Thursday, August 25, 2016

Monday. I went for those blood tests. I had been putting one of them off. And then there was-all of a sudden-three and P said, well, when are you going to get them? Because I'm on the official countdown for the hernia surgery which is Wednesday Aug. 31 for those linked into my prayer/mojo chain. 
: ) 
And we deciphered days and there was only Monday left between the hours of Job One and Job Two so that is why I wrote it on my hand. So I'd remember to go. 

Get ready for this because it is my genius strategy. If you recall, my right arm doesn't want to participate in the blood letting ceremonies and every person with a needle thought I was wrong until, duh/ouch, they tried it and had to go to my left arm so I got to the lab area and had the following conversation: 

Me: Is this the time where I tell you I need somebody really good to do this?

Woman at Lab Desk: We're really good back there. 

Me: Okay, but I haven't experienced any good lately. 

So then? I did this. It's very subtle. Ready?

Left arm. 

Right arm.

See that? Non-confrontational genius I tell you! So the woman comes by and I'm all-look you're not going to get any blood out of my right arm so don't even try, okay?

And she looks at me like, um, oh-kay. 

So funny. I get all worked up for the wrong things. 

Tonight was my last Loyola Zumba. It wasn't quite as fantastic as the other ones had been, but I hung in there till the end. (If someone could explain to my how to do Zumba without your shoes sticking to the floor that'd be really cool.) Behold my secret weapon. It took me The Longest Time to get the order right. It's a Large, Unsweetened, Iced Tea, with Lemon and Extra Ice. If you exhibit good gym participatory behavior and you are nice, you can have one on the way home. It's $1.10. 

I have my-well, let's see how well ya did, ya big loser-test on Tuesday. I care very little about the actual results. This investment put me in motion. 



Fuck Cancer

I've been thinking about this and watching people throw this phrase willy-nilly and for a second-when I saw my friend Jane  post a needlepoint photo of this, I thought yeah! but now, I dunno now, ya know? 

It doesn't do it for me. 

Unless, you use it like in the following sentence: Fuck cancer, I'm going to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. 


Fuck cancer, I'm gonna drag my sorry ass onto the Zumba floor and be the person everyone stares at. 

I bought a t-shirt. I kinda thought I'd earned a t-shirt after all this. It said something like: Stupid Cancer. Get Busy Living

I liked that when I saw it online, but when I had it on, I felt like a supreme weirdo. Plus it was that strange thin fabric that looks good on oh let's see. Pretty much nobody. 

We heard a story from that art lady a long time ago. She had a client who wanted to tattoo 'Fuck Cancer' onto her scalp only she was too sick to do it so they used some sorta marker and then photographed her-taking care not to pose her in front of any religious accoutrements at Loyola. 

There was a pretty awesome sounding individual that died this week-I've been watching her Facebook page-just because I can, and lots of her friends responded to her death with 'Fuck Cancer' and really, it just doesn't carry the appropriate amount of rage, for me. 

I need gnashing of teeth. I need the shaking of fists in the direction of the heavens. I need some sort of weird internal beastly howl. How do you squeeze all of that into a short phrase? 

I'm gonna think about it. You do too. 

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