A Funny Thing Happened Today

I have been craving massive amounts of fruit lately. Many of my friends have been visiting me, and when they ask what they can bring, I say something like "Junk food, pears and strawberries. In fact, nix the junk food. Just bring the pears and strawberries."

Yesterday I was watching a Blue Planet marathon on the Discovery Channel, and this advertisement for Edible Arrangements kept popping up. Every commercial break, my couch would become drenched with the drool that was coming from my mouth. I almost went and ordered one for myself.

Then, as if by the power of magical thinking (or perhaps telepathy?), one arrives at my doorstep this morning.



Doesn't it look scrumptious?

This delectable delight was sent to me by my relatives Tamar and Michael, and I am tremendously thankful for it. Also, it is but one of the many gifts that have been sent to me over the last few weeks. I received everything from crossword puzzles, hilarious books, and dozens of flowers to waterfalls of Starbursts, boxes of mac n cheese, and a giant stuffed dragon. I thank you all for these gifts, and I look forward to paying it through.

Convalescing, Or The Beginning of the End

So I'm a week out of surgery and I'm on the mend. I had a double mastectomy, which included a simple mastectomy on the left and a modified radical on the right. Modified radical means they also cut out some lymph nodes from the armpit area. Because of this, I have tremendous pain in my right arm. But for those of you who remember how I was diagnosed, you will know that this is nothing new for me.

I got the pathology report back yesterday, and I'm pleased to report good news. The left breast was entirely cancer free. They extracted only nine lymph nodes from the right side, only two of which had any remaining signs of cancer. The dead tumors that they found were around 1 mm (about the width of a hair). Overall, it's an excellent report, which means an excellent prognosis.

My surgery was last Tuesday. I barely slept the night before. I got out of bed at 4 A.M., showered, and woke up my friend who was coming to the hospital with me. Before I left, I put on lipstick (in honor of this book, which I honestly have yet to read):



Then I took a sexy shot:



I took some token power objects with me to the hospital. One was a sock monkey I named Emily. Emily was a gift from my officemates:



I promised my friend that I would sing a song right after I got out of surgery. I sang it several times in the recovery room, and then belted it out on the way to my room so that my family would be able to find me. My friend got some of it on video.



I am now resting comfortably at my parents home for the next couple of weeks. I still have the post-operative drains in me. They are quite a nuisance. I am on Percocet at 10 mg. Because of this, I have spent most of my time here:

Sticky Comics

My awesome friend at Sticky Comics made an awesome comic about my (not-so awesome, but thankfully one) boobs.

http://www.stickycomics.com/boobs-in-heaven/

My First try at a Webcomic

(Click for big)

A Small List of Big Things

Here is a small list of things that happened to me in the past few days:

1) Tonight, I played the piano.
2) While driving this morning, I stretched out my arm to turn the radio down.
3) Yesterday evening, I bought shampoo.
4) Yesterday morning, I drank a cup of herbal tea.
5) On Monday, I took a shower.
6) On Sunday, I drank a glass of wine with friends.
7) On Saturday, I did the full warrior pose in my yoga class.
8) On Friday, I rode a bike for 30 seconds.
9) On Thursday, I drank Oban.
10) On Wednesday, I got an email from my doctor.
11) On Tuesday, I got a pet scan.

Here is why this little list is so big to me:

1) I have not been able to play in the past few weeks because of swelling in my right hand. Now I can.
2) Up until then, I was not able to stretch my arm without immense pain.
3) My hair is starting to grow back.
4) Herbal tea can interact with chemo. Now that I'm done with chemo, I can enjoy a nice warm cup.
5) Because of nausea and weakness, I could really only take baths for the past few months. Now I can stand in the shower and not worry about falling over.
6) Now that chemo is over, I can drink again. I hadn't had a drop since my birthday (October 3).
7) The full warrior pose requires stretching of the arms. See number 2.
8) I used to bike everyday, up until my diagnosis.
9) I was celebrating.
10) It was good news.
11) I'm cancer free.

