My deepest, darkest secret... contrary to my proletariat views and do-it-yourself attitude... is that I have a cleaning lady who comes for a few hours twice a month. I hang my head in bourgeoisie shame as I confess that, but she is the life luxury I can’t live without. I will forgo any personal necessity... haircut, eating out, clothing {obviously, if you’ve seen me lately}, anything to have my house “cleaned” twice a month. The first $140 I make every month makes me think, “I can pay Young this month, yay.”
Why the quotes? well, because Young doesn’t clean so much as make things look clean and she’s adept at moving things around so they appear tidier than they really are. Seriously, she cleans the bathroom floor with a paper towel. But knowing that she’s coming makes me deal preemptively with the accumulated flotsam and jetsam that continuously gathers.
Young, who’s real name is, I believe, Chung, is Korean and despite living in Cranston for 20 years speaks broken-at-best english. I have no doubt that if I had been living in Korea for the past 20 years my Korean would be worse than her English, so no judging here. Not everyone has a flair for foreign languages. I fired Young once, but my heart broke every time I saw her car parked across the street while she cleaned my neighbors house, and I was wracked with guilt because she looked so hurt and bewildered after I finally gathered the courage to let her go, so back she came.
Young is constantly taking English classes and listening to English tapes, as well as tapes that help her study for the Citizenship exam “every state has two Senators...” They don’t help, but I admire her tenacity.
Young cracks me up. I’m not sure if it’s the language barrier or if she really is a total kook, I don’t really care, she kills me and I’m very attached to her in a very odd, uncomfortable way. We have the most insane, dysfunctional conversations that can make me chuckle to myself for days.
When I told her I was getting divorced she immediately said “you have boyfriend?” “No”. “He have girlfriend?” “No”. “Then why you get divorce? you want boyfriend?” “Well, yes, someday that would be nice.” “Can you tell him move back in? then you get boyfriend and then you tell him move out? you wait until you have boyfriend.” “I don’t think that would be very nice, I’ll get divorced first, I think it’s the best plan.” “Oh, I don’t know...” she would say, very sceptically, and I know, with my best interest at heart.
For the next few months she would greet me with “you have boyfriend yet?” “Why not? why not? why not? you not too old and you’re face... it o.k., your face not bad, you can maybe have boyfriend” “I don’t know, I’m busy, where am I going to find a boyfriend?” “Oh, you use internet, everybody use internet, it best way.” Young has been divorced for years and is probably around my age “he crazy man, crazy, crazy, bad man, no good, no good, I don’t need that.” So I said “how about you? you use the internet to find a boyfriend?” “Oh nooooooo, it too dangerous!” “Oh, so it’s too dangerous for you, but I should do it?” “Well, maybe not, but maybe you try, you try internet.” My face o.k., not too bad, come on, have you ever had a compliment like that?
So now with the cancer, “you eat pork? you no eat pork! after surgery you eat pork, not now and after surgery ginseng, it make you hot, that good, but not hot now, now is bad, very bad.” And today... today, Young was the first one that wanted to feel the tumor. That’s right, my cleaning lady felt me up and said “oh my god, how doctor not find that? you sue her, you going to sue her?”
So ladies, if anyone needs a low cost breast exam, I can hook you up! And don’t eat pork.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Typing Pool
A short post tonight, because I'm eyeball deep in typing up the epic story Jonah's been writing in his "writer's journal" for school. It was supposed to be manageable -- pick one story from your journal to develop, but J's whole journal is one epic story, so he found himself in a bit of a bind. His sweet teacher and I are taking pity on a boy who got carried away with his adventure of Frank Furter {no, not Frank N. Furter of Rocky Horror fame -- no fishnets in this story}, the hotdog that falls through a sewer grate into a puddle of toxic sludge and comes alive. I'm on Chapter 5 and thus far Frank, who has a penchant for chocolate, has befriended a sewer gator with a devious ulterior motive and it looks like Frank is about to become breakfast. But maybe not, as there are about 43 more chapters I have to type so J doesn't drown in panic and overwhelm.
