Salvation? Hell? Oh, HellaYes! HELL!! PLEASE!!

It was Pansy’s Dream Come True. Her household appliances had a meeting and conspired to create a flood, thereby ruining the vinyl flooring in the kitchen/laundry/half bath areas….but no damage to anything else. Pansy has long wanted to replace that vinyl flooring and get the subfloor squeaking repaired, but could only afford to do so via her homeowner’s insurance deductible route. Good appliances! Good, good appliances! [Promises to sneak them some treats but stoopid appliances don’t know there is no such thing as a “treat” for an appliance. Double Win for Pansy!]

When will Pansy learn to beware what she wishes for? The Pansys are successfully pursuing their unbroken record of being magnets to the worst sorts of "worker people". This event would be no exception. We had a washing machine flood a couple months ago. The washing machine was not broken, the water simply hit a root clog in the pipes outside, did a U-turn and came back into the house through the 1/2 bath toilet. Not sewage water; just a nice big load of hot, soapy wash water to give the vinyl flooring one last scrubbing.

We have no explanation for why we put up with the Bizzaro Flooring Dude (BFD) and everyone we know (because they weren't caught in the vortex of crazy) said we should have marched down to the flooring store and demanded their "A" team within the first day. But, nooooo. We got F Troop’s leader. A glacier moves faster than he did. TEN GODDAMN (yes, I said DAMN) DAYS to do a 3-day job.

BFD is a 56 year old who “got with my Lord when I was 28" guy who works with his tinny, static-riddled radio on full blast, set to a Christian Soft Rock station, he works alone, evangelizing the whole fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) time; and mumbled a lot. To himself? God? I don’t know. But he didn’t mumble so low that I couldn't hear him as he shared: he and his buddies burglarized and vandalized many schools in this area and he named them....all 2 dozen plus. But he's glad he got caught before they moved on to stores. He dropped out of high school. He joined the Marines, but got out after 3 years (even Pansy knows something is wrong with THAT math); he just had his 4-year sober anniversary (I guess the Lord wasn't all THAT close with him for a number of the earlier years); he's divorced (gee, really?); his grown son is currently living with him "trying out California over Arkansas"; it's lonely in his apartment; "is that a surround sound system you have there?"; "where is your Harley?" (from a photo on the refrigerator); he brought in a piece of paper with ink blots on it for us to "stare at the four dots and then at a blank wall and what do you see?" I refused to do it but Nice Guy Mr. Pansy did and of course it's the classic "Jesus" portrait. Ho the fuck hum, WHAT a surprise! BFD was practically peeing his pants in anticipation of our imminent salvation upon viewing this amazing magical piece of paper. Which reminds me, he also peed 40 times a day and each time he peed he would make a mark on a Post-It while he tried to discuss his fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) prostate with me! Which HE pronounced “prostrate” and I am so proud to know that his kidneys just don’t hold like they used to. [screech] He tells me my daughter no way looks 28 years old; my husband seems to have a mellow vibe (oh, he changed THAT tune very soon); I don't look old enough to have children that old; blah/blah/blechhh.

And I know all this and so much more about BFD??? Because the Bible, I mean, HE told me so! Aaaarrggghh! I begged God to PLEASE save me. From this jerk. We googled him up and waddayaknow......he is listed under "felonspy/dot/com”. I am thinking that to make THAT list involves more than mere misdemeanors. Plus, Cubbie Darling AND his Combover hated BFD with a vehement violent deep-abiding passion. Not a good sign at all! I made sure I was on the phone with someone at all times; the doors and curtains were kept wide open; even the garage door was open so that I could at least try to make a run for it to the street where he would catch me and end my life in the gutter. Actually, I was not too worried. I take comfort in knowing that he would have asked Jesus to bless me as he killed me.

Every day he would finally show up around 10:30 with his vanilla latte grande cappuccino mocha espresso cafe au lait half-decaf/half-nonfat sweetened with Splenda coffee from the corner gas station. He would then spend hours doing nothing; he left for hours on end at random times; and, of course, he hung around way too much on our time at night, exhausting us all half to death with just trying to breathe calmly while he putzed around. I am pretty certain he hoped we’d turn into good Christians and ask him to have dinner with us. I would sooner throw the food into the garbage disposer. Oh, yeh. He had his work cut out for him when it came to saving US.

The Very Worst of all this? The BFD actually did a beautiful job on the actual flooring installation! Really. Oh, he screwed the ever-lovin fucking holy crap out of all the details. But the floor and the vinyl came out PERFECT. Which only shows how incredibly obsessive/compulsive he is. He did such a beautiful, meticulous job of installing the plywood underlayment that the animals thought he was done and promptly reclaimed their territory. The pomeranian peed by the dishwasher; the outdoor cat pooped by the oven, the indoor cat looked at the other two animals with utter disgust as he carried around mouthfuls of food and dribbled them everywhere, creating greasy stains. I don't know art, but I know what I like and this was "performance art" at its most basic, profound, in yo’ face muthafucka flooring guy level. I praised the pets and gave them extra treats.

BFD molested my brand new dark and handsome dishwasher, Eduardo. It took hours of expensive therapy to get Eduardo back to his old virginal self. BFD beheaded the dryer vent. We are still waiting for the surgeon to come out and tell us the operation was successful. BFD “didn’t like” how each doorway transition had been done before and butchered them into oblivion. The coup de grace? Mr. FelonSpy ALSO “didn’t like” how our front door worked and dismantled the LOCK and doorknob…..destroying the integrity of the fucking door frame in the process. Even the 3-legged cat can knock that door in now, with his remaining paw behind his back. Ooh, THAT recorded call to the flooring company will be used to convict Pansy The Lipstick Wearing Pit Bull because we are seriously wondering which will happen first:

Will the flooring details be repaired/completed or will I be taken into custody as a person of interest in a missing flooring man case? “Oh we found him .... floating down the Sacramento River, with a 4 ft piece of flooring shoved up his ass.”

I am quite certain that BFD spent 90% of his time here praying to Jesus in 5 minute intervals:

“Please, Jesus. Make the demon voices go away for even just 5 minutes. So that I won’t have to listen to them telling me to kill that woman over there.” He’d get his 5 minutes and then have to pray all over again. I would not be surprised if he showed up late and left at random times because of his prior commitments to AA meetings; his parole officer; drug tests; tent revivals, shock treatments, etc. He is undoubtedly struggling mightily just to get through each 5 minutes of every day and night. And you know what? I DON'T FUCKING CARE! ~sob~

Of course, what HE doesn’t know is that while he was praying to Jesus? Pansy was also praying. To God:

“Please, God. Keep my hands busy for 5 more minutes. So that I won’t grab those scissors that are Right Here and run screaming into the kitchen and stab that man over and over and over again.” I’d get my 5 minutes and then have to pray all over again.

But God trumps Jesus (being His Father and all). So God granted MY prayers, sent Jesus to His room without The Last Supper and those demons that talk to BFD? God granted BFD half his prayers: BFD still has to listen to the demons but now they sing to him. They sing every horrible head-banging, heavy metal, sinful rock and roll song PLUS filthy rap lyrics thrown in for good measure. Because I had to listen to the blaring Christian Soft Rock music for 10 fucking damn (yes, I said DAMN) days!


[note to self: remember this rant when I get held to account for my personal Tote Board of Reasons I Should Go To Hell.]

Crossing The Line In The Sand

It happened so suddenly. And unexpectedly. At first I was so amazed I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I have never had very high hopes of being able to go through this rite of passage. I experimented. Stand up. Yes. Sit down. Yep. Twist left; twist right. Yes and yes. Why me? Why now?

What is Pansy talking about? Well, she went international. Actually, it was more like intercontinental. Hmm...not quite the right word. In-Country? Too military sounding. Ahh, of course! IN-CONTINENT. Oh. My. God. Pansy would not kid about THAT. Because she was majorly pissed off. Figuratively and Literally.

I decided it had to be that new blood pressure drug. But I checked with my doctors to explore any other possible explanation. They ran a few lab tests. Negative on any UTI issues. Good. Still, they mocked Pansy's self-diagnosis. But I knew I was right. Because when that drug dosage was cut back (due to side effects not self-diagnosis), Pansy got her groove back. Stoopid do-NOT-know-it-all doctors.

The new drug's major side effects are: dry mouth; constipation. Ha! How about Drier Than The Sahara Desert? Even my snot was turned into dry flakes from nostril constipation. All my mucous membrane tissues went d-r-y. Speaking of tissues, I went through rolls of toilet tissue like no woman ever has before. Because I was drinking excessive quantities of liquids, trying desperately, futilely, to overcome a drug-induced systemic drought. And when you overfill the tub, the waters will flow. Every few minutes. Around the clock. For any damn reason and for no dam reason.

I could only laugh about this (oops, there goes another wet pair of panties) since crying (dry eyes, ya know) was not a viable option. Everything was very dry, except the panties, sofa, chairs, bed, Mr. Pansy, the puppy, the pussy, etc., and "irritated". Especially my mood if anyone thought I was going to allow this to be my future NOW. Hell, the doctor actually said "most women your age are already in diapers." He is just about well enough to be released from the ICU because Pansy is NOT "most women" and never will be.

So....beware! You, too, could become in-continent. With no warning. Just pray you have a drug you can blame for it. On the other hand, I don't know many people who can mark their calendars with such conviction as to the exact day their personal waters involuntarily parted. Mine was January 22. I am petitioning Congress to wipe that date forevermore from all calendars. Unless they will make it a 3-day National Piss Your Panties Holiday.


[Suddenly remembers: some people will PAY for that "treat". Job Opportunity! See? A "golden" lining is possible even for rain clouds.]

Liver Surgery, Round Two

So, on 10/21/09 I once again got the ever popular (not) fabulous (yes) RadioFrequency Ablation (RFA) surgery done on a new "enlarging" tumor on my liver. The surgeon and I both tell the anesthesiologist to drug me to holy hell (and back, please) so that maybe I will be able to stay ahead of the pain curve this time around. [Please see 2008 surgery post "Fuck Diamonds--Cancer Treatments Are A Girl's BFF"]

I wake up. So far, so good. Not in pain? EXCELLENT! But kinda nauseated. Nurse gives me a pill. A rilly nice pill. Generic name: Pain, I Will Kick Yore Ass To Last Tuesday.

This time around I have learned that just because a procedure is called "outpatient" that does not mean you will not be bedridden. You just get to be bedridden at home instead of in a hospital. I got home around 3:30pm; ate food like a truck driver until I collapsed into bed at 7:00pm. I woke up the next morning at 9:00am. Throwing up because, unfortunately, more samples of that rilly nice pain pill did NOT come home to bed with me. I threw up for 36 hours until the doctor came up with (puke pun!) THE PLAN.

