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.