As for me, the lights are on the tree and the ornaments are up from the basement. Wholesale orders have been shipped and now I'm working to stock up a couple of galleries {you first MG, don't worry!}. I have some gifts to wrap, trying to get an early start, wrapping up gifts and loose ends before the shit hits the fan.
Thursday is my port insertion procedure, I'm just plain not looking forward to that. Hope I can be out and about on Friday as there's much Craftopia prep to do and that is something I am looking forward to, despite how much work and chaos it is. Looking forward to a happy day of art, craft, friends, and celebration. No cancer talk allowed and only gentle hugs because while I know it's perfectly safe, that port-thing freaks me out, like it's going to slip around and stab me in the heart. Eyeballs, veins and earthworms... these are my heebie jeebie inducers, the things that irrationally skeeve me. I don't like to look at them, or think about them... no digging without gloves or wearing contact lenses, I could really do with out a permanent tube inserted into a vein in my chest, blech, no likey.
addendum: oh my god, i've just flipped ahead... this story will take me a week to type... there are land squid, a mini-moose named bob, a walrus, yikes... I hope I don't fall down the sewer any time soon.
As for me, the lights are on the tree and the ornaments are up from the basement. Wholesale orders have been shipped and now I'm working to stock up a couple of galleries {you first MG, don't worry!}. I have some gifts to wrap, trying to get an early start, wrapping up gifts and loose ends before the shit hits the fan.
Thursday is my port insertion procedure, I'm just plain not looking forward to that. Hope I can be out and about on Friday as there's much Craftopia prep to do and that is something I am looking forward to, despite how much work and chaos it is. Looking forward to a happy day of art, craft, friends, and celebration. No cancer talk allowed and only gentle hugs because while I know it's perfectly safe, that port-thing freaks me out, like it's going to slip around and stab me in the heart. Eyeballs, veins and earthworms... these are my heebie jeebie inducers, the things that irrationally skeeve me. I don't like to look at them, or think about them... no digging without gloves or wearing contact lenses, I could really do with out a permanent tube inserted into a vein in my chest, blech, no likey.
addendum: oh my god, i've just flipped ahead... this story will take me a week to type... there are land squid, a mini-moose named bob, a walrus, yikes... I hope I don't fall down the sewer any time soon.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Homophobes and T-shirts
Days later and I’m still on the childhood crush thing. I think it’s my brains coping mechanism, keeping it from going scary places it’s best to avoid. Jonah, my 10-year-old, and the kindest, sweetest, biggest-hearted human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, asked me today if I’d be better by Christmas and it made my stomach hurt. He was so sad when I told him that by Christmas, I’d probably be pretty sick and tried to explain the longevity of what will be happening, but kids have no sense of time, who knows if any of us do. But then his brain wheels successfully spun and he got happy and chirped “but then you’ll be all better and we’ll be so happy!” And my brain just can’t go to the place where the alternative of that lurks, and really, as optimistic and stubborn as I feel, I don’t know where I’ll be in a year, if we’ll be celebrating or not. So for this week, I ponder the past.
I hate homophobes, and I’m always confounded when they dispute that many {most} people know they’re gay from very early on. Anyone who’s ever had a childhood crush knows that it’s either on a girl or a boy and only rarely both, and either way we remember it always. So maybe homophobes were dull, lifeless little boys and girls who didn’t have childhood crushes, maybe there’s something wrong with them.