THE PLAN encompassed making several dreams come true! I got to stop throwing up, which facilitated being able to take pain pills that would stay inside of me so they could do their job (half-assed compared to that rilly nice pill ~sad face~), which meant I was somewhat more comfortable, which was all made possible solely due to Mr. Pansy's skill and extreme interest/desire to implement THE PLAN. The doctor prescribed another kind of anti-nausea medication for me. Who knew that Mr. Pansy's dream job as he was growing up was that if he studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and tried his best, maybe...JUST maybe...he could become one of the few, the proud: A Suppository Installer. Have I mentioned he is a very demented person? Which goes a long way toward explaining why I like Mr. Pansy a whole (suppository pun!) lot. giggle.

Still, only 5 days in bed. Thrashing between 22 minute bouts of sleep with a 102 fever. Not too much to fuss over about that, compared to last year's incredible level of misery. On Day 6 I got up and had my usual Monday Luncheon with my Very Most Christian Friend who quite resembles a Very Pretty Queen Camilla of England. And went straight home back to bed. But on Day 7 I got up again and got my nails done. I think. I do clearly recall I went straight back home to bed again. And on the Eighth Day she got her usual chemo. After doing her best to get assurances it was not a Bad Plan. Sadistic oncologists.

I woke up at 3am on the Ninth Day and proceeded to beat the holy hell out of this stupid computer. I cleaned its disc; I defragged it; I bought a Registry Cleaner online (it was on sale, it was 4:30am, I had a credit card, no one could have stopped me). The Registry Cleaner found 700+ "problems" that the free Registry program I had just downloaded had left behind. It is impossible to get good help these days, I swear. Which you will have noticed by now I have NOT been swearing at all in this post. What the fuck is up with THAT? Then, after jillions of aborted tries, I finally successfully downloaded: THE FLASHPLAYER. Now Mr. Pansy can once again continue his pursuit of his Other Dream Job: Volunteer Citizen Monitor of Free Porn Sites. Because SOMEBODY has to make sure those places are pornly. There is internet fraud everywhere, you know. But first, after he heard what all I had done to the computer........he wants me to do all that to HIM! giggle.



(I vow to find out what the rilly nice pill's real name is and when I find out I will also tell YOU its real name. It was THAT good.)

HOLD THE "MAYO"

"No."
More precisely: "Don't call us; we'll call you."

My onco called the Mayo Clinic on 9/18 to refer me for evaluation for a liver transplant. After a lengthy conversation with them, my onco called me at home around 11am. Well, Baby Pansy and I were out getting emergency hoof repairs for her wedding on 9/19. Mr. Pansy alleges he spoke with the onco for a long time. Don't try to fool PANSY! Mr. Pansy doesn't even talk to ME that much. Mr. Pansy is well known as "Chatty Cathy" for his verbosity. That means we mock him because he is the original "very quiet" person. But he took notes and this is what I understand is the situation:

The Mayo people are agog about me; they still would love to have me come be evaluated (if I wish); but I am not within their current protocol for bile duct cancer liver transplant candidacy.

Well.
Shit.
And "whew".

I was/am very conflicted about a transplant but only because it sure sounds scary, etc. The bottom line is, if I could have a transplant I would go for it. I know from personal experience that side effects can be mitigated and lived with. It took 3 years to dial in controlling my side effects from my ongoing chemo and even THOSE 3 years were well worth the annoyances involved! haha! But what a shocker to actually have to consider "choosing" a transplant. Now I don't even have that choice. Which is where I was before, so...okay.

Science has come along far enough to actually diagnose me 6 years after the fact; and in that same 6 years it has only recently become possible for bile duct cancer people to even have a limited shot at a transplant. So who is to say that science won't/can't come through for me (or any of YOU!!) "in time"?

What if I should get "sick" before science comes through for me re a transplant? Well, hell......Been There, DOING That! hahhahaha! Best of all: I am Patient #[fill in random series of digits until your hand cramps] Yay! The Mayo Clinic itself has joined The Legions Of Those Who Know My Name!


Pansy [punching cancer]: What's my name?
Cancer: Ow! Pansy is your name.

Pansy [punching cancer harder]: WHAT'S my name?
Cancer: OwOwOw! Pansy! It's Pansy!

Pansy [now pounding the shit out of cancer]: WHAT'S MY NAME!??
Cancer: You are Pansy, The Most Manned Up Woman In The Universe!
Pansy [gives hard vag kick* to cancer]: That's Right! And don't you ever forget it!



*"vag kick" is not meant to imply my cancer has a vagina. It's just a fight move we like to bust over on my internet cancer group. Actually, I see myself giving cancer more of a "vag stomp" with some heavy, steel-toed boots.

And, by my Pansy Math calculations, it appears that between those two phone calls my onco did not help One Singular Patient for TWO HOURS! He'd better not try pulling that stunt with me during our next appointment.




This is an excellent scientific speech about cancer and its cure:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vy67kwA6Xm4

HAS PANSY'S SHIP "COME IN" or "SAILED" ??

I guess the answer is: a bit of both. And you should know right now that I am seriously breaking "Pansy Protocol" with this post. I NEVER put anything "out there" until it is a Completely Finished Big Picture and I always hang it up with at least a dozen sturdy railroad spikes. Now I am flinging out a bunch of out of focus, poorly framed snapshots on pins and needles. I am a wreck.

What is wrong with me? Who, with "inoperable, incurable, unknown primary cancer", would not pay Cash American Dollars (hell, I'd even throw in some Fake Australian Pesos if that would help) to be told they had an 80% chance of being cured? I have actually lived long enough to have science come through for me. What the fuck are THOSE odds?

My oncologist called me on the phone last week and said he knew what kind of cancer I have and that I now have a chance at a CURE. I have "nonresectable bile duct cancer" and I can have a liver transplant. I gasped and shouted at him "WHAT? You could not be scaring me more or shocking me more if you tried." I am certain he put his phone on "mute" after that first of many more shrieks out of me during our conversation.

There was a real disconnect between my doctor thinking he was telling me good news and me hearing words that instantly made me want to run and hide under my bed. Some big ass (turns out it was mine) prevented me from getting completely under that bed and as much as I struggled and yelled "no no no no no", he deteminedly pulled on my legs. Good thing I had just shaved them. And, worse, he was not "pulling my leg." Then I spent the next 72 hours like a wild animal feverishly trying to chew off my leg to free myself from this trap I suddenly felt I was in.

For once in my head-in-the-sand approach to my cancer, I went all internetty. And inner-nutty, too. When I hung up the phone after talking with my doctor I was alone in my house. Good thing, because I scared not only myself but all the pets with the primal howl that came out of me and I was close to hysterical: crying and incoherent. Mr. Pansy happened to call me and I sounded like I needed an ambulance.

Even when I went on the internet and found "good" information, STILL I have continued to mope around in a puddle of tears and flop-sweat.

PROS:
--We now know I have bile duct cancer. All this time it has been "undiagnosed primary".
--It does not matter if we had known this 6 years ago. Or even sooner. So no angry "why didn't/couldn't you find this out sooner?"
--Because until fairly recently a liver transplant for bile duct cancer patients was NOT an option. Why waste a liver on someone whose cancer might come back?
--We know my cancer's name because my doctor HAD to do a liver biopsy a couple weeks ago. (more on this later)
--Bile duct cancer liver transplants have an 80% success rate (live for 5 years)
--I can have a live donor and don't have to wait for a dead donor. [looking at YOU to go get tested. har!]


CONS:
--if it doesn't work I am dead on the spot. I will lose what time I would have had left if I had not done the transplant.
--if it does work I would need to take immunosuppressive drugs forever. And they "can" cause high blood pressure (already got that); high cholestrol (who cares); diabetes Type 2 (that's a biggie but.......).


I just want so much to keep on with my cancer life "as usual": the weekly chemos, routine CT scans, occasional port replacement surgery, the new addition of occasional rogue tumor removal via RFA (radio frequency ablation). I truly feel so Perfectly Healthy. I can do anything I want and those things I no longer can do I am okay with not doing them.

And what's with my onco doctor? He is my Second Husband. Why is he trying to "divorce" me? haha.

Why do I have to make a "Pansy's Sophie Choice" of throwing away everything on a risky transplant?

Dammit, I really do know that my doctor IS giving me good...fuck, make that: GREAT NEWS. I can have a liver transplant. It is considered a cure. But now I know Just How Easy it is to hate that dreadful "5 years" timer overhead.

I am surgery-phobic. I could never get that rockin' set of boobs no matter if they were free. I could never do a face lift or tummy tuck or any kind of cosmetic surgery. I don't know why. Just not on any lists of mine.

In fact, the ONLY list I have ever had is my "TO DO" list. Of men. AFTER Mr. Pansy dies, so you can just go slap down that tent in your pants now, boys. Stupid horndongs. (nice typo/pun there, Pansy) Sheesh!

THIS ONE IS THE BIGGIE:

I truly cannot keep my "current cancer life as is." That ship has already long sailed away. And I didn't even really know it until right now.

At the beginning my doctor told me that if they knew that I had, say, liver cancer (since that is where the tumors are) they would have just done a liver transplant and we would have all gone on our merry ways. But with an "undiagnosed primary" all they could do was try chemo and see what happened. As we all know, I totally snuck under that limbo stick.

He also declined over the years to do another biopsy because a biopsy leaves a slight trail of loose cells which could rile things up and make the cancer go "boom". And since everything was "working", the risk of a biopsy rocking the boat was not worth it. And everything WAS working until.........

Summer of 2008 a singular tumor went rogue. But it was a tumor that had been there since Day One, so we took a chance on an RFA and, as we all know, I really snuck under that limbo stick. Sprained myself a little bit with the "post ablation syndrome" but even that was actually just another adventure.

My doctor is a wonderful guy and he really will not play "self fulfilling prophecy" games. So he does not go very much into the "what ifs" of anything. We just deal with the "what is-ers". But when that first rogue tumor happened, that is when my doctor started NOT telling me something.

Spring of 2009 another singular tumor has gone rogue. And it is a brand new tumor. Well away from all other tumors. Now my doctor had his back unwillingly shoved up against his own wall. The risks of a liver biopsy of this new tumor were outweighed by the fact that a brand new tumor is seriously bad shit news. I do not think he expected at all to learn what kind of cancer I have. That is ANOTHER medical advance that has occurred over just these past 6 years. And, now that we know, it does explain why my cancer is acting the way it is. Bile duct cancer is a very tenacious cancer that will do all it can to overcome chemo and it appears it has found a crack in my armor.