Sometimes you just gotta sit, breathe, and enjoy the little (and big) things in life.

To Hell with Cancer

The first leg of this journey is complete. On February 4th I completed my last round of chemo. The side effects where a bit harsh this time around, but I was reassured by the fact that THIS WAS THE LAST TIME I WILL EXPERIENCE THEM. As I was laying on my aunt's couch rollercoastering through bouts of nausea, I kept thinking "Bring it on bitch. You will be over soon."

It's about three weeks later and I'm feeling good. My white blood cell counts are up, and I'm feeling strong. I can't wait to start doing all the things I used to do, like biking, hiking, camping. I made a promise to myself that once this is all over, I will never skip the oppotunity for adventure. Unfortunately, those things will have to wait a bit longer as I still have my surgery to look forward to.

Truth be told, chemo is not that horribly bad. Don't get me wrong, it's by no means fun, but it's not like how it is in the movies. It used to be like that before the medicines and dosages became more targeted. As far as the side effects go, it's kind of like being pregnant (so I'm told). You wake up feeling nauseous, swollen, tired, but after awhile it goes away. The big differences are chemo makes you lose your hair and pregnancy gives you a baby.

The hairloss was not devastating for me. I loved my hair, but I always wanted an excuse to shave it. This afforded me that opportunity. Once it comes back, I may keep it short for awhile.

I've taken a good look at my life these past five months, and one thing has bothered me. I realized that most of my time, energy, and conversation has been devoted to this disease. I seem to have put myself into a category. I want to avoid the label "Cancer Survivor" as much as possible. This is not only because I hate labels, but also because it doesn't tell everything about me. I have survived other trials, arguably worse than this one. So if I had to label myself as something, it would be simply "A Survivor."

Speaking of surviving, there are ways you can help others survive this disease. An old family friend is doing the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, and she is doing it in my honor. If you care to donate, please click here: http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk/WashingtonDC?px=1003944&pg=personal&fr_id=1910

The Drafter of Laughter

Note: I wrote the beginning of this entry awhile ago. It took me that long to complete this.

I always have ideas rolling around in my head for topics to write about. One has been swimming around in my head for awhile, but it wasn’t until earlier today that I was thoroughly motivated to write this idea.

I was in a deep funk this morning, partially from lack of sleep, partially from emotional turbulence. I met up with a friend to go to a yoga class, and during the last 10 minutes of the class we did the corpse pose. This means we lay on the floor and rummage in our own thoughts. As you can imagine, my thoughts went to some pretty dark places. Normally I’m very in control of my thoughts and emotions, but even the strongest person has a breaking point, and I feel I’ve been walking on the edge of mine. Normally when I do a meditative pose, I take my mind to some beautiful landscapes. One time, I had something akin to an out-of-body experience. My mind traveled to the top of Mount Etna where I slid down the summit on the back of an emperor penguin while a cloud enveloped us. We stopped at stand selling flavored honey, and we fed each other strawberry flavored while the cloud lifted us away. LSD was not involved.

This time around my thoughts turned to grey shapeless images of sadness and solitude. I opened my eyes and stared at the ashy-black ceiling of the studio's and followed the lightly swinging white paper lanterns, and I tried to take myself into outer space. But my thoughts were heavy and kept me down to earth, and I felt myself sink into the floor. Some force was pulling me down into the ground, and I felt like I was being buried in sorrow.

My life is very scary and chaotic right now. Much of my future is uncertain, and that which is certain is not very pleasant. I know the next couple of months will bring a great deal of physical and emotional pain. While I know the physical pain will quell and desist with time, there is really no telling when the emotional pain will die. I will be very disfigured for a good long while, and this will take its toll on the rest of my life. I know I’m a strong person, but I’m not made of stone. This will affect my possibilities of engaging in any sort of intimacy, engaging in any sort of long-term relationship, having children, etcetera. I’ve had problems even just getting dates in the past three years, so it was like I was already in a hole, and then the ground has sunken even further. All of this was weighing on me in the last ten minutes of class.