My other HS crush was more of the lifelong, beginning in early childhood variety. I’ve known DT my whole life. Our families were friends and then they weren’t and then they were and then they definitely weren’t. One day in third grade, I must have been only 7 or 8, I looked at DT and cupid's pesky little arrow struck...yep, I liked boys. We don’t label it as kids, we only label it when we’re forced to, when we grow up and start labeling all sorts of things that would be better just left alone. I never had to declare my heterosexuality a luxury not everyone gets. When you’re a kid, you just know what you feel and what could be more innocent, sweet and natural. I swooned over DT without him ever having a clue until HS when we briefly dated, but mostly became friends. I do, however, remember our first kiss on a random St. Patrick’s day, like it was yesterday and it was thrilling. Yep, I’ve liked boys ever since, in my more experimental phases I really wanted to try being with a woman, but I just can’t, I really can’t, I’m stinkin’ 100% boring old hetero which is kind of a shame because women are lovely and it would surely expand the playing field. I hadn’t seen DT in 30 years until last month right before the cancer tornado hit land and I swear, having a crush on him is hard-wired into my DNA. I realize I’ve had a lifelong crush on DT... it’s not real, it’s not based on reality, who knows who someone is after 30 years and I suspect DT and I while having some things in common are quite different and have chosen different paths. But it’s just like the friends you have when you’re really young... they get hard-wired into you even after you’ve long since gone your separate ways and maybe that’s why people migrate to strange surreal events like reunions.
My very first girlfriend was CK and we met on the playground in nursery school. I remember going to her house, my first “play-date”, {although, we didn’t call them that back then} and she told me her favorite color was light blue. And being the life-long idiot that I am I thought “wow, that’s so cool, I wish my favorite color was light blue.” What the fuck is that all about? Why did I think liking green was inferior to light blue? Because we met so young, it doesn't how long I go without seeing CK, I'll always be comfortable around her... it's hard-wired and you too, NMP.
I love that Jonah’s lifelong theme color is orange because everyone should have a theme color. Every year on school picture day, He picks out his current favorite orange shirt and we’re amassing an impressive collection. I’ve been known to have shirts especially screen printed on orange for him. So if laughing and being happy helps you heal, I’ll need lots of my orange-shirted love bug, but I’m just so damned worried about what this is and will do to him. He’s in 5th grade, getting ready for middle school and that’s stressful enough, this seems so unfair to him. I guess that’s a mom-thing, it never once occurred to me that this wasn’t fair to me, but it kills me, how unfair it is to him.
I hate homophobes, and I’m always confounded when they dispute that many {most} people know they’re gay from very early on. Anyone who’s ever had a childhood crush knows that it’s either on a girl or a boy and only rarely both, and either way we remember it always. So maybe homophobes were dull, lifeless little boys and girls who didn’t have childhood crushes, maybe there’s something wrong with them.
My other HS crush was more of the lifelong, beginning in early childhood variety. I’ve known DT my whole life. Our families were friends and then they weren’t and then they were and then they definitely weren’t. One day in third grade, I must have been only 7 or 8, I looked at DT and cupid's pesky little arrow struck...yep, I liked boys. We don’t label it as kids, we only label it when we’re forced to, when we grow up and start labeling all sorts of things that would be better just left alone. I never had to declare my heterosexuality a luxury not everyone gets. When you’re a kid, you just know what you feel and what could be more innocent, sweet and natural. I swooned over DT without him ever having a clue until HS when we briefly dated, but mostly became friends. I do, however, remember our first kiss on a random St. Patrick’s day, like it was yesterday and it was thrilling. Yep, I’ve liked boys ever since, in my more experimental phases I really wanted to try being with a woman, but I just can’t, I really can’t, I’m stinkin’ 100% boring old hetero which is kind of a shame because women are lovely and it would surely expand the playing field. I hadn’t seen DT in 30 years until last month right before the cancer tornado hit land and I swear, having a crush on him is hard-wired into my DNA. I realize I’ve had a lifelong crush on DT... it’s not real, it’s not based on reality, who knows who someone is after 30 years and I suspect DT and I while having some things in common are quite different and have chosen different paths. But it’s just like the friends you have when you’re really young... they get hard-wired into you even after you’ve long since gone your separate ways and maybe that’s why people migrate to strange surreal events like reunions.
