"What is this -- like, the ninety-fifth night in a row? The one hundred and tenth?"
"Larry King sounds like he has a corncob stuck in his windpipe."
"Holy God! Do I have lice?!"
"What if I were to scratch my itchy cheek right now, and my fingers make contact with something leggy and kind of big? Something that feels black?"
Vivid mini-movie of me jumping out of bed and slapping at my own face, spider bits flying everywhere.
"I won't scratch my cheek."
"Lar's nose is whistling WAY too fucking much."
Vivid mini-movie of Lar's nose prancing in a field of wild flowers. It suddenly sprouts two tiny white wings and sails over a meadow, then disappears into a dark, foreboding forest.
"I made the best strawberry shortcake today."
"BISQUICK!"
"Okay. Today's gonna be busy. Gotta do the second lice treatments on everyone, gotta clean everything AGAIN. Gotta wash all the bedding, gotta vacuum the furniture, the mattresses. AGAIN."
"I hope the neighbors didn't hear me screaming at my whore vacuum cleaner yesterday."
"I should keep the windows closed when I vacuum."
"My burn hurts. Why, oh, why did I feel it necessary to rest my forearm on the inside door of a 425 degree oven?"
"The name 'Jonas Salk' tastes like orange Jujy Fruits and talcum powder."
"I can't believe Lucy crapped in the car."
"See, that's why I prefer cats. Cats do not crap in the car."
"But they do, on occasion, crap by your foot while you're doing dishes at the sink, because they are really, really mad at you."
"Ohmygod! Sapphire is sooooo cute!"
Vivid mini-movie of Sapphire's face floating before me -- no body, just her head. Her cuteness is almost too much to bear, and I bite her on her sweet pink nose.
"Where's my cat? I want my cat!"
"Ah, it's five a.m., and here comes the boy, right on schedule."
"Great. He's picking his nose. I can hear it."
"I shan't sleep a wink."
"There are probably boogers on the sheets now."
"I'm glad the boy is over on Lar's side of the bed."
Was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia yesterday, a cancer of the white blood cell that had developed from previously undiagnosed Myelodysplastic syndrome. This form of leukemia is particularly aggressive.
She’d been feeling quite ill since December, but her primary doctor kept telling her it was all in her head, and threw every pain med (she also has degenerative arthritis of the spine) and anti-depressant on the market at her. A few weeks ago, she convinced my mother to see a psychiatrist.
At one point, my mother was so doped up, she was slurring her speech and frequently appeared disoriented. I don’t even know how she went to work.
Mom went to the emergency department last week, unable to cope with the constant fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and pain, and the preliminary blood tests showed abnormalities. Upon seeing her primary doctor after the initial worrisome test results, the doctor had this to say (paraphrasing here): “I apologize, Suzanne, for not investigating your symptoms more vigorously.”
Well, goodness, it’s nice to know that Dr. Incompetent Drug Pusher is sorry, isn’t it? Restores my faith in humanity, it does.
Today, my brother, Dan, will accompany Mom to meet with an oncologist to discuss treatment, which will involve some heavy duty chemotherapy. They want her to begin as soon as possible. I’ll be going with her to the hospital on Friday for more tests, and to speak with her doctors.
At least Mom is in good hands now.
UPDATE 5/23:Good news and bad news -- Mom's doctors have determined that her leukemia most likely is not a result of Myelodysplastic syndrome, meaning that her prognosis is looking much better. Awesomely awesome news. She's going into hospital on Thursday to begin inductive chemotherapy, and will stay there for an entire month.
My girl, Veronica, and her beau, Steve, before heading off to their junior prom.
Click to enlarge the gorgeousness...
If you ignore the facial piercings, they look like movie stars!
Brings back such fond memories of my own prom...Yes, I remember it as if it were yesterday...The hideous hairdo of my own design, which involved two thin braids on either side of my face -- rabbi chic, I believe they call it -- and a dress that appeared to be made of a ninety-year-old woman's sofa doilies. Ah, yes, I was a vision to behold as I walked (hobbled) toward my corduroy leisure jacket-clad boyfriend and his beat-up Chevy...I can still smell the resentment that wafted through the air as he stepped on the gas and peeled from my mother's gravel driveway...