After the class, my friend and I offered each other our reviews, being that this was our first time at this particular studio. We both agreed that we liked the class overall, but then I told him about my gloomy mental turn at the end. I was still a little lost in my thoughts, so only bits and pieces of what he was saying was filtering through. “I go to good places blah blah blah drift off yadda yadda yadda my thoughts are awesome yakety yakety yak…” But then he said something that stuck. “When my mind starts to turn that way I just stop.”

Just. Stop. I’ve repeated this mantra to myself many times, but not in recent past. Sometimes you see yourself on the edge of a plank, and you forget that the only thing that brought you there was your own two feet. Just. Stop.
Then I thought of something a family friend said to me: “Find things to make you laugh as often as possible.”

So here it finally is, a list of things/images/people/other nouns that make me smile or laugh at any time:

1) This scene from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYtjpIwamos&feature=related

2) This picture of me and my friend. He threw up not too long after this photo was taken.

3) This scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekkldCWkibw&feature=related

4) This issue of The Onion: http://www.theonion.com/2056-06-22/

5) This one requires some backstory, and it may leave a bad taste in some mouths. I frequently lurk this online forum called Something Awful. The users on this forum talk about everything, literally. One day, a user had posted that his dad just committed suicide and that he was feeling lost and helpless. This was the FIRST RESPONSE to the post: "I know I'll probably be attacked for this (video games are for losers, etc. ), but this is exactly how I felt when Aerith [a character from Final Fantasy] died. I honestly didn't know what to do, I was pretty much in a daze.. I would go into battle without any materia equipped, I'd forget to heal my characters after battles, completely neglected my chocobos. I would just go to the Golden Saucer and dick around for hours at a time playing minigames... I just didn't see any point to advancing the story, how could there be a story without her? Well, it took some time, but I got over it (and took my revenge on Sephy [KoTR + Mimic ftw]), and the point is, I'm sure you will too. If there's anything I'd take from this, it's that life goes on even after losing a loved one, it's just up to you how long it takes. Goondolences."

6) I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL.

7) Mustaches.

8) Helen Keller went to town, Riding on a pony, Stuck a feather in her cap and called it DERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRERRERRRANNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH

9) David Sedaris’ essay “Next of Kin.” This is tied to the next item on this list.

10) The memory of watching my best friend reading “Next of Kin” on the beach and laughing so hard she frightened some people.

11) Christopher Moore’s book Lamb.

Feel free to post some of your happy thoughts.

Someone Broke Into My Apartment Last Night

I have been up half the night gripping my floor and crying so hard I can barely breathe. I got home around 1 AM last night only to discover that someone, or perhaps several people, broke into my apartment yesterday. I am guessing they disguised themselves as delivery people and fooled my landlord into letting them into my apartment. I am so overcome with emotion right now. I can't believe something like this could happen to me.

Here are some pictures of the aftermath.








The bandit(s) had plastered every single flat surface of my apartment with post-its. Here are some more detailed photos:








There was one of these for every member of my family.


I think Jemaine Clement is the most beautiful man alive.


Neither I nor google know what "snarflehazen" means. I'm gonna guess it's hungarian for the f word.


Even my cat was hit by this post-band-it.


They even left some graffiti on my keyboard and bookshelf.



The notes where everywhere. I have a feeling I will find more over the next couple of months. I have strong suspicions about the identity of the main culprit, and I have a feeling that she (err uh OR he) had some accomplices.

I was crying out of love. I was gripping the floor because my heart was filling with happiness as a balloon fills with helium. I was afraid that if I let go, I would float away. I have the best family and friends in the world. No doubt about it.

P.S.- In case you weren't aware, my intials are HBO.

The True Story I Made Up About Clementines

Once up a time there was very sweet little girl named Clementine. She lived in an orphanage in a very poor part of town. However, as empty as the pockets of the nurses and caretakers were, their hearts were as full. Everyone in the orphanage got along like a tight-knit family.