My very first girlfriend was CK and we met on the playground in nursery school. I remember going to her house, my first “play-date”, {although, we didn’t call them that back then} and she told me her favorite color was light blue. And being the life-long idiot that I am I thought “wow, that’s so cool, I wish my favorite color was light blue.” What the fuck is that all about? Why did I think liking green was inferior to light blue? Because we met so young, it doesn't how long I go without seeing CK, I'll always be comfortable around her... it's hard-wired and you too, NMP.
I love that Jonah’s lifelong theme color is orange because everyone should have a theme color. Every year on school picture day, He picks out his current favorite orange shirt and we’re amassing an impressive collection. I’ve been known to have shirts especially screen printed on orange for him. So if laughing and being happy helps you heal, I’ll need lots of my orange-shirted love bug, but I’m just so damned worried about what this is and will do to him. He’s in 5th grade, getting ready for middle school and that’s stressful enough, this seems so unfair to him. I guess that’s a mom-thing, it never once occurred to me that this wasn’t fair to me, but it kills me, how unfair it is to him.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Mix Tape
JH was one of my two great High School crushes {yep, we all had them, the kind you never forget, and yeah, the other one knows who he is too, especially since they were best friends} and it was long enough ago, that I can admit that easily and earnestly with an easy heart, and most certainly no ulterior motive. I’ve been pondering if I’m just getting way to personal on this blog, but I figure why not? People are interpersonal, that’s what makes us special and no one has to read if they don't want to or if I make them uncomfortable, and what could be nicer than reading that you were someone's HS crush and they’ve remembered you fondly for so many years, why not give someone that, as so many have and are giving so much to me?
Thanks to Facebook and the aforementioned 30th reunion it was lovely to see that JH is settled into a happy life, happy marriage and has followed his bliss into a career in the music industry. He and I, neither musicians, loved the same kind of music and he has remained obsessed. Looking back, I suppose we were suburban outsiders, in cahoots with a small eclectic group in our constant quest, need, for road trips into Manhatten {from our suburban hell} to soak up all the punk rock and emerging bands wherever/whenever we could find them. In those days, the drinking age was 18 and NY had paper licenses, sans picture, the numbers easily scratched off and modifed with pencil and a steady hand, and in the city, they never carded anyway. So we’d ditch the keg parties midway to get over the bridge in time for the Ramones, Dead Kennedy’s, the Clash, the Damned, Plasmatics, English Beat, the Specials, Madness, the Psychedelic Furs, Go-Gos, B52s, Television, the list is long.
I had a magenta streak in my dark hair, things change, they stay the same, if we’re lucky we find ways to merge our then-selves and our now-selves staying true to whatever makes us who we really are -- symbiosis. It’s been a long trip for me, but I feel more comfortable in my own skin that I maybe ever have which is why getting cancer now, is a little silly. And by the way, I’ve dyed my whole head purple to enjoy my last few weeks of hairfullness and it’s making me very happy. Sadly, I’ve had to ditch the pink {and I mean very, very sadly} because everyone at the clinics thinks I’m making a breast cancer point. I was speechless on one of my early visits when a group of staff said “oh we love your hair, it’s so great you did that to raise awareness.” I’m thinking... are you insane? I found out I had cancer 48 hours ago and you think the first thing I did was run out and buy hair color? No, I will not become a cancer zealot, sorry breast cancer industrial machine, you will not become my identity.
In 1980 I had a beat up 1967 Mustang that got us where we wanted to go, when I wasn’t broken down on the sides of random roads, because that car was a wreck, but it was a beautiful wreck. I was fearless at 17 but somehow lived to tell the tale which is, actually a tad suprising, I was probably more wreckless than fearless, I was an angsty-girl. When JH and I reconnected on FB we exchanged lists of our favorite movies, books and music from the last few decades and while I'm rarely a prankster I couldn’t resist populating my list with Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston and the like, Titanic as my favorite flick, all the elements of pop culture that just baffle me and turn my stomach. He was a true gentleman and tried to hide his dismay and just said “wow, you’ve changed a lot, but that's cool”. And I have, but no one changes that much and if they have, they are or were, just pretending. Interestingly, our current lists had many crossovers, but mine was probably a bit mellower, more Cowboy Junkies, Lucinda Williams, far less head bashing than in the past.