And here I thought I had just jumped into the ocean and was swimming for all I was worth. Who knew I was still tethered to that fucking cancer ship? Guess I'm gonna have to grab that tether and learn how to waterski. I already know how to "regular" waterski and even single ski. Now I have to also fucking throw in jumping tricks, probably while skiing backwards? Hmmm. What shall I wear?
[pulls on Big Girl Ruffly Rhumba Panties]

I TRY to keep remembering my deal with God so I am also upset that I am upset At All. I was supposed to not get upset ever again. Another thought that trails through my brain is this: if not for the brave patients and doctors IN RECENT TIMES going for The Brass Ring there would be no history of successful bile duct cancer transplants and I still would not have a chance. Now I have 80 chances (or some mangulation of math). Too bad that ring so closely resembles one of those Rings of Hell we all hear about. haha!

If they could step up to the plate, I really ought to at least honor them by trying to step up to my own [damn fucking piled with shit] Big, Shiny, Pretty plate. [makes forced smile]

I cannot wait to see my doctor tomorrow and hear what he has to say. [grunts for awhile] Well. I see I have lost my powers to "move the space and time continuum" so evidently I am going to HAVE to wait. hahahhahaha!

It's One Day At A Time for now. Tomorrow I say "go" to the doctor. dammit.
Hope I get time enough to buckle up.

Pansy had to get a Liver Biopsy...

and all they gave her for her agony was a single, ordinary, "flesh color" band-aid. God forbid ANYONE's flesh is ever THAT color. When will they humor me and give me a big old mummy wrap to impress/scare others? [pouts]

In case you need to ever get a liver biopsy done: they are totally a non-event. Anyone who claims otherwise must be some kind of Quite High Maintenance Bitch, says Pansy The Most Manned Up Woman in the Universe.

Of course, there were some wonderful gory moments: the vein in my right arm "blew". I told the nurse to never say that word in my conscious presence again. The vein in my left arm just would not cooperate and when I finally HAD to say "ow" she apologized and stopped digging. They decided they could access my chestport at which point I demanded to see their qualifications to do so. They did a remarkably believable approximation of what the chemo nurses do to me so I let them access my chestport. Without any numbing but sometimes you have to bite the damn crochet hook needle and just do it.

The doctor was not utterly optimistic before the procedure because he had several obstacles: a very specific and relatively small tumor in a liver crowded with tumors had to be biopsied; needle biopsies can only take limited tissue and that can result in a "not enough to make any determination" sample size....necessitating a do-over or, more likely, an invasive surgical biopsy. Then he reviewed my CT scans, felt around my liver and realized the tumor is miraculously quite set apart from any others and somewhat accessible, BUT ONLY IF I HELD MY BREATH. When I held my breath my expanded lungs pushed the liver out "just enough" which meant we could do the biopsy without a live-feed CT scan. This is desireable since the less radiation I have to be subjected to, the better. He ultrasounded me, got a lock on the tumor position and we were off to the races.

We worked out a deal where I would hold my breath and he would do what he could in that time frame; then we'd take a breather (pun!) and so we continued to shampoo/rinse/repeat until he got a tissue sample. THREE tissue samples, thank you very much. The creepiest part was the lidocaine injection. The doctor, of course, cannot merely numb the skin. He has to numb all the way down and into the liver. The needle's pointy part was seriously 6 inches long. And just about all of it got pushed with emphasis into my abdomen. I fiercely closed my eyes during that part. Ick. He'd stab, inject, the stuff would burn/sting until it numbed me, he'd wait a couple more seconds, stab further, inject, burn/sting, etc. That took about 4 deeper and deeper stabbings to complete. When he hit the liver there was a "whoosh" sensation of my entire liver/right side being flooded with something. Fortunately, the numbing kicked in REAL QUICK.

Then he did the part where he stuck something inside me to snip off tissue. And when it "snipped" it did so with a very loud, echo-off-the-walls, metallic SNAP. I never saw that device because I had put Super Glue on my eyelids by then. I was also getting "mild sedation" via the chestport IV. I would advise them occasionally that I really did not feel very sedated at all. They'd laugh and buzz me up a bit. We really had a good and cooperative time. The doctor was proud of me.

Now I am not to lift anything beyond 15 pounds for the next 72 hours. Like I ever lift that much of anything except maybe a pie. No activities that might "strain" me, like running. So I am going to include bicycling for that 72 hour restriction period. But, of course, I CAN go back to work FULL TIME as soon as tomorrow if I "feel up to it". I also decided that Mr. Pansy should not "feel up to it" for 72 hours. I might get a "strain". He definitely is going to be feeling strained by the end of 72 hours of celibacy. hahahhaha!

And then, this morning, Pansy Completely Forgot about no straining and let Mr. Pansy have his way with her! Then, in the middle of it all, HE remembered and got all upset and "stopped" to ask me if I was okay. When did HE forget that if Pansy is "not okay" the whole world comes to a screeching "not okay" stop? Doofus. But he's Pansy's Doofus so that's okay.

The mildy-sedated Pansy (Oh, ~weep~ she looks SO life-like.) Actually, I rather look like a "big old mummy" all wrapped up and kindy scary. Gotta watch what I wish for. haha!




All this hoopla is because 3 months ago a new tumor showed up on my CT scan. Drat. Then, the most recent CT scan showed the new tumor has doubled in size. Double Drat. So, Pansy will be getting some gawdawful procedure to remove said new tumor in the very near future. She will be SURE to regale you with the horrors of that exciting episode on the ongoing, hopefully long-running, mini-series: "Perils of Pansy". How worried is Pansy? She is so worried the tumor removal might put her on the "temporarily disabled" list, she will not schedule it before the upcoming Baby Pansy Wedding. I want that meal we're paying the Big Bucks for. Sometime after 9/19/09 [burp] it's more "off to the races".

Side Effects "may subside"........

When, exactly? Oh, how I wish!

First of all.............I have added another doctor to my medical posse: cardiologist.

1. He HATES tattoos! How does Pansy know? She beats information out of anyone who crosses her path. And he most definitely crossed Pansy with his condemnation of tattoos. I learned of his extreme personal aversion re tattoos when I asked him if he thought it would be safe to get flowers [pansies of course] and vines/leaves tattooed over my [brace yourselves, youngsters, it's gonna happen to YOU too, ya punks!] VARICOSE VEINS. He could not be swayed even when I assured him the tattoos would be tasteful and discrete---as long as I did not wear short, revealing, age-inappropriate clothing. [Yes, WE all know Pansy was lying through her stained, snaggle tooth when she told the cardiologist that huge, fucking lie, but HE doesn't know yet that Pansy Lies.] I guess he doesn't get asked THAT question very often since most of his patients are near death on tennis balls. You know. The tennis balls on their walkers. [Note to Self: add that last comment to list of Reasons Why Pansy Is Going To Hell.]

2. I told him the story behind the tattoos Pansy already has. He found that quite intriguing. Especially the parts about being naked in Jamaica. NO, you do not have to be naked in Jamaica to get tattoos. That's just how Pansy likes to get inspiration for her tattoos.

3. I was seeing the cardiologist because my blood pressure has been quite active and since June it has been scoring big time: in the neighborhood of 230/140. Evidently that is a bad, crime-filled neighborhood. How bad is this neighborhood? Pansy's savvy New Jersey sister-in-law (Long Suffering Woman) told Pansy: It's the kind of neighborhood that only has bars, tattoo parlors and barber shops where they only know 2 kinds of hairdos: "buzz cuts" and "scalp design". Which does go a long way toward explaining why Pansy is often hungover wondering where she got THAT tattoo and why is she sporting an uneven buzz cut?

4. About 2 minutes into the initial 15 minute "consultation appointment" (which is doctor code on their insurance company reimbursement rip-off claims for "do nothing but schedule another appointment"), he stopped talking, looked at me, took a breath and said "This is above my pay grade." Yessss!

I guess he's never had a patient who has had over 200 chemos and eagerly plans to have more. He then proceeded to talk with me for a solid hour. FINALLY, I got my $20 co-pay money's worth out of a doctor! As I was leaving, he said something along the lines of: "No fucking way in hell am I going to let you die while you are on my watch." He was not kidding around. He put me on an additional blood pressure drug and now I take 4 drugs for my blood pressure. That drug has been quite enjoying kicking Pansy's ass ever since.

5. Day One of Additional Drug was a Saturday. I spent it flat out on the floor with multiple side effects. They included, but were not limited to:
----dizziness; vertigo; faintness; feeling weak when sitting/standing (those sound alike but they are each separate side effects)
----nausea; flatulence, constipation, diarrhea, flushing (yes, you can have ALL of those simultaneously and NO, smartasses, the "flushing" was more than the toilet....it's hot flashes)
----headache; chest pain (like being crushed externally by a can masher); swelling of extremities; leg cramps; leg pain
---insomnia, dry mouth, runny nose

And the special side effects for ONLY all you guys out there are:
----impotence
----enlarged breasts [???!!!] WHY DO YOU GET ALL THE FUN SIDE EFFECTS????!!!!

The ONLY side effects I have not yet had the joy of experiencing are:
---bleeding gums
---transient blindness

I will bet you anything that I have had the "transient blindness". While I was asleep. Side effects can't tell time so what would they know about when to show up? Does "transient blindness" involve playing Seeing Eye Dog with Hobos? Because Pansy is tired of that game with Mr. Pansy. [Feel free to insert your own rude comment concerning teaching old dogs new tricks.] Pansy is just grateful all the above side effects are not under the category of "go to the nearest emergency room"....of which there are about 6 of those.

6. Dammitall, the drug combo is working. Within 48 hours my blood pressure readings were down by half: 140/90 and lower. No wonder I was on the floor with my stomach in my throat. With that kind of a roller coaster drop I am sure I was somewhat experiencing the equivalent of going into shock. The drug is working but it is pretty nasty. I am going to gut it out for another week or so but the foot swelling and leg pain/cramps are real close to disabling. At least the dizziness has subsided so that I am able to ride my bicycle again.

7. During these 3 visits to the cardiologist he did an EKG; a kidney ultrasound; and an echocardiogram on me. To his delight (and mine, truth be told) every result was "perfect". Not a bit of artery problems, no heart damage of any sort, 54 resting heartrate. Just amazing. The doctor was shocked since he had warned me that he expected some heart damage due to my blood pressure history. Not.

Still, he wants to see me again in 3 months and then every 6 months thereafter. Because he has the hots for Pansy. How do I know this? Because, just like all my other doctors, the cardiologist has fallen under Pansy's Spell. He would say to me at each appointment: "You look GREAT." But only in a platonic, medical way.
dammit.