As loving as all the children and caretakers were, Clementine was the kindest of them all. She helped the cooks in the kitchen, she helped plant vegetables in the garden in the early spring, and she helped teach the younger children to read. Of all the jobs she took on, the one she loved the most was telling stories to the sick children in the medical ward. She was cheery all year round, but she was the most cheery during the holiday season, if only for one reason. Every year for Christmas, she received one sweet orange in her stocking. She loved sweet oranges more than any other food. She loved them more than candy. She would make each slice last as long as she could. Then she would save the seeds in a scrapbook she had made. The pages of the scrapbook were labeled by year, and she had saved each seed from every year for as long as she could remember.

One year there was a terrible frost. Many of the orange crops died. One of the caretakers presented Clementine with the bad news. "I’m sorry Clementine, it doesn’t look like there will be any oranges this year. This is most unfortunate because we have a lot of sick children this year, and they need them more than ever." Clementine was very saddened by this; not because she loved the oranges so much, but because she loved the sick children in the ward much more.

She ran back to her room and began to write a letter to Santa Claus. In the letter she asked Santa to help her orphanage this Christmas. She said she didn’t want any oranges for the rest of her life, if it meant that the sick children could have them. Along with the letter, she included a small packet. In the packet were all the orange seeds she had saved over the years. She left the letter on her windowsill and settled in for the night. The wind picked up the letter and delivered it straight to the North Pole. Santa read the letter the next morning. He was so moved by Clementine’s kindness that he decided to take action. He looked at the seeds she had sent and he noticed that most of them were very old. In fact, some of them looked like they had broken in half. He knew he could not plant these seeds because they would not grow.

That year, Santa traveled the world looking for any oranges that he might be able to take to this orphanage. Unfortunately, it looked like all the sweet orange crops had died around the world. He made his final stop in China, where he visited an old friend, a Buddhist monk. The monk ran a temple that devoted much of its time growing mandarin oranges. However, the harvest from that year had been thrown away by the other monks and village people. "I’m sorry Santa. Most of us are very old, and the skins of the mandarins were too tough. We are too weak to peel the tough skin. All we have left are these seeds from last year. Most of them are old. In fact, a lot of them have split in half."

Santa stood and pondered for a little bit. He knew that this temple was his last resort. All of a sudden he had an idea.

"Head Monk, do you have any bare land for planting?" asked Santa.

"Alas, we only have one acre of land, and it is surrounded by a dark, dead forest."

"It will have to do," said Santa. " I propose that we mix our seeds together and plant them in that acre. Whatever grows we will split in half."

The Monk, believing he had nothing to lose, went along with Santa’s plan. They planted all the seeds in the land. Then, Santa brought out some buckets of melted snow from the North Pole and used it to water the seeds. Some people say that the snow from the North Pole has a little touch of magic in it. They say that it’s what makes the reindeer fly.

Santa and the Monk woke up early the next morning to check on the seeds. What they saw baffled them both. The one-acre of land was full of life. Big trees had sprouted in every direction. It seemed that even the forest surrounding the acre had turned orange and green. Each of the trees was bursting with small ripe fruit. The fruit was smaller than a sweet orange, but bigger than a mandarin.

The Monk reached out and grabbed the first little orange he saw. He peeled back the skin, and noticed how easily it came off. He picked out a slice and ate it. The slice was so sweet and juicy. It was like honey had been poured on his tongue.

There was so much fruit that all the villagers had to help Santa and the monks harvest it all. There was so much fruit, in fact, that everyone in the world received one of these special oranges for Christmas. But Santa saved a special batch that he had picked himself for a special orphanage.

That year, Santa hand-delivered the special oranges to the children at the orphanage. He saved a very special orange for Clementine. He handed her the plumpest one he could find.

"Clementine," he said, " your kind letter inspired me so much that I traveled the world looking for oranges. But I did not find any. Instead, a friend and I used some of his seeds and some of your seeds to grow some oranges. Then, these miracle oranges grew overnight. They are perfect for children, because they are very sweet, juicy, and just the right size. Because they are so perfect, I’ve decided to name them after you. From this day forth they shall be known as Clementines."