So in reading the blog, which I’d not expected him to read, JH said he’d love to share some music with me and I was expecting a padded envelope with a CD or 2 but yesterday, I got a package I could barely lift {ok, exaggerating a little, I’m not that pathetic, I practically haul crap around for a living}. But what fun! A gorgeous cardboard box jammed full of new music to discover and old music to relive, a box of proverbial mix tapes and when was the last time I got a mix tape? I haven’t opened it yet, I’m waiting for the right moment. I don’t want to rush, I want to enjoy the experience.
Thanks to Facebook and the aforementioned 30th reunion it was lovely to see that JH is settled into a happy life, happy marriage and has followed his bliss into a career in the music industry. He and I, neither musicians, loved the same kind of music and he has remained obsessed. Looking back, I suppose we were suburban outsiders, in cahoots with a small eclectic group in our constant quest, need, for road trips into Manhatten {from our suburban hell} to soak up all the punk rock and emerging bands wherever/whenever we could find them. In those days, the drinking age was 18 and NY had paper licenses, sans picture, the numbers easily scratched off and modifed with pencil and a steady hand, and in the city, they never carded anyway. So we’d ditch the keg parties midway to get over the bridge in time for the Ramones, Dead Kennedy’s, the Clash, the Damned, Plasmatics, English Beat, the Specials, Madness, the Psychedelic Furs, Go-Gos, B52s, Television, the list is long.
I had a magenta streak in my dark hair, things change, they stay the same, if we’re lucky we find ways to merge our then-selves and our now-selves staying true to whatever makes us who we really are -- symbiosis. It’s been a long trip for me, but I feel more comfortable in my own skin that I maybe ever have which is why getting cancer now, is a little silly. And by the way, I’ve dyed my whole head purple to enjoy my last few weeks of hairfullness and it’s making me very happy. Sadly, I’ve had to ditch the pink {and I mean very, very sadly} because everyone at the clinics thinks I’m making a breast cancer point. I was speechless on one of my early visits when a group of staff said “oh we love your hair, it’s so great you did that to raise awareness.” I’m thinking... are you insane? I found out I had cancer 48 hours ago and you think the first thing I did was run out and buy hair color? No, I will not become a cancer zealot, sorry breast cancer industrial machine, you will not become my identity.
In 1980 I had a beat up 1967 Mustang that got us where we wanted to go, when I wasn’t broken down on the sides of random roads, because that car was a wreck, but it was a beautiful wreck. I was fearless at 17 but somehow lived to tell the tale which is, actually a tad suprising, I was probably more wreckless than fearless, I was an angsty-girl. When JH and I reconnected on FB we exchanged lists of our favorite movies, books and music from the last few decades and while I'm rarely a prankster I couldn’t resist populating my list with Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston and the like, Titanic as my favorite flick, all the elements of pop culture that just baffle me and turn my stomach. He was a true gentleman and tried to hide his dismay and just said “wow, you’ve changed a lot, but that's cool”. And I have, but no one changes that much and if they have, they are or were, just pretending. Interestingly, our current lists had many crossovers, but mine was probably a bit mellower, more Cowboy Junkies, Lucinda Williams, far less head bashing than in the past.
So in reading the blog, which I’d not expected him to read, JH said he’d love to share some music with me and I was expecting a padded envelope with a CD or 2 but yesterday, I got a package I could barely lift {ok, exaggerating a little, I’m not that pathetic, I practically haul crap around for a living}. But what fun! A gorgeous cardboard box jammed full of new music to discover and old music to relive, a box of proverbial mix tapes and when was the last time I got a mix tape? I haven’t opened it yet, I’m waiting for the right moment. I don’t want to rush, I want to enjoy the experience.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Utilitarian Post
I continue to be moved to tears and just blown away by many wonderful people who have offered to help during this cancer tornado. As much as I'm more of a helper than a helpee and asking for help sucks, I realize that my family and I really will need some help over the months ahead.
