and then forget you’re drinking said blue slushee and then your mouth is all blue when you’re talking to people and you don’t realize it till two hours later and you feel like a real hose bag? yeah. just did that. ain’t nobody got time for that.

Part Eight of an untitled unnumbered series.

So, as most of you know, most of my posts have had to do with cancer. and what i’ve had to go through. and how it’s affected me. etc. etc. etc. or as i like to say BLAH BLAH BLAH. I’ve heard it’s been helpful, funny, AMAZING, BRILLIANT… okay i added those last ones in myself. Anyway, I’ve decided to stray off the beaten path for a moment. JUST FOR A MOMENT. I can give you some cancer subjects to talk about to tide you over in the mean time though. anddd… go….

1. doesn’t matter what kind of fancy cocktail you drink, it does not mix with your meds. even if you say right before “ONE FANCY COCKTAIL WON’T DO ANYTHING, PAHAH! I CAN HAVE ONE!” that’s not what the bathroom at first place says. and now i just wasted forty dollars on a burger from mercury bar. THANKS.

2. although cancer seems to be an illness where you think everyone would be compassionate. they are not. i’ve had a couple doctors (okay, ONE) who were real ice queens.  Makes me wonder… (didn’t that sound very carrie bradshaw like).. makes me wonder… are they in this field to make themselves feel better? or do actually rid the world of ricardo’s?

3. i just poked myself in the eye trying to think of a funny way to desecrate that doctors name so that no one would know who she is. besides calling her my usual “name a doctor by all the descriptors you can think of”. so her name was “short, looks like a lesbian, wishes she was amish, angry, FLAAGGHRRR hair doctor” now if you saw her hair.. you’d understand that word.

4. if anyone has any hospital pants. i do NOT have any. not one pair.

(here’s me acting like parenthesis makes everything invisible… i have a couple pair in stock…. if you give me your size i can grab some…. then we can meet on the corner of some really shady street in the ghetto and i’ll give you the stuff.  the price per pant is 14 dollars.  that’s seven a leg if you want to get technical. if you’re a student you get ten percent off.  if you’re a professional DETROIT ATHETE then you get 20% off, if you come dressed up as a drug dealer 50% off. and if you’re and undercover cop and tell me to run away i will.)

5.  last. but not least. one perk of getting the cance. WEED. everyone is now deciding that weed would be the best thing ever for me. “here’s some weird pot brownies. here’s some weed cookies.  here’s some weird pills you take. and last but not least. HERE’S A BIG OLD BUCKET OF WEED.

Was i not supposed to write things lke that in here? oops  sorrrrrry.

i meant to say. i don’t have weed, don’t like it. whats weed? ah yes weed my garden. OF COURSE.

i’d like to say thank you for that. #wholikesweed? #ido #thankyou

Okay so we’ve touched all the cancer posts. i have one thing I’d like to touch on that is uncancer related. well kind of.  A bunch of people have been telling me what an amazing cartoon “Frozen” is, and I agree, I’m in that same boat my friends. I enjoy a good cartoon classic just as much as anyone else, I really do. I mean one of my favorites is DIsney’s Robin Hood or Fox and the Hound. I love the mixture of animation and reality with the one, the only A LANSBURY Bedknobs and Broomsticks. I mean that movie is the WHIP! I could name hundreds. HUNDREDS I SAY. and that’s not even involving pixar, becuase those are billiant in themselves. so, moving on to Frozen… I find myself listeing to the soundtrack quite often. When I clean, when i cook, when i fold laundry.  I’ve come to find myself talking angrily back to the songs.

I mean first of all. Let’s all admit it. Elsa? She’s a little selfish. She freezes an ENTIRE TOWN and then what does she do? Goes and lives in some amazing castle on a hill and sings about how she’s just gonna let it go. Like HEY SORRY ENTIRE POPULATION I FROZE DOWN THERE I’M JUST GONNA LET IT GO NOW. SO UHHHH GOOD LUCK. Well what about them Elsa? WHAT ABOUT THEM?! Then she says “the cold doesn’t bother me anyway”. oh. well good for you. i’m so glad. what about  Lolita McBoomshnazz and her four kids down there in Arendale? Huh? I’m pretty sure the cold bothers them. I’M PRETTY SURE IT BOTHERS THEM. Then, Anna’s all like, Hey Else ya know, sup girl, get down here let’s just reverse this, it’ll totes work. And hello princess negativity Elsa’s all NO GET OUTTA HERE. Let me tell you what, if I was Anna. I’d take that dainty glove off, smack her upside the face a few times, and say listen bitch, you froze a whole town, let’s work this out instead of throwing a pity party for yourself in this huge castle. Now, I enjoy the song let it go. I like when adeeed dazeem sings it, I like when pretty much anyone sings it, but it brings me such a whirlwind of anger when Elsa does. I know i know i know, she’s not a real person. BUT STILL. And why does Anna just TAKE IT. She just bends over and takes it. “i’m gonna travel through all this snow and ice and angry moments to have her slam an ice door in my face”. GROW. SOME. BALLS.