25 Things I Didn't Know About Facebook

Facebook has come to blight my life. I have been defriended more than a few times (what a shocker! hahahhahaha!); my computer has been attacked by all kinds of bugs and viruses; I think I might be on a "list" somewhere. In fact, I am quite certain I am on several "lists" out there. hahaha! I hope so. And having to put up with all those incessant "applications" and "quizzes" and "lists". But I get my jollies by re-formatting them. To wit:


THERE WAS THE "25 THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ME". Considering I know just about nothing about any of these people in the first place is, evidently, quite beside the point. My version was "25 THINGS ABOUT GETTING CANCER"

1. I did not collapse, scream, or cry at the doctor's office. It was already way too fucking late for those cheap theatrics.

2. Instead, I went home on that Black Friday and waited for Mr. Pansy to come home. I did not call him at work or go see him at work. Why not let him have his last 5 hours of "life is happy, happy, joy, joy" innocent ignorance?

3. When Mr. Pansy got home, I began to break things. I broke him. I broke our two children. I broke my sister, my brother, my parents. That wasn't enough. Over the next few weeks I broke every one of my friends, too.

4. When Mr. Pansy told his mother, she said these immortal words: "She is going to really manipulate you now." I hope I will never say such a cruel thing to anyone. Especially not to my child as they tell me about something that is causing them the most pain of their life. It took me some time to realize she is jealous and furious that I have topped any kind of infirmity she can ever come up with. Gotta take my wins where I can get them, you know. hahahha!

5. I knew immediately that I would do anything/take anything the doctors suggested or offered. It was "ON". I would die from the shame I would feel if I did not do everything. I will NOT have my family/friends ever be able to say "she didn't try."

6. After 43 days of getting every cancer test out there, we learned I have Secret Cancer. It refuses to even give just its name, rank or serial number. This one was gonna be a tough customer.

7. My doctors tell me that I have "unknown primary cancer metastasized to the liver, right kidney and both lungs." And that it is incurable. And inoperable. I say "Oh. And what's the bad news?" I really did say that.

8. The bad news was that Plan A involved simultaneous full strength doses of all the chemo drugs for lung cancer, ovarian cancer and breast cancer.

9. I felt horribly ashamed to be so frightened about impending chemo treatments. There was no other option, so I went to MY "Plan A": I made a deal with God. I told God that I would accept whatever came my way and that whatever happened, it would be okay with me. God said "Deal." And in that exact second, all my fears went away. Forever.

10. Plan A is implemented. I am Very Surprised. This chemo stuff truly is not nearly as awful as its reputation. Oh, it IS awful...that's a for sure fucking fact. But surely if there is one thing everyone does know about me, it is my credo: if a Pansy can do it, anyone can do it. I smile as I vomit.

11. Six chemo rounds later we learn that Secret Cancer thinks the chemo drugs are manna from heaven. It's grown leaps and bounds and is all plump and pink and cheerful. I am wilted, thin, gray-skinned and bald. And kinda pissed off. Plan A is supposed to have a 50% success rate. Well, fuck the 50% I got stuck with.

12. We go to Plan B. It is presented to me as Very Useless and perhaps I should consider going straight to Plan C (experiments out of town) since I was real close to running out of time. I want to go with Plan B, somewhat against my doctor's wishes.

13. Guess The Fuck What? Very Useless Plan B fucking worked!

This is where my list ends. I know it's not 25 things but "13" is my Lucky Number. I was born on a "13"; I work on Floor "13" (although it is called Floor 14); and my desk is even located at Space "13". No sense messing with good mojo!

BUT PANSY DON'T LIKE TO LEAVE THINGS UNFINISHED, SO SHE THOUGHT IT OVER SOME MORE AND GOT THESE:

14. I am no fence sitter. I somehow "know" which medical decisions to make. And I don't even have no medical degree!

15. I have never been intimidated by my doctors and have never doubted their guidance. Lucky for them I have approved of their decisions, so far.

16. I am astounded every waking minute over how Mr. Pansy picked up every oar in our boat and continues to look for more oars. I don't know why he isn't dead from stress or exhaustion already.

17. I lost all emotional attachment to possessions. Everything I own is merely a "thing".

18. I love that I must have chemo forever. I could not endure the "performance pressure" of a finite set of treatments.

19. Considering I cry at the drop of a hat about others, I have only cried "for myself" 3 times. I hope that means I am far less selfish than I believe I am. I'm probably wrong about that hope!

20. I had no idea I would be so ANGRY about having cancer but I don't feel sad about it. I confess I enjoy being a "hater" on things like Facebook lists and "forward to everyone" emails. And jalapeno peppers. Boy, do I ever haaate those! hahahhaha!

21. I never did and especially now do not regret one single moment of my lifelong lack of "plan for the future" genes. Those memories are worth more than any retirement plan now! hahahhaha!

22. I believe Mr. Pansy will go on without me. I wish he would believe it, too.

23. Cancer's greatest gift is that it allows a "long" goodbye. I love how cancer swept away a lot of bullshit emotional clutter between me and the family members that matter the most to me: husband, children, siblings. So many people waste years on petty issues because they think they have forever. There were not many issues for me but it's good to have a clean slate.

24. I have cancer the "best" way: no terrible financial debts, no insurance hassles, great doctors, wonderful emotional support from family, friends and my employer.

25. I am most happy that I had guaranteed renewable life insurance. At least I got to stick something to "the man" when I suddenly became uninsurable! Mr. Pansy will have 5 years worth of house payments to buy him time to make sensible decisions. He has new insurance too. I will be able to buy the most rockin' set of boobs ever. Screw "sensible"!

And one to grow on:

26. I am very un-reconciled to death. But I trust I will be given the tools I will need when I get there. Besides, cancer garners way too much attention for what we all eventually have to face. Who knew the perks of having such a "glamour diagnosis" would work so great for Lazy Narcissistic Pansy! hahahaha!

----------------------------------------------------

THE BUCKET LIST.
The object is to read the list and place an (x) by all the things you've done; do NOT place an (x) by things you have not done. Pansy HATES stupid ass things......but especially she hates a fucking "Bucket List" and all its lame, Lifetime Channel morbid death aspects. You want a fucking "Bucket List" outta me? Here ya go.

(x) waded in a mountain stream and had sex
(x) owned a VW bug and had sex
(x) visited a friend's house and had sex in their bathroom
(x) been in a sleeping bag out in the open and had sex in it in 100 degree weather
(x) Skipped school and had sex
(x ) been in an attic crawl space and had sex
(x) sat in a mountain meadow and had sex because we thought we were alone until that family walked up on us----Note to self: don't take LSD before sex, it alters your judgment re "aloneness"! hahahha!
(x) Owned a boat (canoe) and had sex
(x) Been to a lighthouse and had sex
(x) Swam in the ocean and had sex
(x) Went streaking and had sex
(x) Been to a rodeo and had sex
(x) Sang Karaoke (“Just One Look”) and had sex
(x) Laughed until a beverage came out of my nose and had sex
(x) Watched the sunrise with someone and had sex
(x) Gone to the indoor movies and had sex
(x) Gone to a drive-in movie theater and had sex
(x) Owned a convertible and had sex in it
(x) Seen a total eclipse of the sun and had sex
(x) Been to Altamont and had sex
(x) been in bathtub; shower; swimming pool...sex in all
(x) returned to work after "lunch" with dress on entirely inside out because of having sex
(x) Been to Arizona and had sex
(x) Been to California and had sex (still doing that)
(x) Been to Colorado and had sex
(x) Been to Florida and had sex
(x) Been to Georgia and had sex
(x) Been to Hawaii and had sex
(x) Been to Jamaica and had sex
(x) Been to Missouri and had sex
(x) Been to Montana and had sex
(x) Been to Nevada and had sex
(x) Been to New Jersey and had sex
(x) Been to New Mexico and had sex
(x) Been to South Carolina and had sex
(x) Been to South Dakota and had sex
(x) Been to Tennessee and had sex
(x) Been to Texas and had sex
(x) Made a boyfriend cry? Hellayes! Due to great sex!
( ) Shook the hand of a President---No, but I did shake Robert Kennedy's hand, before he was assassinated; no sex
( ) Joined the mile-high club. NO! What? You think I’m some kind of sex weirdo?
( ) Had sex in hot tub? NO! Who wants to have to skim "foam" off the surface?
(x) Woke up today and (you know what's next) HAD SEX!

It has come (PUN!) to my attention that OTHER PEOPLE's so-called "bucket lists" differ from mine. I cannot help it if they have boring lists.

And lately I have been scoring Big Time: I would last for 32 seconds in a death match against Chuck Norris; the Bad Ass Animal I would be is a Great White Shark; my superpower is "Super Ventiloquism" with really huge red lips. I think I'll go find me some more Facebook quizzes/lists.

You All Make Pansy Gag. Literally.

I have always been quite the prolific vomitress. I puked every day of my pregnancies. Sometimes twice a day. All that retching was a very worthwhile downpayment for the fabulous 4 hour painless labors I got to experience. I literally could have gotten straight up from the birthing bed and plowed 40 acres.

One day in 2003 I noticed that I could not brush my teeth without excessive gagging and very nearly vomiting. Now why isn't THAT listed as an early sign of cancer? Soon thereafter came all the many chemo drugs and Pansy went pro in the sport of XPH [Xtreme Projectile Hurling]. But now it has gotten completely out of hand......or out of mouth, should I say?

I have become hyper-sensitive to gag-inducing situations. Lord save you if you are what I call a "sloppy eater." I don't even know how to describe what qualifies as a "sloppy eater"! You eat with your mouth open? I'll gladly grab out the big chunks for myself. You have food on your face? I'll lick you clean. But God Forbid and Have Mercy On Your Dead Carcass if you eat "too fast". That will set me off into a truly disgusted/disgusting retching fit. I mean MY gagging makes ME gag so it's quite the vicious cycle.

And my gagging problem has spread to other "triggers". I have been known to start gagging when first meeting someone! It is NOT COOL to be saying "Hi. Nice to [gag, retch] meet you [heave]!" AND have to actually turn away to get my gagging under control. I actually embarrass my own damn self! I also possibly am not going to be making very many new friends from now on out.

The best way I can attempt to explain it is: "Sometimes I feel like a gag, sometimes I don't." There is ONE extremely good side to all of this: Mr. Pansy now has the largest, most gag-inducing penis on this planet! And you can Just Stop Already with the fake waterworks for Mr. Pansy. He ain't missing out on anything. He has "come" to terms with the new soundtrack that now goes along with certain mouth-to-body-parts [gag, retch] activities. hahahha!