That being the case, some swell friends have set up a website for me using the service "Lots of Helping Hands" which is used to coordinate help so I don't have 106 gallons of soup at one time. {we haven't loaded it up with info yet, but we will}. I'm wondering if it lets you tell people when you want a game night with friends...
I'm going to start off asking for help feeding everyone because already, I've been having a tough time doing that because cancer is apparently very time consuming. This site will be crazy specific and list what we like to eat and when we need it, it will tell you where we like pizza delivered from and that we all hate walnuts and are firm believers in nut-free brownies and cookies. They'll be a calendar, and if anyone wants to fill a need they sign up and then that "need" is listed as "met", so we get one pizza and not 10 pizzas. As for groceries, it occurred to me yesterday in the shower {where all great ideas come from} that I can start using Peapod, because with limited time and impending limited energy, i need to devote as much as I can to keeping my business afloat because self-employment and cancer are not the best mix. I'm pretty set with transportation with the luxury of a hospital walking distance away.
I'm starting 3-6 months of chemo on 12/13 and really don't know what to expect, so as i get further into it and I'm told, will be further tired, I might need things like someone coming over for an hour to help Jonah with homework. I'm trying to involve the kids in this, as I've been advised by the cancer-specialists to do, so when they're having a rough time, they might ask me to put chocolate cake on the list. I'm hoping this experience will help them be, when they grow up the kind of people that step up to help others {I hope I've been that type of person}, of course that's always been my goal, but this will make them truly realize the importance and sacredness of community and so from bad things, hopefully, will come good things. The church of community.
If you're interested in being a part of this and I certainly understand how busy everyone's lives are, you can go to:
these directions come from the site:
Instruct the people you've invited to fill out the right-hand side of the form which is a Request to Join the Community. Once they've done this, you will begin to receive emails back stating that there are "pending members". Coordinators can "approve" the pending members from the pending members page on theirAdministration tab. Once you have approved them, members will be automatically added to the community and sent instructions for setting a password and signing-in.
After Chemo is surgery and then 6 weeks of radiation, so I'm looking at a long period of treatment.
Thanks so much for considering signing up!
Much love, k t c
Friday, December 2, 2011
School
I am now a proud graduate of chemo class and I have the 2" thick, 12 lb. binder to prove it. No diploma however, or laminated ID card like I got at Crowd Manager Class last year. Yes, it's true, I am a Rhode Island Fire Department certified Crowd Manager and I have an adorable ID card with a gold embossed fire dept. insignia in my wallet to prove that.
Being a certified crowd manager allows me to put on events like CRAFTOPIA without having to pay a fire detail to be there, which is a big deal because if I had to do that, the table fee for artists would probably have to be about $700 and it would be a sad and lonely event. Crowd Manager class is even longer than chemo class, clocking in at 3 hours and when the fire dept. says 3 hours, they fucking mean it -- 3 hours in Buttfuck, I mean Burreville, RI no less. Three hours of them telling a catatonic auditorium full of wanna be Crowd Managers how lucky we are to be in Rhode Island which is the only state to offer us this life saving, comprehensive, 3 hour escapade. Why, just across the border in MA, they have a paltry 30 minute certification, so how lucky are we?
The astonishing thing about this class is that all you get is the fancy ID card... in three hours they do not impart a single bit of useful information. I learned that in case of an emergency, I need to have a plan and then I should implement the plan... but they don't have any suggestions regarding what this plan should be, well, I suppose I'm glad they're leaving room for creativity. For three hours they talk about what a great job the Fire Dept. is doing for us, with this class and all the other wonderful things they do... yes, our fire dept. has it going on. The bad news is, the card is only good for two years and then I'm supposed to take the same class again, this is a fact I will feign ignorance of should anyone deem it necessary to check my card, thus far, no one's been interested in checking my credentials.
