Wednesday, May 25, 2016

I am fortunata to have a cancer friend because I need to be talking to cancer people right at this moment-not that there's anything wrong with regular people-wait. There isn't anything wrong with regular people, is there? 

Right. 


I throw cancer concepts at her(in ancient times-these would have taken the form of newspaper clippings or handcrafted Hallmarks or something). But Lemonheads are good for chemo patients. P actually made that discovery at one of those information table ridden events he likes to go to where he collects 3000 more pens bringing the total up to 325430864565426. Immerman's Angels was there and they've teamed up with Ferrara Pan and it's actually on the box. 



Ferrara Pan is about 7 minutes from my house. 

Groovatroid. 

But I can text my cancer friend the phrase "the money thing" and she knows exactly what I'm talking about. I was at a condo board meeting last night where it looked like brand new $5000 windows were a done deal, and ya know, so what if this is my second trip down cancer surgery lane. It was yet another Smug Fest where people said things like, "Well, I KNEW we were going to have to replace the windows so I've been saving up for them." like I've been down at the dock throwing dice. 

For f!@# sake. 

This has been an Extra Stupid Week because I thought I felt better than I did. I mean like, on the outside I felt like a regular person or at least a person who had two pills and a shot in the belly before 8:30 am. So, I'd be out doodling around with Grantley and come back and take a nap. A Three Hour Nap. Does it take this long to get that hospital stuff outta your system or am I a slacker? This worries me. 

Another stupidly stupidly random thing. One of my favorite favorites posted about her son having one whole lotta nosebleeds and she took him to the doctor and eureka/voila he's repaired. 

My nose bled for years-so much so-that I thought red pillows were normal and what's missing from that picture is a trip to the doctor. Except for physicals, we didn't go. 

There was some story about the doctor putting a piece of burnt cork up your nose but that's as far as my nostril care went. We weren't Christian Scientists. We just didn't go. 

That is some crazy amount of nonsense, isn't it? 

And so, when I had to go to the DMV on Melrose Park to get a new license sticker and the guy said I had to replace the plates and the best place to do that was Lombard. It completely rolled off me.


And today when I gathered my Dad and drove from OP to Lombard and we noticed the parking lot was a bit quiet, I walked up to the door and saw this:



I just did not take it in. 


There was one day this week, I was on top of my mattress and for some reason~I remembered my first actual grown-up New York City job. We worked for the Equitable Life Assurance Society(me and Eleanor-she got me in) at 195 Broadway and our boss was Italian and one of our co-workers was related to John Gotti. This is when I lived in Ozone Park-home of the Bergan Hunt and Fish Club/John Gotti/The A Train. 

I think it's fair to say that generally we had a blast-yeah yeah we got our work done but we had(so much) fun. But anyway, I'm laying/lying/laying/lying(pick one) on my bed and I remember what Kathy(Gotti's cousin)used to call our boss. 

She used to say, "Whatsamatta? Ya fat f!@#."

Can you imagine calling your boss something like that today? I dunno, it just hit me and I was laughing so hard that I had to hold my herniated fascia down because my innards were flinging forward like a fast pitch softball. 

There was something else that got me going. All by myself heaving laffing. 



It's medicinal. 


My cancer pal got her hair shaved off today and I-as I always do-seem to post The Most Inappropriate Video on her FB page. Everyone else was praying for her and posting pictures of pink hearts and I posted something about how certain men like to dress like puppy dogs for sexual gratification. What. You didn't see that? Come on people. 

I knew this was gonna be an upsetting day for her-but what I wanted to send her was something along the lines of...what if all this s!@# turns out-like that small minority of men who have prostate cancer surgery and walk away with increased performance-like what if all this allows you to skip away from all of this even better/faster/stronger?  


Possibly maybe? 



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