Now It’s Anna’s turn to get annoying. Shouldn’t you only have to ask once if someone wants to build a snow man? unless you can tell they are on the fence. Then ask again. the girl literally said no probably (Since the movie is cut down from real time) four hundred million times. GET THE HINT ANNA. SHE DOES NOT WANT TO BUILD A SNOWMAN WITH YOU. LIKE EVER. Ooooo as soon as I heard that knock on the door i would spiral out of anger control. We get it Anna your’e lonely. but no means no man. NO MEANS NO. I’d put a little sign up that says I DO NOT WANT TO BUILD A SNOWMAN. with the date on it. every single day. you think maybe then she’d get it?

The whole story just has so many selfish and pity party reasons behind everything, like GROW SOME BALLS SISTERS. Unfreeze the town. Build a damn snowman to shut her up. Let olaf live in peace. We all know you’re gonna end up with the moose lover.

That’s it. That’s the end of my rant. I’m sorry if I offended anyone.

#frozenpitypartywhaaaaat #growsomeballsanna #dontbesoselfishelsa #maybethecoldDOESbotherme

Part Seven of an untitled unnumbered part series.

As I sit by the window and I gaze upon the tar ridden top of the parking structure that is directly next to my hospital room, I think to myself.. did they design this room EXACTLY FOR ME?! When they used the millions of dollars to construct this wing of this hospital they must have literally though “Rebecca Kelly would love to stare at this blank rooftop, paint pictures amongst the tar, swirl the colors of her mind amongst the backdrop of this caveman-esque beginning.”

WRONG. SO SO WRONG. Not only am I not staring upon this wonderment of tar, but I am gazing at a tan shower curtain with prehistoric (follow the theme here) leaf patterns that is currently separating me and my room mate. My roommate Margaret. Peggy for short. Her short thin bob of a hair cut perfectly frames her face that to me looks as though it went for a long run in the career path of teacher, due to the fact she looks like she is STILL stressed out.  In her early 70’s Peggy, or P-Money as I have grown to call her throughout the past couple of days of bonding, has shown me that there are two ways to go about cancer.  You either wallow in your own pity, cry, swear, realize you have no hope and just altogether give up.  Or.  you take the path that Peggy has taken.  Now I suppose you’re gonna go on thinking that I’m going to write some hero’s tale of how she rose from the ashes and has made a massive comeback into the world, embraces everything and thinks of the planet as her oyster. I’m going to tell you that Peggy has NOT taken that route, but taken another. Didn’t know there was another one? WELL THERE IS. First of all, I’ve never, EVER, heard someone want eggs and toast so badly in their ENTIRE LIFE. ever.  Think, homeless human, hasn’t eaten in days, nowhere to sleep, raining out, wearing half of one shoe, a torn garbage bag, 8 degrees out. Peggy wanted these eggs more than that human. So, so much more. Scrambled eggs on half of a piece of white toast.  That’s IT. That’s all she wanted. Nothing more. nothing less. That. Simple. ALAS, P-Money is on a liquid diet so she cannot have the eggs that are so desired, which also let us to MANY MANY more conversations about food she cannot eat, but how she would like to.  Now, I won’t go into P.moneys medical history, or give you much more of a past than i can just speculate, because I have more respect for the P.monster than to go about assuming and bashing her on the internet. So what I’ll do is let what my words tell the tale of woman that I find so fascinating I’m actually dedicating this much time in my blog to her inner workings. And also, I don’t know much more about her other than she wanted to set me up with her nephew “who had issues” so I probably wouldn’t like him anyway.

As I was saying about P.diddymasterMEGAdids, her cancer path is one that is a tiny bit similar to mine in the case of the “we just don’t give a fucks”. We want it over with, we want to go home WE WANT OUR EGGS AND TOAST NOW.  I have only started my journey, P.money, she’s been traveling from afar. For a while.. i am speculating her road has been a tumultuous one.  She’s spoken of several cancers but so far seems to be able to keep ahead.  She told me that no matter what the doctors tell me that I should just tell them right back that I NEED THOSE DRUGS. Yeah, that’s where this was going. Drugs, you thought it was going to be something inspiring when in reality she was just giving me the upper hand on how to get the good stuff. you JUST. DON’T. BACK. DOWN. So here is Peggy’s path of the cance. Drugs. I’m pretty sure eavesdropping and complaining were also on the list. How do i know this? BECAUSE I’VE LIVED WITH HER FOR THE LAST FOUR DAYS. She has no switch. When I say no switch I mean, since day one, our conversation when from her bowels, to my bowels, to eggs and toast, to how the people at room service just don’t like her. I’m pretty positive, she put herself on the same peeing chart as me because she just wanted to see if I’d be nice enough to let her go in front of me every time she heard ME get up to go. We got into politics (she’s a republican), we got into religion (she’s a Lutheran) and some of her opinions i decided i didn’t want to know. Why tarnish something so perfect? Below is a rendering I did of Peggy on a napkin that I just received with my dinner. Shall i say our dinner. I ordered P’money’s for her because she couldn’t figure out how to use her phone, not only that, she thought that perhaps I had a special way of getting her a red popsicle because they always deny her. Unfortunately I could not get her a red popsicle because it’s not the talent of your linguistics that gets you a certain color of popsicle. it’s fate. because you see the wrapper that the popsicles come in.. they are not see through.  So unfortunately, it wasn’t any color but red popsicle day today it was lemon ice. which in her words was “EEEEH. I GUESS THAT’LL DO”.