And that is why we always have Clementines during the holiday season.

A Text Conversation With A Secret Admirer

Secret Admirer: Princess Heather. I think you are the most beautifulest of all the land. And the smartest. And funkiest (a good quality in my book). -A Secret Admirer

Me: You cant fool me Brad! When are you going to leave angelina for me?

SA: Dearest Heather. I KNEW you were the smartest ever. The Angelina thing is just for publicity. Shiloh & twins were made in test tubes. Soon, my love, soon. -BP

My Extremely Extensive and Intensive Review of New Moon

NATIVE AMERICAN WEREWOLVES ARE HOT.


Grade: B- (this was graded on the hotness curve)

A Project

Religion has always been a fascinating subject for me. People are often to too wrapped up in the controversies of religion and forget to step back from it. We forget that we can treat it as an object that is meant for observation, rather than something that envelopes our lives.

I often find that there are two major groups of people in this world: 1) people who are very religious, and 2) people who despise religion. There is a smaller group of people who consider themselves agnostic and an even smaller number of people are stuck in the middle of all three due to pure curiosity. I have found myself wandering in this smaller group.

I have decided that now is the best time to embark on a little project I’ve been thinking about for the past couple of years. I have built a very diverse network of friends, so I believe that this will work. I’ve decided that over the next couple of weeks, I would like to attend a service at all of the following, in no particular order:

1) A Hindu Temple
2) A Buddhist Temple
3) A Zoroastrian Service
4) A Mosque
5) A Baptist Church with one of those lively choirs
6) A Jewish Temple or Synagogue

This will mainly be an observational study from the perspective of someone who has faced her mortality.

I realize some of these places might have exclusion rules that might create barriers for me. This is where you guys come in. If you belong to one of these establishments, and you feel you can get me in, so to speak, I would love to attend a service with you. I would like to complete this project within before the middle of February, so we have lots of time. Please just leave a comment here with your name and I will get back to you.

A Postcard from My Head Hair to My Leg Hair

(Click for Bigger)

Juggling Acorns and Rainbows

So I've had my first chemo treatment, and thus far, thankfully, everything has been going fine. All the symptoms are very manageable, if they exist at all. So I must say that the mental trials have eclipsed the physical ones by one hundred fold. When I say mental, I mean more than just emotional.

Many of the resources available to cancer patients to help with deal with the physical and emotional pain, but there are very few resources to deal with the elements outside of those two realms, which I like to call the organizational pain. On top of my regular life, I have to organize many doctor's appointments, dozen of medications including dosages and times, preparations for chemo, including stocking up on food, medical supplies, books, filling out endless medical forms, making sure they get submitted to the right people, making sure everything is set up for working from home...the to-do list was endless and seem to grow not unlike the tumors in my boob.

I realized that the stress from the organizational pain could easily slip into emotional or physical pain, so I decided to change my perspective. I recalled a White Stripes song, Little Acorns, which has a intro speech by Mort Crim. Here is text from that speech:

"When problems overwhelm us and sadness smothers us, where do we find the will and the courage to continue? Well, the answer may come in the caring voice of a friend, a chance encounter with a book, or from a personal faith. For Janet help came from her faith, but it also from a squirrel. Shortly after her divorce, Janet lost her father, then she lost her job. She had mounting money problems. But Janet not only survived, she worked her way out of despondency and now she says, life is good again. How could this happen? She told me that late one Autumn day when she was at her lowest she watched a squirrel storing up nuts for the winter, one at a time he would take them to the nest. And she thought, if that squirrel can take care of himself with the harsh winter coming along, then so can I. Once I broke my problems into small pieces I was able to carry them, just like those acorns, one at a time."
For me, that's all there is to it. I didn't look at my whole list; I just looked at the next item and dealt with it on its own.