Sometimes I "Obey" My Husband..Never Again!

First of all...............I AM SENILE. But that doesn't mean I don't remember things. With a vengeance and a grudge that will never fade. I probably will NEVER FORGIVE that bastard I am married to because when the Tour of California came to town, our plans were to ride our bikes from our house to downtown and spend all day in miserable weather. It was going to be barely tolerable only because it did not look like it would actually rain and I had dressed up--strictly for the potentially bad weather, you know. MR. PANSY MADE ME FUCKING CHANGE MY FUCKING CLOTHES before we left the house. If I had worn what I intended to wear I absolutely would have been on Versus and seen 'round the world. Because I am Adorably Cute.

This place is such a podunk town. And THAT JERKOFF (which is how he is going to be getting his sex for a very long time) that I continue to live with is King of the Fucking Podunks. He actually said OUT FUCKING LOUD to me: "I wish you wouldn't wear that." And THEN he fucking said this: "I know you are just dying for attention...." and his voice trailed off and he looked wistful. Perhaps frightened at what had slipped out of his flapping mouth. I thought "I will show that bastard I am totally capable of NOT wearing costumes." And I dressed down.

Even dressed down, I was quite popular with the crowds....including the pro biker boys out on the bike trail warming up and passing us in each direction as we rode toward downtown. Many people who saw me said "I love your jacket/top/furry breasts." I was wearing my silver "fur" bicycle jersey and it isn't just a costume, it is a functioning genuine bicycle jersey. What I had been wearing in addition to the fur jersey was...well, it was indescribable and NOW NO ONE WILL EVER GET TO SEE IT. Until next year when I plan to follow the Tour of California for a day or two or seven. It is not stalking if you don't carry concealed weapons.

The Tour of California cries out for a "fixture". The "devil" at the Tour de France is a fixture. WHY SHOULDN'T PANSY BE THIS RACE'S FUCKING FIXTURE? I still can't believe that chickenshit I am married to asked me to not dress up. What is wrong with him? He had better realize that kind of "obedience" will never happen again in HIS now very much shortened lifetime. But I am not pissed off forever and ever about this incident. Or bitter. Or homicidal. Noooooo. [snarl]

Highlights of playing with the biker boys: I tracked down a couple of teams during their forced P.R. appearances around town...Jelly Belly and Garmin/Chipotle. They signed free postcards/posters and gave out team water bottles. The Jelly Belly boys had a wheelspin game: each section was 2 flavors of jelly beans. Such as Watermelon/Booger; Peach/Vomit; Lime/Asparagus. Those are all REAL flavors and MY spin landed on: Buttered Popcorn/Rotten Eggs. YES!!!! And that fucker was spot on for realistically horrible flavor. There was a trash can nearby to spew into. That was a Kodak moment I should have predicted but...nope. Because of that senility thing, you know. I still think I was set up for the rotten egg just because I had been smooching on the biker boys. They were probably worried I gave them a "germ". They wish.

The Jelly Belly Boys Never Saw It Coming:






The Chipotle/Garmin Team:













Star Boy Dave Zabriskie


Signed,

If I dress up, there will be trouble
If I don't dress up, it will be double

PANSY'S ULTIMATE XXXTREME ORIGINAL BEST HOUSE CLEANING SYSTEM (Trademark and Patent Pending)

I am very pleased and proud to share my "Pansy's Ultimate XXXtreme Original Best House Cleaning System". It is being offered here as a Public Service but mostly because it is part of my parole requirements:

(1) matches
(2) fire hose
(3) large drain in center of room


Pull all contents out of every orifice in room, light match, do ritualistic dancing around fire (heavy drinking allowed AND encouraged), when flames die down use fire hose to flush all ashes down the center drain. Repeat for each room of house.

This System works for Everybody! Because it is an Absolute Fact that anyone can open any cabinet/drawer/closet in their home at random and they will NEVER fucking find anything more recent than telephone books from 2003.

Fuck the sorting into "yes" "no" "maybe" baskets. Burn all the fucking baskets, too. Seriously. I am not even the packrat of the Pansy Family. Reference: "Pansy Loves Grease" which discusses among other things Mr. The Ultimate Packrat Pansy and his goddammed spark fucking plugs. But I am not still bitter.


For god's sake would someone please tell Pansy what to do with old VCR tapes? They each have about 30 minutes of some lameass TV broadcast from as long ago as when "Pong" was all the rage in video games. Pansy has a "Pong" in her attic! And I ain't just talking about the house attic if you know what I mean. How else to explain this convulsion of shit in my house?

I should definitely cut each tape so that it is rendered useless, load them all up in the car and go to the dump. I have to cut the tapes to pre-empt someone viewing all the personal porn that I undoubtedly made with god-knows-who/when/where and have forgotten about. I am talking 17 grocery bags of stupid old VCR tapes! And there are 8 shelves of shit above my computer that I still haven't culled of useless VCR tapes.

But, wait! That's not all! You say YOUR house is too messy to be cleaned just using matches? Pansy's New and Improved Ultimate XXXtreme Original Best House Cleaning System is now available with a Fully Functioning Military Grade FLAMETHROWER at no additional cost if you send Just One (1) boatload of money within the next 20 minutes!

YOUR system could be on its way to you today! Or not. Send those boatloads NOW!!! All orders placed in the next 20 minutes will be eligible for a drawing to win a Roseanne Wet Bar Ride Around Vacuum Cleaner!

UPDATE ON 11/7/2008: DO NOT BE TRICKED BY CHEAP FUCKING IMITATIONS!

Published 11/5/2008: Cleaning cobwebs with blow torch blamed for house fire in Sargent
A single-story home in Sargent was damaged by fire Wednesday morning after the homeowner accidentally set the fire while cleaning cobwebs from the eaves around the exterior of the residence with a blow torch.

Pansy has LONG been promoting her house cleaning program. Since at least the early 1970s..........way before this faker in Sargent decided to steal her Original Idea.

PANSY COMES. CLEAN, THAT IS.

No wonder I felt so fucking awful while riding 70-ish miles this past Saturday! In fact, I felt SO bad that on Sunday I threw a tantrum and REFUSED to ride more than 40 miles. I was still feeling not great on Monday but I went to work anyway. Mostly because I have a lunch date every Monday with My Very Most Christian Friend Vicki at Denny's and I will fucking do ANYTHING for a free ass lunch. Including talking/listening to her.

She and I told each other long ago.... god, I think I have known her for almost 10 years? Fuck, no wonder she looks so much older and haggier now! hahahaha! Naw. In fact, she is a Dead Ringer for a (oxymoron alert!) "good looking Camilla". The Camilla that married Prince Homeliest Man Who Would Be King (but for the fact that his oldass bitch of a mom will NOT fucking die already!) in the history of inbred Englishmen. If Camilla were "prettied up"....she would look like Vicki.

Anyways, we told each other long ago that we could be friends and say anything to each other no matter what. Well, she evidently has the nerve to take me at my lying-through-my-teeth word and said this OUT LOUD:

Vicki: I voted "yes" on every proposition on the ballot just to Make Sure I did NOT mess up voting Yes on Prop. 8 (allows gay marriage in California).

Me: [choking on food and nearly passing out.] WHAT?

Vicki said (OUT LOUD again!) that Prop. 8 just could not happen because then sex will be taught to 2nd graders.

Vicki, honey, there's plenty of "sex education" going on already at the hands of priests, ministers, and second graders' own damn parents! And Pansy ain't talking about the Good Kind of sex education. But I don't tell her that. It would not change her mind about Prop. 8. Amazingly, her parents bankroll the Democratic Party so this just has to be breaking their elderly hearts to have raised such spawn of satan. hahahhahahha! Even the most insane throwback caveperson mentality knows that gay marriage isn't gonna kill anyone. Except in gay marriage domestic violence situations, I suppose. I just don't understand people who worry about gay marriage. I mean how did Vicki arrive at that side of the issue? With her parentage, she couldn't have been BORN that way, could she? hahahhahahaha! (That was a twist pun on gays being born that way. In case you didn't get it.)

Anyways....THAT is not what made Pansy feel so bad during her bike rides. Especially since the bike rides happened before the lunch with Vicki. No, what happened is I went in for chemo today and waddayaknow? I have a FEVER! I am SICK! I think it's all you internet people. I probably have an Internet Virus! hahahahahhaha! (THAT'S another twist on another pun. In case you didn't get it.) But then I ran a scan on my computer and there aren't any viruses there. So you assholes are off the hook. Hey! That's ANOTHER pun! ("Off the hook" means different things depending on your elderliness. In case you didn't get it.)

So I am left wondering "what's up" or, to better relate to you buncha punks "wassup?" I eventually figured out what happened. I filled out my absentee ballot and I VOTED FOR JOHN McCAIN AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME. But not to worry. I live in California and this state's Electoral College has already long gone loopy over Barry Obama so my vote totally does not count, makes not a bit of difference, and I am even all down with Obama being President. Even so, I VOTED FOR JOHN McCAIN.

Anyways, I have been Actually Really Trying to study and educate myself for this stupid election. In case you babies don't know: in every election EVER there has always been One Candidate who had it in the bag. And without exception That Candidate always then proceeds to do their damndest to lose the fucking bag. J0HN McCAIN, WHOM I VOTED FOR has done the Very Most Perfect Job of Fucking Blowing His Bag that Pansy has ever witnessed.

I voted sensibly and educatably (Is that a word? Looks like I need some more edumacation my own stupid self!) on the Propositions and I am generally FOR anything that involves Education or Prevention. So I supported money for junior colleges (they are the Higher Education Lifeline for people who are never going to get into Big Time Colleges) and I supported lighter sentences that included diversion programs for certain non-violent drug crimes.

Because if society does not give its marginal, slipping between the cracks people a hand in mercy they will find themselves being bitch slapped in about 5 years by a marginal person that has a gun in one hand and crack in the other. And NO junior college credits, neither!

Anyways, I know what made Pansy sick. It wasn't that PANSY VOTED FOR JOHN McCAIN. It was the stress of voting her leanings and feelings in the face of this Mass Hysteria over Obama. He is NOT the Chosen One. He is a politician.

Hey! Are we allowed to discuss politics on the internet? If not, the jury will please disregard the prior statements in this post. hahahhahahahahhahahahahahahhaha!


MY NAME IS PANSY PALMETTO AND I APPROVE THIS STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS BLATHERING.

Pansy Turns Great Tricks!

Oddly enough, Pansy does not "DO Halloween" even though it is the quintessential "trick or treat" occasion. But she is waaayyyy into April 1...no matter what day of the year the calendar claims it really is.