A magical night, my senior prom...I shall always treasure the two hours I sat staring at all of the other couples dancing as my date scowled and complained...There was a twelve of Budweiser waiting for us at his house, you see...
So, I was watching Jay Leno last Wednesday, and...Well, sort of watching. I was doing my usual "observation of objects" thing (O.O.O.), my sleepy yet too-irritated-to-sleep, sort-of-watching-but-not-really thing I tend to do when the weight of the world is pushing down on the top of my head, which causes my sleep-deprived brain to scrunch down into my nasal passages and my eyeballs bulge into twin balloon-like radar devices, which in turn causes me to focus on parts of a sum, not the whole.
In other words, my eyes are drawn to certain details, automatically hone in on them, such as Leno's chin, or the ever-present coffee mug setting on his desk. Though I may be taking in every word that tumbles from Leno's curiously boyish mouth, I am not watching the man, really -- I am watching his chin, engrossed in its curvature, mesmerized by the subtle bobbing with each syllable, lost in wonderment as to the possibility it may in fact be stuffed with fiberglass and uncooked pinto beans instead of cartilage.
O.O.O. mode is not something I am able to control at will, unfortunately, and oftentimes occurs during the day as well, especially if I'm tired. I attempt to hide my ostensibly disturbing radar-gaze from others by forcibly shifting my attention from whatever object has set off the blip, be it their mouth, their nostrils, or the fabulous way the wind is dancing in their hair, and try to focus on the whole. I nod my head a lot while appearing earnest, and look at the spot between their eyebrows so that I seem to be making eye contact.
Sometimes I fail, however, and that can be embarrassing for me, as well as uncomfortable for the one who is witnessing my O.O.O. Example: The other day, as I was visiting with my neighbor, having a beer, enjoying the late afternoon sun, my radar honed in on a button on my shirt. I couldn't stop staring at the damn button. Couldn't break my gaze, no matter how hard I fought the overwhelming urge to get lost in its lovely roundness, the warm glint of sun lighting its circumference, and I was, alas, found out.
My neighbor: Staring at your cleavage, are you?
Me: Um? Huh?
My Neighbor: You keep looking at your cleavage.
Me: Oh! Heh. I, um...No. My button. Just...Looking at my...Heh. Hey, wanna another beer?
Anyway, the reason I digressed so abruptly from my original statement, the reason I'm going on and on about my odd observational behavior, is because I'm hoping that you will understand why it is that I, while watching Antonio Banderas on Leno last Wednesday, became fixated on his armpit.
There Antonio was, being all Spanish and things, and I, at first, was enthralled by his glorious Spanishocity (and really, who isn't?), but as is usual, my attention quickly wandered, and my radar loudly beeped as it honed in on the large perspiration stain under his left armpit. Mr. Banderas had been sitting in a relaxed, conversational position, his left arm draped over the back of the chair while leaning toward Leno, his legs crossed, and I initially was pondering over the reasons why he might not have used Degree antiperspirant that day. Do Spanish people not use Degree? Did he forget to apply some? Did Melanie use the last of it, and he was in too much of a hurry to get to the studio to go buy more? I didn't know.
But that stain fascinated me more than words can convey. I lost track of the interview, completely missed the last half, as I pondered and wondered and eventually grew to despise Antonio Banderas as his pit squished along the back of the chair.
Didn't he know his pit is dripping all over Leno's furniture? If so, why doesn't he care? Shouldn't someone off camera give him a clue? A little sign, perhaps a quick point to their own underarm to alert Antonio to the problem?
And is Leno thinking what I'm thinking? What about the next guest, who I imagined was watching the whole deal from the Green Room -- are they thinking "Ew! I am so not sitting in that chair!"