In related news, I was hypnotized on Saturday. I have a severe aversion to needles, which is a cruel phobia to give a cancer patient, and my friend's mother used hypnosis on me to help ease my anxiety. I must say, when I came to, I felt amazingly relaxed. A rush of endorphins came over me, and I was at peace. During the session, the hypnotist had me conjure an image/word that would be my "tool" for overcoming anxiety. The first word that came to mind was "rainbows", and I just went with it. I didn't really think about my choice, except that I feel color is an amazing source of energy for me. When I told my friend what my word was, she said something very wise. She said "Rainbows are made by mixing a storm with radiant light. Your sickness is like the storm, but you are the light, and together you make something beautiful."

I couldn't agree with her more. While this disease is horrible, and I wouldn't wish it on Stalin and Hitler's love child, it has brought me very close to some amazing people. I now see the miracles that reside in the hearts of everyone.

Well Fuck

Most of you who read this blog already know what I am about to say. For those of you who don't, I'm very sorry, but my life has just been way too chaotic right now to call everyone individually. Plus my phone is acting stupid.

I have been diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma, the most common form of breast cancer. It is unusual for someone my age to have this, but my oncologist is very optimistic. It is at stage three, so the cancer has not spread.

Here are a few things you need to know if I have regular real life contact with you:

1) Please don't call me just yet. My phone is ringing off the hook from doctors at the moment. Don’t worry, I am smothered with love at the moment. You can leave comments here.
2) I will be undergoing chemo very soon. This means I will be wearing a wide variety of interesting hats and wigs.
3) If you are sick, you can’t come near me. My white blood cell count will be very low and I will be susceptible to infection.
4) Go to your doctor if you are sick. Like, now. In fact, if you are related to me, please just go and explain my situation to them.
4) Dolphins have prehensile penises.
5) Are you crying? Well then you are a pussy. That’s ok, I’ve had my pussified moments in the past.
6) I’m very upbeat and positive right now. I’m going to kick this fucking cancer’s ass.
7) Some of my family members do not know yet. They don’t read this blog or facebook. I plan on telling the rest by Sunday. Please keep mum to ALL of my family them until then.
I love you all. Take care of yourselves. And when I’m done with this shit, you should all come to Italy with me.

Quotes from the Journey

I haven’t written in awhile, but that’s because I’ve been traveling quite a bit. I’ve been to Delaware, West Virginia, San Francisco and Alaska. I could write books on my journey to Alaska, but I figured the story could be best summed up in the quotes that were said or heard throughout the journey.

Here’s one that my friend Gina, my travel mate, overheard:

Elderly Woman with Thick Midwestern Accent: I heard there is a 24-hour boooooofay.
Elderly Man with Thicker Midwestern Accent: I need to go back to der room.
EWWTMA: Why?
EMWTMA: I forgot mah teef.
EWWTMA: Oh Cecil!

Here’s one exchange between Gina and Me:

Me: What time is it?
(Gina hits her chest repeatedly looking for her cell phone)
Me: Is it retard time?

A few others that are totally clear and do not need any context:

“I need to quote that quote in my quotebook.”
“Check out that DILF!”
“I know how to turn things on.”
“I don’t want to shake your penis.”

Some funny mispronunciations:

“Cleeeeeeeeeemate”
“Ackckckkohol” (said after having a lot of it)

And the coup d'état:

John: You’re wrong!
Gina: You’re gay!
John: I’m married!
Gina: You’re still wrong, dumbshit!
John: Booyah!

A Deeply Philosophical Rant

As of late (and by late, I mean the past couple of years) I’ve had a bit of a problem meeting eligible members of the opposite sex. I’d like to attribute some of my problem to my shyness around non-personable people, which happens to be the majority of the male population. However, I do not think my shyness is the real root cause of my singleness. I have a theory about my problem, which can only be accurately described using pictures. Note: I was drinking scotch when I was drawing these, so you may see a decrease in quality throughout this entry.

This is me:

IQ: 130+
Occupation: Graphics/Editorial Associate
Age: Mid-to-late 20s

This is the type of man that would normally hit on me:

IQ: 79
Occupation: N/A
Age: 50s

I believe the reason why so many men of this type hit on me is because of American and Spanish sitcoms. Many of these shit shows feature a ridiculous fat ass married to a Maxim cover model. For example:

The hambeast has watched so many of the shitcoms that he thinks he deserves a woman that is way further up the food chain. Also, his real fantasy woman:

Doesn’t exist.