1. Put a split loop (used to attach charms to bracelets) on nostril so it appears to have been pierced. Become annoyed by everyone at work because they don't even question that Pansy would actually DO something that. Switch loop from nostril to nostril during day. Become incredulous that NO ONE NOTICES the switcheroo-ing. Go into attorney's office to complain that the Office Manager is having a hissy fit. IF Attorney continues looking down at paperwork on desk increase the complaining with aggravated tone and say "the piercing parlor assured me this is an acceptable Business Look and now I am being told I have to remove it." Enjoy seeing attorney look up, stare, lay head facedown on desk and say "Pansy, what are we going to do with you? And, yes, you are going to have to remove that piercing." Remove piercing "forcefully" by yanking it out while squeezing opened ketchup packet cleverly pre-concealed in palm of hand. Cry out in "pain". Revive attorney.


2. Start new job (NOT because of prior "nose piercing" incident) and learn on Day 2 that the Office Holiday Party is in one week. Ask what the dress code will be for the party. It's "casual." Boldly Declare "I don't care. I am dressing up." Whole office decides that sounds nice and they are in formal wear on the Day of Party. Arrive in lovely holiday dress festooned with fish-shaped battery-powered lights and other ornaments attached all over dress. [Be careful when sitting.] When asked where the batteries for the lights are, say "Only my gynecologist knows for certain." Somehow keep job.


3. When it's really hot outside and co-workers need a refreshing drink? Fill glasses with ice cubes, a few ounces of Coca Cola, and lots of yesterday's old, room temperature, mold-filled (well, one can always hope) coffee. The Coke gives it just enough fizz to entice co-workers to take a big thirsty gulp. Run away before spewing begins.


4. Place stickers over the earpiece of telephone handsets of co-worker(s). Add layers of stickers on top of stickers until co-workers believe they are going deaf. The stickers can even be BRIGHT GREEN or YELLOW or RED but somehow are never noticed. Sometimes the co-workers will shout into the phone to see if the caller is also having difficulty hearing. Especially if you do #5:

5. Call co-worker with stickered up phone, disguise voice, shout back and forth with them......while you are in your cubicle RIGHT NEXT TO IDIOT CO-WORKER.

6. Use GREEN Sharpie Felt Pen for lipstick. It looks awful, tastes worse, and makes your teeth look like they have been soaked in week-old yellow urine. Mmmmmmm. Wear many different shades of green clothing together. Oddly, it embarrasses [bonus!] your friends/co-workers to be seen with you even if it IS St. Patrick's Day.

7. When riding bicycles if a lizard, but especially a SNAKE, is nearby tell rider in front of you that it has gotten tangled up in their rear wheel spokes. Enjoy their screams and amusing body gyrations. Be careful to avoid them should they crash.

8. Carry automotive oil with you at all times. When co-worker is showing off new vehicle/motorcyle pour oil underneath vehicle so that it appears to be leaking from their new treasure. They look so cute when they get "upset".

9. This is the only Pansy Trick that really must be used ONLY ON APRIL FOOL'S DAY! Tell attorney that the firm's Most Important Client has just called and is quite angry about why no one was at airport to pick them up. Confess that you forgot to let anyone know that the Client had called and told you that information a week ago. Use defribrillator that you have brought to office in preparation for this joke on attorney. When attorney is sufficiently recovered, at his urging pull same joke on Office Manager. Barely keep job.

10. Obtain just enough information from strangers via the internet and use it to trick them into believing you are their "friend". Then dump on them a fake email you have made out of whole cloth about how a "mutual internet friend" hates them. Laugh heartily over their freakout. Oh, wait. That was YOU? Sooo sorry! hahahhahahahaha!

There are more. Perhaps you have some to share? Just know that if you share, Pansy will move heaven and earth to twist it and use it on you. hahahahhahaha!

GET OFF MY FAT ASS ALREADY

I originally only came here for your planet's water. Who knew your fucking gravity would make Pansy have to stay the rest of her life?

I am a fine and sturdy mare. [Read: fat from those fucking steroids.] I have been dieting since 7/1/06 when I was awakened by the same old/same old: the singing birds, the nectar on muffins, the several partially-clothed, muscular Man Servants fawning at my bedside. HO HUM. But 7/1/06 was different in that I also awoke with this thought/command suddenly screaming at me in my brain: I am going on a diet and this time I really mean it.

The "This Time I Really Mean It Diet" involves:

1. Eating less food. I do a combo of my version of WeightWatchers and my version of Special K's cereal diet. I have tea/toast for breakfast; chicken salad lunch, cereal or spaghetti for dinner. The worst? NO DESSERTS EVER. Except for those 4-5 pieces of coconut cream pie (crack on a plate) I have had since 7/1/06, I mean it about the NO DESSERTS EVER. God, who fucking made THAT rule up?

2. Exercising vigorously (my version of "vigorously" anyway) most days of the week which I do by riding my bicycle. I rode 8,000+ miles in 2007 and am on track for only 5500 miles for 2008. Shut up, you hyenas! I got waylaid this year with 3 surgeries so I have a doctor's note that excused me from P.E. Is that okay with you fuckers? God, there's a critic in every damn crowd.

3. Going to bed angry and hungry. The going to bed angry thing is nothing new but that going to bed hungry shit is really ratcheting up the Anger Quotient. And, please guys: no matter how many times you offer it up, us wimmin do NOT consider your Special Male Appendage to be an acceptable substitute for a "snack". So stuff it, already. And I don't mean THERE, either! God, you horndogs are sooo predictable.

Oh, how I have prayed for an eating disorder. I would only want it for a month or two, okay? After all, I am not greedy. I just want to be NOT FAT. Actually, currently I am NOT FAT. Just not as NOT FAT as I want to be. I topped out at 218 pounds. I did not even hit 100 pounds until after I graduated from high school so that is some Big Momma for me.

The worst is right now: Size 12 clothes are too big/Size 10 clothes are too tight. Nothing fits! Now you know why Pansy has to go to Jamaica for vacations: it's the naked resort for me until this diet thing gets me out of my current awkward-in-between size.

No. Wait! Pansy is [gasp!] WRONG! The WORST of it is this: with the dieting and the exercise I do, why in hell don't I weigh 102 pounds al-fucking-ready? I have lost just under 1 pound per week since 7/1/06. Who the fuck has been stealing those "2 pounds per week" that I am supposed to lose? I can't even manage to lose 1 pound a week. dammit.

I know, I know. It's those Magic Meals I eat the day of/day after chemo: Velveeta Cheeeezee grilled sandwich/tomato soup/7-Up. With white sugar sprinkled on top of it all. WHITE SUGAR IS NOT A CRIMINAL....it just has low self-esteem. And those steroids. Why do cancer patients get fucked over on even the steroids? Why can't we get the Muscle Steroids instead of those stupid Health Steroids? No wonder that Pansy packed on a few pounds between the steroids and the "After Chemo Anything That Goes Down Is All Good." NO, PANSY DOES NOT MEAN SHE "GOES DOWN" after chemo. Even if, you know, she does. Damn fucking one-track-mind horndogs. Which is not at all like a big hot and salty Corndog.

The Streets Will Run With The Blood Of Pansy

Well, gotta have a dramatic title, ya know. Pansy has decided she actually has only ONE ISSUE. It's them damned Needles. Pansy will confess to (hell, she'll actually COMMIT) the most heinous crimes ever if doing so will allow her to avoid a needle in her personal space. Or anywhere else in her body for that matter. She had a "childhood trauma" that totally ruined Pansy for life about needles. I won't even discuss how it totally fucks up her ability to properly maintain a decent heroin habit, ya know.

As an Air Force Brat, I lived in San Salvador, El Salvador from ages 3 through 9. Vaccinations or "shots" of some horrible kind or another on a regular basis were de rigueur. All kinds of shots. Every one of them nasty. In every limb. Every few months. By the end of each "shots day" my siblings and I would be quite paralyzed from muscular pain, swelling, and etc. (It's that goddam "etc." that gets ya every time!) Our "treat" was we were each given a fucking paddle ball toy. It was a little rubber ball tethered to a wooden paddle with an elastic string. We would paddle ball the holy shit out of our miserable little selves on orders from our military parents supposedly to loosen up our muscles. It just added to the pain as far as my memory is concerned. Whatever sadistic bastard invented that piece of shit toy......well, just wait til Pansy gets her hooves on him! Poor Paddle Balls. They are probably innocent "happy memories" for other children. NOT FOR PANSY!

All in all, it's been a damned good thing for Pansy that for most of her life she was always as healthy as THREE Clydesdale horses put together. No major injuries, no stitches. Look, Ma! No cavities! A fairytale somewhat needle-free life until that fateful day.....when Pansy decided to make a friend. A very selfish friend who all of a sudden decided SHE wanted some major surgery. Which required lots of blood. So Stupid Pansy went and donated blood. What a mistake that was.

Donating blood means voluntarily allowing a needle to tear a hole in my pristine flesh. Did you know that? It's true! And for what? There is NO BENEFIT TO YOURSELF from donating blood. "Save a Life." Piffle. At least you get immunity with vaccinations. Next to me at the blood place was a Big, Burly Man. Not as Manned Up as Pansy, of course. And what happens to the Big Man and Man Pansy? We both go into low grade shock from the "trauma" of donating blood and begin weeping! What the fuck?! So we are weeping and laughing at the ludicrous situation we find our manly selves in.

The blood people are not amused and they shuffle us off to another room so we can't continue making a scene and scaring off other would-be blood donors. They monitor us and called our respective people to come take us home since we were not fit to drive. A couple hours later each of us, now best of manly friends, still weeping and laughing, leave with our spouses. And have to make arrangements to get our extra cars home, too. The next day, to add insult on top of injury, the blood people called me to let me know my blood was unsuitable and THEY THREW IT AWAY! My friend did get "blood credits" for my attempt. Sheesh. They threw it away because it contained Hepatitis B stuff/germs/whatever. I was ordered to never again darken their door. hahahhahha! Fine, fuckers! THAT stupid rule is one Pansy will gladly obey.

Years later when I was pregnant with Daughter #2 the Hepatitis B vaccine had just been invented and mass produced so all pregnant women were subjected to blood testing for Hepatitis B. Of course, I came back positive for Hep-B. My ignorant obstetrician handled it by bringing down all kinds of hellfire damnation talk on me. I finally said "so what am I supposed to do here?" He said "get an appointment ASAP with a gastroenterologist and don't come back until you have seen one and we have his report." I literally walked out of there in such shock and dismay that I said to Mr. Pansy "Now I know what someone who has just been told they have AIDS must feel like." And I meant it.