As for Chemo Class, I learned that side effects from chemo are extremely rare, I shouldn't expect nausea or vomiting, those are a thing of the past. Sure, I believe you completely, and here is a check for that bridge you've got for sale. I figured at least there must be some fab new chemo drugs these days, making chemo so effortless. Oh no, they said, these are the "gold standard" of chemo drugs, they've been around since the 70's. What the fuck? In all these years of research and progress you're giving me the same toxic cocktail that's been around for 40 years? Where is the biomedical advancement here? And fess up people, that shit makes you puke and feel like crap, and that's why you're giving me a page of emergency phone numbers to call.
The good news is that I can go to a free beauty class where a professional cosmetologist can teach me how to draw my eyebrows back on. They were really enthusiastic about this class, but somehow, I don't think that's for me, they didn't believe me, but I'm pretty darned sure I'll skip that adventure. If I really miss my eyebrows I'll give Jonah a sharpie and let him go to town, he has a lot of experience from drawing on his own face.
Being a certified crowd manager allows me to put on events like CRAFTOPIA without having to pay a fire detail to be there, which is a big deal because if I had to do that, the table fee for artists would probably have to be about $700 and it would be a sad and lonely event. Crowd Manager class is even longer than chemo class, clocking in at 3 hours and when the fire dept. says 3 hours, they fucking mean it -- 3 hours in Buttfuck, I mean Burreville, RI no less. Three hours of them telling a catatonic auditorium full of wanna be Crowd Managers how lucky we are to be in Rhode Island which is the only state to offer us this life saving, comprehensive, 3 hour escapade. Why, just across the border in MA, they have a paltry 30 minute certification, so how lucky are we?
The astonishing thing about this class is that all you get is the fancy ID card... in three hours they do not impart a single bit of useful information. I learned that in case of an emergency, I need to have a plan and then I should implement the plan... but they don't have any suggestions regarding what this plan should be, well, I suppose I'm glad they're leaving room for creativity. For three hours they talk about what a great job the Fire Dept. is doing for us, with this class and all the other wonderful things they do... yes, our fire dept. has it going on. The bad news is, the card is only good for two years and then I'm supposed to take the same class again, this is a fact I will feign ignorance of should anyone deem it necessary to check my card, thus far, no one's been interested in checking my credentials.
As for Chemo Class, I learned that side effects from chemo are extremely rare, I shouldn't expect nausea or vomiting, those are a thing of the past. Sure, I believe you completely, and here is a check for that bridge you've got for sale. I figured at least there must be some fab new chemo drugs these days, making chemo so effortless. Oh no, they said, these are the "gold standard" of chemo drugs, they've been around since the 70's. What the fuck? In all these years of research and progress you're giving me the same toxic cocktail that's been around for 40 years? Where is the biomedical advancement here? And fess up people, that shit makes you puke and feel like crap, and that's why you're giving me a page of emergency phone numbers to call.
The good news is that I can go to a free beauty class where a professional cosmetologist can teach me how to draw my eyebrows back on. They were really enthusiastic about this class, but somehow, I don't think that's for me, they didn't believe me, but I'm pretty darned sure I'll skip that adventure. If I really miss my eyebrows I'll give Jonah a sharpie and let him go to town, he has a lot of experience from drawing on his own face.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Double Yahtzee
My son Griffin is a bad sport, it's his Achilles Heel, we all have them. He's very competitive, does not like to lose and when he does, it's wholly without grace. When he starts losing, things go down hill fast and he'd rather quit than finish. Ironically, he's good at everything and crazy lucky. One time at a school raffle, one of the baskets had 4 Celtics tickets and he wanted them badly. When that basket came up it had the most tickets aimed towards it and I turned to his father and said, "pay attention, they're about to call Griffin's name", "what are you talking about?", "seriously, he wants those tickets and he's the luckiest person I've ever met, it's in the bag." And the winner of the sports basket, is Griffin Clark. The woman behind me had over heard and said "wow, I thought you were nuts, that was amazing." And I said "I know my son."