Now let’s take a look at the type of man I am attracted to:

IQ: 115+
Occupation: Anything legal that allows him to live outside his parents' house
Age: Early 20s to Early 30s

Unfortunately, this type of man is usually attracted to the following types of people:

Stick thin super models,

Body builders, or

Unlike most women, I am not willing to settle for fat, unemployed bastards. So if I don’t end up with someone like

or better, I’ll probably end up spending my life with

(this table with a head attached to it is supposed to be my cat).

My Extremely Extensive and Intensive Review of Star Trek

GODDAMN.

Grade: A+++++++++++

Technology: The Future is *ERROR*

About two hours ago, I was in the process of writing a great entry about how amazing it is that I was able to update this thing from the Cosi in Old Town Alexandria thanks to the Blogwriter Lite app for the iPhone/touch. But when I switched to a dictionary app mid-entry, the goddamn app lost my whole freaking entry.

And just now I had to switch from my Touch to my laptop because one of my fat fingers hit "Send" and Blogwriter Lite doesn't have an edit function. The only real good thing about this app is that it is free. There is a non-free version that probably has a zillion more features, but money is too expensive to spend.

I'm currently working on a "short" story that was inspired by a story my Uncle Kevin once told me. I put short in quotation marks because as I'm writing it I'm feeling my inspiration snowball out of control. It's handwritten too, so it may take awhile to get on here.

I experienced something the other week that I hadn't experienced in a couple of years: I filled up a journal. Granted at least 20 percent of the pages were filled up with doodles and random notes. Also, at least one of the notes was not written by me ("I like balls") but the note directly beneath it ("I don't think I wrote this.") was. However, the last note in the journal was definitely written by me. It was note I had written and shown to my friend Jason as we were listening to a talk about volcanoes at the Geological Society of D.C.:
"I am pretty sure the guy three rows in front of me is my ex from the ninth grade."
Jason looked around and then looked at me questioningly, as if he can't see him. I then wrote "BALD SPOT."

Catch up on the F*&%ing Old, Looking Forward to Sh*tty the New

It's a new year, a new dawn, a new blah blah blah.

My new resolution is to not say/do cliché things, like making resolutions.

As I look over this blog, I realize there are many stories I've left untold. Some funny, some moving. I've decided to continue with telling my stories, because everyone's story deserves to be told.

As I was driving around my old neighborhood during the holidays, I passed by the house of one my school friends. Her name was Andrea. I met her when I was in the fourth grade.

I was a tender child back then, and I was proud of this. I remember bragging to my friends that I had yet to "ever say a cuss word in my entire life." My mom and dad fought a lot, and I always thought curse words were only for times when you were angry. I didn't like feeling angry. I was pretty happy, and I found things that continued to make me happy, like the split-level bars on the playground during recess.

I used to hump the hell out of those things, not realizing that I was experimenting with masturbation at a very young age. Naturally I thought that there was nothing wrong with this experiment. After all, it made me feel good, like ice cream, Disney movies, and running real fast made me feel good. Then one day one of my male classmates caught me in my hot metal love affair and all was lost. By the next day, word had spread of my wanton ways, and I was a total outcast. My classmates were not only cruel, they were stupid. Kids would unabashedly spread whispers about me, right in my presence.

One day I just couldn't take it anymore. It was the day two new girls had just joined our class, and we were in the middle of watching a movie. One of the new girls decided to take the spot next to me. As she sat down, Jenny Smith, the biggest bitch in our class, looked at me, and then bent down towards the new girl and began whisper something in her ear. I’d had enough.

"Jenny, for pete’s sake, I know what you are going to whisper to her. You might as well just say it out loud."
"Wha, I wasn't gonna say anything."
"Your pants are so on fire. Listen, new girl, she was going to tell you that I humped one of the poles on the playground. She was going to warn you that you were sitting next to a pole-humper. There, it's out there. Now shutup Jenny and leave me alone."