As I drove home from the obstetrician I decided "Well, I'm dead meat; Mr. Pansy is probably dead meat; I will try to save my child (daughter #1)." I called her pediatrician that day and somehow from the tone in my voice that Wonderful Angel Doctor told me to hang up and come right away to his office--that very minute. He made patients wait while he sat me down and read aloud, tracing his finger on the words, from some big doctor book all about Hep-B. He did everything so right and wonderful and he saved my sanity.

The various doctors and I decided there is little doubt that during the years in Central America those needles were used on: horses; goats; swiped on a sleeve; me. Not necessarily always in that order. Sometimes the goats went first. But I am from Strong German Stock (Percherons, I hope) and my bout with Hep-B was probably thought to be a bad cold or flu. Plus there was nothing to be done back then even if anything else was suspected. So, after bunches of tests and such.....no I am not a "Hepatitis B carrier" which upsets Mr. Pansy because, as usual, he is always looking for some way out of this hellish marriage he finds himself ensnared in. The kids are safe, alive and well and I gave the obstetrician Quite the Piece of Pansy's Mind.

The tie-in here to Present Day is two-fold.

FIRST TIE-IN: back then the gastro-guy told me "You are healthy but there is an increased risk that you'll have liver issues later on when you're over 50." Well, whaddayaknow? I did eventually end up "in my 50s" with "liver issues". I don't have liver cancer but I do have a liver that is smothered in jillions of tumors. Which is not at all like having liver that is smothered in onions. When I got my cancer news what kept me alive at that moment were these 3 thoughts, in this order:

1. I am so glad this is not a surprise. Surprising people is Pansy's Turf! That gastro-guy did warn me and I am shocked, but at least I am not completely blindsided.
2. I am so glad my children are grown up.
3. I am so glad we are somewhat financially stable.

I was GLAD...GLAD, GLAD, GLAD, SO VERY FUCKING GLAD when I got my cancer news! Haw! Not quite, but survival genes evidently run very strong in my emotional makeup and I was in survival overdrive instantaneously. I probably have terrific powers of denial and I am very driven by Shame. I would literally die from shame if I did not have the guts to do whatever was asked of me to fight this cancer. I will take any drug, drink any combination of mammal/insect piss, put any kind of suppository up any orifice. I will not let myself die from having chosen to NOT try some option....offered by DOCTORS. I won't be traveling to Mexico for powdered apricot pits ala Steve McQueen but I would be terribly embarrassed if anyone anywhere could ever say "She didn't try."

SECOND TIE-IN: I may not be able to donate blood ever again but guess what? Me and my Hep-B got passed on to my daughters in a Most Bizarre Classic Only With Pansy way: they each have SUPER BLOOD which contains the magic ingredients needed to make the Hep-B vaccine! Their blood is literally worth more than its weight in gold. Take THAT, stoopid blood donor place.

Moral of Story: be careful....that blood you drink at your next Midnight Dance Naked Under The Full Moon Ritual just might be from Pansy via her daughers' donations! hahahhahahahaha!

FUCK DIAMONDS--CANCER TREATMENTS ARE A GIRL'S BFF

It's taken me awhile to process this event and some of you know the story but here it is again, anyway.

People I know think I am so "brave" with my cancer. It's because they believe that bullshit about cancer. It uses its Big Bad Scary Muthafucka street rep to scare people who don't have cancer. Getting cancer is not a good way to learn that it is actually a cowardly pathetic chickenshit that has no purpose other than to lie in wait for its chance to attack when no one is looking. Come out front and center, Cancer. Then we'll see who's the Real Muthafucka.

Since I got cancer I think of myself this way: I have become my own Special Needs person. I still love me, take care of me, am glad for what I can do, proud of what improvements I achieve, and once in awhile I even mope around because Pity Parties are a part of NORMAL people's everyday lives.

I will never again be the person I used to be. But every day each of us is no longer the person we were yesterday. At best we are one day older, one day more feeble, one day closer to dying. Everyone has to go through that even if they don't ever have cancer. Every day is a day that might turn out to be the day you embark on a "New Normal". You make a decision that changes the course of your life. An event occurs that changes the course of your life. Some are positive (marriage, babies); some totally suck (marriage, babies). I mean: Some are "not so positive." Like cancer. But "totally suck" or "not so positive"......."New Normals" don't deserve to be given any more power than they actually have. Why should cancer be given any Special Power? Power to the People! [Pansy was a Black Panther back in the day, doncha know?! After she got done being an Aztec Warrior Amazon.]

I have also always been a Daredevil. Got that "spark" that makes me a Fierce Competitor. It's all good so long as my "spark" is channeled into Legal Activities! hahahhaa! Just kidding. I always been a Good Girlie. But I have learned that when a Daredevil Patient meets a Daredevil Doctor that's when the REAL sparks fly. And they can burn the house down.

Cancer is supposed to be "one for all, all for one"....."together we stand, divided we fall"......"in for a penny, in for a pound" kinda shit. As in: the tumors either ALL grow or they ALL shrink/stay stable. Whatever they do it's supposed to be ALL of them. Not Pansy's tumors. The largest tumor on my liver has long been 2.5cm. Then, one day last year it--and only it--suddenly grew to 3.6cm. Everyone went on High Alert (that's why we were all wearing orange there for awhile) and the frequency of scans was increased. The tumor noticed all the High Alert Orange so it hunkered down and stayed at 3.6cm for several months. Fooled us all. We "Stood Down" and went on with our partying ways. Then a scan showed the tumor was suddenly 5.0cm. After the doctors and I did an appropriate Morale-Raising Cheer: "Fuck. Fuck. Double Fuck. What the fuck?" we all knew it was time for Aggressive Attack. But what to do? We had two options: RadioFrequency Ablation (RFA) or SNAKE VENOM!!

Well, you fucking know Pansy wanted that Snake Venom, twice! Woohoo! And, since the tumor was Hugely Beyond the limits for RFA (it is only for 3.0cm or smaller tumors due to technological limitations)it really looked like Snake Venom was gonna happen. They inject it all around the tumor, the venom kills off the blood supply lines, the tumor starves and dies. I was so excited about having those bragging rights. Because Pansy has reflexes like a cobra and when cancer grabbed her, she grabbed cancer's wrist right back and said "You're gonna die, too, cuz I am taking you with me."

Then, The Cowboy rode into town. He is my onco surgeon and he actually IS called "The Cowboy" in the medical world. He makes Clint Eastwood look like a singing telegram bellhop. He said "It's gonna be an RFA showdown, so spur up, bitch." Perhaps he used other actual words but that's what Pansy heard. The surgery went way longer than predicted and then The Cowboy tells Mr. Pansy THIS fucking downer when he came out to update Mr. Pansy: "Well. We got the surgery done." WTF? We all know the surgeon is supposed to say, in a very upbeat voice: "Wow! That went Great!"

It didn't help that I had a preview/premonition dream two days before the surgery wherein I was flying...you know, with typical dream flying powers--all on my own. Someone was with me, holding me on my left side, and we flew over my liver and I saw it in its entirety. We studied all of it and I could tell it was in trouble. The other flier (not male or female) pointed out everything and said "This is serious. We are not kidding around here." I woke up in kind of a funk. And not the good kind of James Brown FUNK.

After the surgery I woke up in great pain, despite the Kick Ass Big Time Post Op Drugs they had pumped into me. I was medically stable and this is an outpatient procedure so home I went. On the Third Day (sounds Biblical!!) I went off the edge of the cliff. Pansy The Most Manned Up Woman In The Universe was a fetal ball of vomiting and crying in her bed. Mr. Pansy and Pansy Jr. took turns literally staying physically in the room with me they were so freaked out by this never-before-seen behavior from Pansy Da Man. On a pain scale of 1 to 10....this was an 18.

The surgeon even gave us his personal cell phone number. Over that weekend he guided me through overdose levels of the various drugs prescribed for me. When the pain got down to about 14, I was able to "rest" for maybe 30 minutes. Others might describe it as "blacked out". In hindsight, THAT'S when we should have taken me to the hospital. This went on for 10 days before I was no longer bed ridden. I was able to sneak in a 4th of July parade viewing involving my sister but that took all of my Super Powers to pull off even though it was totally worth it.

When I saw the surgeon at the 2 week followup visit he questioned me extensively about what I had experienced. It was "post ablation syndrome" and I got every single symptom that defines this syndrome. All of them are bad. It always starts on....Day Three after surgery! No one can predict what patient will get it or how severely they will have it. It is Very Rare (I am beginning to get just a WEE BIT so fucking tired of being Very Rare!) and my level of severity was Even More Very Rare.

Well....let's think. We were already breaking the rules by even attempting this surgery due to the size of the tumor. And then it turns out that the tumor, which was 5.0cm on the last scan before surgery.......was 12cm on the day of surgery. Any other surgeon would have just said "Close her up, I'm outta here." But, noooooooooo! The Cowboy dives in anyway. Which is why they make you unconscious beforehand so that you don't hear them all scream, retch and barf when they open up the Surprise Package in surgery. Thank you, Cowboy and God.

RFA is supposed to be a walk in the park kind of surgery. Really. Evidently MY fucking park was full of goddam rotten trees and sure as shit every one of them fell on me. Fuckers. Oh, and for Bonus Points my liver also got "knicked" during the surgery....on the "Glisson's capsule." DO NOT LET YOUR GLISSON'S CAPSULE GET FUCKING KNICKED EVER!!! hahahhahahahha!

It took weeks to fully recover but the last week of August I definitely felt I had turned the proverbial corner. Naturally, like all wounded wild animals, I do a masterful job of acting "Healthy And Well" so that no predators will think they have a chance at me. Since the surgery on June 25, I have managed to ride my bicycle 1,081 miles. And stay on schedule with my chemos. And even work at my job. Oh, and fuck that Mr. Pansy a lot.

Exercise (bike riding/dieting) has undoubtedly literally saved my life. I am so glad I already have decades of physical activity in my body. I fret for all the people out there who haven't already "been there/done that". How do they get over the mental trap of "I can't do that" re exercise? I know my doctors have gone to the mattresses for me at their "committee meetings" simply because they can see I am worthy of backing because I am actually likely to survive even horrible procedures. I hope they are beginning to run out of those! hahahaha! Now, finally, I am getting a clue about what people mean when they say those stupid platitudes such as "a good attitude is why you are doing so well." Those are not quite the right words. Plus, well, the doctors want to keep me around since I AM so foxy and all.