Now P.Money has met all of my guests that have come to visit me here on the great oncology floor of 8A… or whatever letter follows the 8 of our GREAT ONCOLOGY FLOOR! When I just wrote met all of my guests it made me seem to be something of a prostitute and not just a popular person with many friends who enjoy traveling the millions of star miles out to ann arbor out to visit their ailing friend. No I am not a prostitute although i do sometimes describe my job as “working from my bed” or “having multiple ads out”. Anywho back to the subject on hand (I’m not a prostitute), P.Money has come to enjoy the thoroughfare partying through my room at night from dancing bra’s to dismembering hospital beds.  She’s had her fair share of comments, and unbeknownst to her while we were watching the Bruce Jenner “documentary” or whatever you want to call it, she had impeccable noise accompaniments that had jenny pagel in torrents of laughter.

At the Urge of Peggy now, I must turn my light off and go to bed. So I’ll leave you with a rendering of p.money i have done on a napkin from our fabulous food delivery service following an epic conversation from the night before:

JP (Jenny Pagel): I need some chapstick.

RK (Rebecca Kelly): I have some chapstick. They have these wonderful flavors and colors down at the gift store. I have four. four of these wonderful flavors. Go on ahead and try one.

JP: Umm. no thank you.

RK: Go ahead, just use this one, it’s good.

JP: no thank you.

RK: You can’t catch cancer from my chaptsick pagel. Geez.  (guilted her in to using it)

P.MONEY: CANCER IS NOT CONTAGIOUS REBECCA DON’T EVEN SAY THAT YOU CAN’T CATCH CANCER. IT’S NOT CONTAGIOUS REBECCA. YOU CAN’T JUST CATCH IT.

I will miss her when i leave, I will exchange addresses (she expressed that she wanted to), I can’t wait to hear about her win with the war that is the big C, I will often think of her late night.. sounds… and whenever I gaze onto a parking lot top i will remember Peggy, P.money who was the lucky one to GET that window  bed.

Roomie: Peggy: P.money: wise woman of wise age
Roomie: Peggy: P.money: wise woman of wise age

“can you speak up a little bit? i can’t hear you between the curtain.”

Part Six (kind of) of an untitled unnumbered part series.

So today I have “Chemo” I put that in parenthesis because it’s not REALLY chemo, they are just going to sit there and jabber on about what  chemicals they are putting in me and the side affects and how i’m gonna feel and blah blah blah blah blah. ya know that kinda stuff. I plan on taking notes. till i fall asleep. DON’T JUDGE ME. i have other people there taking notes like my dad. he was a politician he should be good at taking notes right?  So before I go in to chemo, I thought I’d share some things with you… some serious. Some…no no.. all of these are 100% serious.

1. anyone NOT afraid of jack in the boxes. has a serious issue. why would you give those to your kids? it’s a scary clown popping out of a box at any moment in time. why. why in the good lords name would that be  a good idea. it’s like dressing up like a clown and jumping out of their closet AT ANY MOMENT IN TIME. what if i did that to you? huh? HUH?

2. (this one might be serious). since i have the cance (i put a C on it so people would start saying cancee instead of CANK (niki) i’ve been reevaluating my friends. and sometimes it’s good to do that. this is my professional guru opinion. you really realize who your friends are when you get a life and death illness.  awwwww. now go MEDITATE. or feel sad cause i wrote that. but don’t be too sad for long because there is a gilmore girls marathon on lifetime. not mention lifetime MOVIES ALL THE TIME ON LMN. woot woot.

3. sometimes i wonder why they even put 4 way stops up. it seems as though no one knows how to use them. someone’s always frantically waving at another person and then another person is SLOOWWWLLY turning left while also looking scared. it’s just. just. i mean. stop. just everyone stop. the first person to get there goes first. and so on. didn’t we learn this in kindergarten? i mean i know i took it twice to it took me a little longer to get it. but come on people. FOUR. WAY. STOP.

4.Sometimes i wonder why people run 5k’s and then don’t keep their medal. What is the purpose of running said 5k? when you get the medal you show it off all day and people high five you and that’s like the best part. you run the 5k, almost dying the whole way, change into something super duper sexy, do your hair, put your medal on and people high five you and yell things like “good for you!” or “you did it!” and you feel real good inside. even though you came in second to last. if you don’t wear your medal all you have is… you knowing you ran a 5k in 28 minutes. i mean WHATS THE POINT.

5. If you ever meet a famous hockey player make sure you know which one he is before you say hi. it makes a world of difference.

okay. so there are my five rules of life before i head into this death defying trip to chemo education.  okay okay, i lied i have radiation after, like the real radiation. so it gets a little…. REAL here. why you ask? because if i come out like the hulk or some other super humanoid i’m going to have to return all the new t shirts i just bought. annnnnd i don’t know if any of you have been to target lately but…. it’s a real bitch to return things.