I know I would be thinking that. I know that were I the next guest, I would insist on another chair, or, if one was not available, a large, fluffy towel, folded into neat quarters and placed directly on top of the pit-pond, preferably duct-taped into place.
The interview finally ended, and do you know what Leno did? He reached over and patted Antonio's left shoulder! Yes, he did. He put his bare hand right there, right near the Loch Banderas, and his thumb actually made contact with the pit!
After a couple of dry heaves, I calmed myself by thinking of minty Altoids, and anticipated the reaction of the next guest to sit in that seat, looked forward to any subtle body language that would suggest disgust or annoyance. I wondered if the chair smelled of chicken noodle soup.
Unfortunately, I fell asleep during the commercial break.
What I mean to say is...People really, REALLY suck.
Not all, mind you, but most.
So, now that you know Ms. Lori's true feelings regarding people, many of whom might just include YOU, here's a top eleventeen list for your enjoyment, and perhaps, embarrassment.
Should you see yourself in the following descriptions, I'll take no responsibility for your feelings of inadequacy or shame. That's your problem, not mine, Now fuck off. Why I Dislike People
1) They smell bad
2) They talk about stupid things. Example topics: a) Themselves, and themselves. Also, themselves. b) Their high school glory days. Take your trophies, crowns and banners, and stick 'em up yer ass, you repugnant twits. You were the type of kids that made fun of me in eleventh grade, the type of person that shot their glory wad before age eighteen, and are now bitter, middle-aged, vainglorious gossip-mongers who pine for their lost youth. c) Their "health woes," which are mainly psychosomatic in origin. d) Their weight. e) Their children and how perfect they believe them to be. f) Roadkill. g) How to find the way to San Jose.
3) They smile. A lot. Excessive smiling is nothing but a hideous mask that belies the true monster within.
6) And it is expected that you put on a mask as well, because if one does not smile, even if one feels like punching the smiling idiot that stands before them -- a smiling idiot who is going on and on about Stupid Things -- one is seen as "odd" or "aloof."
B) They lie. And smile while they're doing it. Usually about Stupid Things.
5) They take great pleasure in another's misfortune.
6) They believe that they have experienced or are experiencing a painful existence, regardless of the fact they: a) Had a normal upbringing by normal parents b) Brought their own present "misery" upon themselves, yet behave as if they are a victim with no recourse. c) Are surrounded by friends and family who support them, and would do their utmost to help them. d) Have never truly experienced victimization, abuse, loneliness, or extreme hardships.
6) When faced with someone who has experienced or is experiencing "d," it is beyond their comprehension, and are incapable of feeling true empathy. In fact, they will use someone's painful past or present as a means to feel superior or gain leverage of some sort.
7) They are intolerant of others who look, act, and believe in ways that are not mainstream.
8) They allowed and encouraged the tragedy that is the current administration.
9) They like receiving blowjobs, but believe it is an impeachable offense if a president fudges with semantics when questioned about receiving one. Evidently, it's fine and dandy to commit treason and wage unjustifiable war, though.
10) Their word is not something to be trusted, as it is rarely heartfelt.
11) They blame.
12) They champion the most deceitful of our society, sneer at the truth-tellers.
11) They make disgusting eating sounds.
13) They don't wash their hands properly.
14) They always want to shake your hand. One reason why I love Japanese culture.
15) They believe looks are everything. A person's character means squat if they aren't also conventionally beautiful. Funny, but in my experience, the most outwardly attractive people had the blackest of souls.
20) They believe status is everything. But guess what, assholes? Real people, as in folks like me, find your car boring, your house boring, your designer labels boring, your income boring, your liposuction boring, your hatred of poor people boring, your intolerance, graceless pandering to the "elite," and self-absorbed nattering BORING.
So, to sum up, most of the human race is comprised of a smelly, filthy, prejudiced, status-worshiping, lying, cruel, non-empathetic, boring subspecies.
And that is why I prefer the company of my cat. Sure, she may lick her butt once in a while, but at least she's real about it.