The only "take away" I can remotely snatch from my jaws of death experience is: you really, really cannot die from pain. I am "glad" I got to experience this misery because it is important to know I do have limits but that I still got through it. It gives me a deeper sense of I can do this and....
IF A PANSY CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT.

You won't do it with as much flair and swearing and certainly no Mr. Pansy fucking, but you can't always have everything. Oh. And next time Pansy thinks "maybe I need an ambulance" she is so fucking gonna call the goddam ambulance! Good godawmighty, what was she waiting for? The pain to get worse?

And the shopping goes on and on and on....!!

GREG LEMOND STILL LIVES

Some people dismiss Greg Lemond as a bitter, green-eyed, bile spewing, whining crybaby who has devolved into a pitiful trainwreck. Whew! Just because he seems on a never-ending vendetta against "nutritional supplements" that Greg thinks ALL the professional cyclists ingest. Especially His Holiness Lance Armstrong! Well, Pansy has THIS to say about THAT:

MY personal experience with Greg Lemond was very pleasant--especially since I was not forced to go into a Witness Protection Program of some sort because by the Grace of God we were all smiled upon that day and a genuine tragedy was averted: Mr. Pansy and I really almost killed Greg in a head-on collision on Monitor Pass (Sierra Nevada mountains near Lake Tahoe) in the Summer of 1990 with our Chevrolet 4WD 1/2 ton truck. Chevy Rules!

We were going uphill, scouting out the bike ride portion of the World's Toughest Triathlon (held at Lake Tahoe). On a somewhat blind curve, our truck tires were on one of the double yellow lines on the road and suddenly there was Greg--entirely on both of the double yellow lines on the road, with his riding partner to Greg's right. I still believe we could have "made the spare" and gotten them both since the angle was pretty good.

Anyway, we all veered in the appropriate defensive/evasive directions and as Greg went by the driver's window (inches from the mirror on the door) Mr. Pansy and I both screamed simultaneously (waking the sleeping children) "That was Greg Lemond!" We knew it was him because he was THAT close to us and had no helmet or sunglasses on so he was like a real live Bicycling magazine coverboy.

However, we were on a mission so we dutifully continued our route scouting. Then we turned around and drove "quickly" down the hill to see where Greg might be. We found him and his buddy resting in Markleeville--sitting on the hood of the chase car. A top of the line with all the bells and whistles Mercedes Benz, thankyouverymuch. With a soon to be degraded paint job from their salty, sweaty, nasty wet asses!

Before I could unbuckle the children, Mr. Pansy (who is SOOOO outgoing that I have always sarcastically called him "Chatty Cathy") has already leaped out of the truck, has shook Greg's hand, and they are chit chatting like longtime friends by the time I straggle up with the girls. Mr. Pansy apologized for scaring Greg on Monitor Pass to which Greg said "Oh, that was you? Yeh, that was close but I was over the lines so it was really my fault." Greg and his riding partner were riding their bicycles on a training ride for the World Championships coming up in Japan.

Mr. Pansy asked him why no helmet or glasses? Greg said "We had just come over the summit and I was sweating so much I couldn't see, so I took them all off." He was thrilled we were out camping with our family, saying "I take my family everywhere with me, too." He told me I was crazy to want to do the Toughest Triathlon since he had done the bike portion a few years earlier. He signed a hat of mine and was generally a fabulous PR poster child.

He and his buddy were out for a "little ride"--a 120 mile loop from Carson City, NV, where his folks lived. They took off, waving to us as we took photos of them. I then went into the country store there to buy some of the "power training food" Greg was eating----red licorice whips. Which I still have in my scrapbook with the Lemond photos and my signed hat. The licorice I bought was actually touched by him! Woo Hoo!

Factoid: every ultra-level cyclist I have ever seen personally, including Greg, has a unique physical feature: they are very "deep chested" from front to back. I am convinced that autopsies will reveal all of them have 4 to 6 lungs encased in their huge chests. They are not wide side to side---just deep from front to back.

I also hold as true that Greg was the first cyclist to truly break through the unwritten rule of "Europeans Only" for the Tour de France. He was loved and reviled at the time and I truly feared for his physical safety. He was also very intent about being a Good Will Ambassador--for which he has never received enough credit. He lived "over there" more than any other Americans of the era, he learned the language(s), he made himself accessible to the press, he WAS betrayed by the "broken promise" of his team and Bernard Hinault, and his time trial 8-second win over VainPrettyBoyPonytail Laurent Fignon remains forever The Miracle on Wheels.

I also go along with Greg's bruised ego over not being able to achieve all he probably could have due to the gunshot accident and its aftermath healthwise. He has systemic problems due to the multitude of buckshot pellets still scattered all through his body. I am highly disappointed in his comments about Lance Armstrong and drugs. But I am a person with Many Personalities (or perhaps just someone with many voices in my head) so I love and am dismayed by Greg all at once. I forgive him because I don't have the full story, never will, etc. I hope Greg is wrong and I hope Lance was/is clean. That is all. I must go answer the phone now. It's either Greg or Lance. Maybe Jan Ullrich {drool}. They all call me constantly for advice and to ask me to run away with them. Other than THAT obvious lie, the rest of this story is true.

Reunions!

Reunions! huh- yeah- What are they good for? Absolutely nothing Uh-huh Say it again y’all They ain’t nothing but a heartbreaker They cause unrest in the younger generation I said - Reunions! Huh – Good God y’all What are they good for? ......

AHHH, family! Can't kill 'em; can't eat 'em. But there IS that part where they reveal closet skeletons and make everyone (except the owner of the skeleton) laugh and laugh and laugh.

My Stupid Elderly Baby Sister (SEBS) did it! Not Me! Thank God! She has been finalizing family genealogy stuff for the past several years. Our mother put most of it together but is totally mentally gone now with Alzheimer's since 1999, so she obstinantly persists in being QUITE UNHELPFUL with our questions. During one of our home invasion/steal everything not nailed down visits to our Dad, up turns a letter from UncleG to our parents in which UncleG is announcing the birth of their third child, CousinJ.

SEBS proudly presents the letter to CousinJ during yet another one of those Family Reunions we keep having to endure since the fucking old people continue to refuse to die. As CousinJ read the letter she is making weirder and weirder faces. Turns out SEBS had read the letter when she found it, but for some reason interpreted it to have been written in our family's classic viciously sarcastic mode of communication. Not exactly.

UncleG wrote to say CousinJ was born 1 minute before midnight on July 22 and "couldn't she have waited one more minute? Now I have to pay for Sunday, too! I am so mad I could eat a ham sandwich!" [OMG. I am so grateful swearing has calmed down since 1953. Such profane language!] UncleG then informs my parents of the baby's name and writes "isn't that just awful!?" With the word "awful" heavily underlined...practically tearing through the paper. UncleG then makes more comments about how he can't see how my parents could hate him and his wife because he and his wife are too nice. And he signs off with an abbreviation of his name, "UG". It appears these two closest of brothers had a major tiff. UncleG and family did not come to most family reunions. Hmmmm....skeletons?

CousinJ is shocked since she has believed, for her entire life----up to that very second----that her birthday is July 23. Not July 22, which is when she was actually born...at one minute before midnight thus directly causing her father incredible grief, financial woes, angering him enough to want to eat a ham sandwich, plus he hates her name! And he has never been "UG" in any way, shape or form so now she's thinking maybe he isn't even her father! hahahahahha! As us cousins all kindly laugh our heads off at her, she says "Holy Cow! This means I am not even a Leo!" To which we burst forth anew with even more laughter.

Since SEBS and I did not know CousinJ's "birthday" we had no clue this would be a bad letter for her. If we had known about July 22 vs. July 23, maybe that letter just would have disappeared. UncleG lives with CousinJ and her family so maybe an update/explanation is forthcoming. Meanwhile, I am pretending I have "the answer": SEBS and another girl cousin were both born on April 23 and CousinJ was born the same year "almost" on July 23. So maybe her parents just wanted to be in on the "babies born on the 23rd" cult thing. Although, to be honest, I didn't know there WAS such a cult re "babies born on the 23rd."

Then there was the reunion the year when finally a few of the old folks did die off. That's when all hell broke loose. Turns out one uncle dated AuntieM all through school. In small towns back then you did NOT date someone "fovever" without also marrying them. He joined the military and got sent away..........to where AuntieE was then living. The whole family told him to "look up AuntieE." About 6 weeks later, he and AuntieE were married. One does wonder how the family took THAT news but that's all blood long gone under some bridge somewhere. AuntiE dies and at the very next family renuion WidowerUncle is hitting up on AuntieM! WTF!? He was serious. She declined. Couldn't he let the body get just a wee bit COLDER before going after AuntieM? Sheesh. Horny old people.

The latest reunion was a week ago. Only THIS time the reunion is combined with my Dad's and UncleG's Prisoner of War group. Because who DOESN'T want to get together and reminisce about the good old days when we were all prisoners of war? Again with the remaining old people who refuse to die off, thus making us younger generationers have to waste our valuable time escorting their elderly asses around. Luckily we all drink. It is amazing that the core POWs are still alive and able to visit each other. Of the pod of four who spent their war years together (and got each other through it), three remain alive. This reunion probably was their last one. So that gathering was kind of tear-y.

But Family Reunions aren't the ONLY kind of reunions. Pansy attended a reunion this summer on the highest order of bizarreness: reunions with people you only know from the INTERNET! hahahahahhahahaha! And Mr. Pansy agreed to go along with this nonsense!

We all gathered together to ride our bicycles. That is the only commonality between us all. Evidently, that is enough. There was liquor available and I brought along all my drugs so I could become unconscious at the swallow of an overdose if necessary. What a fun long weekend that was. I do not know if I will again attend one of this group's reunions but I can assure you that using rare and valuable vacation time to do THIS kind of reunion smacks of insanity. Except for the fact that it was fun. Which only further affirms my conviction there was "Kool Aid" in those drinks.

And then there's the Ever-Unpopular But You Just Can't Look Away And Sometimes You Can't Even STAY Away: HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS. This summer was a bumper crop for reunions of all kinds. So why not? Pansy went to a combo-reunion of her high school wherein her group was 41 years past graduation. I got to hook up with:

1. My unrequited high school crush
2. Some guy who said I was HIS unrequited high school crush
3. The guy Mr. Pansy THINKS was my unrequited high school crush
4. One of my 2 "best girl friends"

Here's a picture of my best girl friend. Taken by "accident" by Mr. #3. She thinks a "real friend" would destroy that picture. I say "who doesn't want to look long and get hard over a 60-year old grannie panties/pantyhosed crotch!?" Enjoy:





No, you shithead......that is NOT Pansy's 60 year old crotch. She's not THAT old. But she'll be glad to get that old.