Clearly the good luck skips a generation, but that's a whole other story, Griffin has great luck, and it's a beautiful thing to see your kid be charmed... at least in certain respects... his mom got cancer, so that kinda sucks. But the bad sportsmanship drives me crazy and I don't tolerate it, never have, never will, he might never get over it and he'll pay the price someday and it's gonna be ugly, but while he's in my charge, I don't accept it. It's one of the few areas where I'm not a push over.
A few years ago we were playing Yahtzee {I love Yahtzee} and I was winning, an unusual event. Griffin was getting more and more surly and demoralized and wanted to quit but I wouldn't let him. I told him I let him enjoy his victories and he owed me the same privilege {especially when it happens so rarely} and besides, the game was barely begun, but to him it was a hopeless misery. He begrudgingly picks up the dice and rolls... instant Yatzee, five of a kind in one roll. But that wasn't enough to completely turn the tide because I had been way ahead. Next turn, he rolls another Yahtzee, side-by-side double yahtzee, Unheard of, but that kid is lucky!
Obviously, his mood changed quickly after that feat, and I tried to make "double yahtzee" a metaphor for sticking with it, having faith, and not quitting regardless. That little plan didn't work, the mere mention of double yahtzee pisses him off because he doesn't plan on learning anything from me... or admitting it anyway.
The day after Thanksgiving last week, I had friends over for leftovers and we were playing games, it was really fun, I love games yet rarely have the chance to play and it was a festive, gathering. I coerced Griffin into a game of Yahtzee and he was winning as usual but I had 4 ones laying down and one more roll to go and I trash talked, I said "pay attention kid, mama's rolling snake eyes", "yeah right, you wish," and ZAM, there it was, a Yahtzee... I've had maybe one in my whole life, I'm not lucky, I don't roll Yahtzee's. and then a few turns later Zammo, I rolled another, and instead of getting angry, my son laughed and said "I did not expect that." And after that he was even willing to play Bananagrams and laughed while he lost.
I'm taking that as a sign that my luck is changing. Double Yahtzee!
Clearly the good luck skips a generation, but that's a whole other story, Griffin has great luck, and it's a beautiful thing to see your kid be charmed... at least in certain respects... his mom got cancer, so that kinda sucks. But the bad sportsmanship drives me crazy and I don't tolerate it, never have, never will, he might never get over it and he'll pay the price someday and it's gonna be ugly, but while he's in my charge, I don't accept it. It's one of the few areas where I'm not a push over.
A few years ago we were playing Yahtzee {I love Yahtzee} and I was winning, an unusual event. Griffin was getting more and more surly and demoralized and wanted to quit but I wouldn't let him. I told him I let him enjoy his victories and he owed me the same privilege {especially when it happens so rarely} and besides, the game was barely begun, but to him it was a hopeless misery. He begrudgingly picks up the dice and rolls... instant Yatzee, five of a kind in one roll. But that wasn't enough to completely turn the tide because I had been way ahead. Next turn, he rolls another Yahtzee, side-by-side double yahtzee, Unheard of, but that kid is lucky!
Obviously, his mood changed quickly after that feat, and I tried to make "double yahtzee" a metaphor for sticking with it, having faith, and not quitting regardless. That little plan didn't work, the mere mention of double yahtzee pisses him off because he doesn't plan on learning anything from me... or admitting it anyway.
The day after Thanksgiving last week, I had friends over for leftovers and we were playing games, it was really fun, I love games yet rarely have the chance to play and it was a festive, gathering. I coerced Griffin into a game of Yahtzee and he was winning as usual but I had 4 ones laying down and one more roll to go and I trash talked, I said "pay attention kid, mama's rolling snake eyes", "yeah right, you wish," and ZAM, there it was, a Yahtzee... I've had maybe one in my whole life, I'm not lucky, I don't roll Yahtzee's. and then a few turns later Zammo, I rolled another, and instead of getting angry, my son laughed and said "I did not expect that." And after that he was even willing to play Bananagrams and laughed while he lost.
I'm taking that as a sign that my luck is changing. Double Yahtzee!
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