Jenny sat back down. I don't think I saw her whisper again for the rest of the year. The new girl, whose name I have forgotten, stared straightforward during the rest of the day, determined not to make eye contact with either of us. I don't remember her saying more than two words that year.

The next day I remember seeing that the whispers had died down, but the looks of resentment and disgust remained. All of my classmates looked down on me, except for one. It was the other new girl. I saw her quietly playing by herself underneath one of the big trees that just bordered a wooded area behind our school. The wooded area was one of my favorite places to play. I decided that as I passed by, I would say hello to her and introduce myself.

She was a thicker girl, but not fat. She seemed to be very strong, as I saw her split pretty thick pieces of branch in two with her bare hands. Her face was moon shaped, and her eyes were big and brown. As I walked towards her she smiled, and I thought that, besides her strength, she looked to be very sweet and gentle.

"Hi, my name is Heather. What's yours?"
"I'm Andrea. I just moved here. My dad's in the army and he was just transferred here."
"Oh really? That's cool. Say, there's this tree in the woods there that I throw sticks at while pretending their ninja stars. Wanna come join?"
"Fuck'n A! Let's wreck that shit, bitch!"
"...Um...scuse me?"
"We'll tear that tree a new asshole!"
"Good GOD."

I stared at here with admiration, as if she had just turned into the Holy Grail. My mind had been opened. She made me realize that cuss words not made for just anger, but they were meant weave a tapestry of the whole spectrum of human emotion. I was enlightened.

"Where...did...you learn to talk like that?"

"Uh, my dad's in the army, duh!"

And that was it. We gathered as many "ninja stars" as we could hold in our arms, and cursed the shit out of that motherfucking tree.

I wouldn't want to say that Andrea was a bad influence by any means. She helped me learn to speak my mind in new ways. Ways that made me feel uplifted and unashamed. I wasn't stupid though; I knew my parents were not as enlightened as me, and so I held off on unleashing my proverbial palette of profanity upon them.

Andrea and I became good friends over the coming months, until one fateful slumber party. She had invited me to spend a Friday night at her place, and I was at the age where nothing, absolutely nothing, was better than a slumber party. My sentiment completely changed after that Friday night.

Andrea's home life was, for lack of a better term, completely fucked up. To start the night off, Andrea's father asked me if I were allowed to watch movies with "women’s chests." Thinking he meant a beach movie with women in bikinis (perhaps "Weekend at Bernie's") I unwittingly said yes. We then began to watch what I would come to know in the future as a softcore porno. I should also mention that Andrea had a mentally challenged sister who would shout "Tits! Tits! Tits!" every time the movie showed boobs.

Then dinnertime came. Andrea was passing out some rice and she accidentally spilled some on the table. Her dad began to whip her viciously with a belt for her mistake. At that point I sort of mentally checked out. I felt helpless and bewildered, and everything seemed surreal. I wanted to rush into bed so that the morning would come sooner. Once dinner was over, Andrea bounced out of her chair (apparently recovered from her lashing) and shouted "Bath time, bitch!!" She grabbed my hand and dragged me upstairs. She threw a towel in my face and said, "You can take your bath first! Bathroom is down the hall."

I ran into the bathroom and closed the door. My mind was ablaze with the insanity that had occurred in the past few hours. I decided a bath would be the best thing to calm me, so I disrobed and hopped in the tub. Just as I was about to immerse my head, I received the shock of a lifetime.

"Surprise! Slumber Bathtime!" Andrea screamed as she burst through the bathroom door completely naked and holding a can of Coca Cola. She ran into the bathtub and screamed, "You look dirty! Time for your Coke bath!" And she proceeded to empty out the can of Coke on my head. And this is where I snapped.

I jumped out of the bathtub and ran my head under the sink, all the while shouting the most colorful of curse words in her general direction. I put my clothes on as fast as I could and ran out of the bathroom into one of the bedrooms. I searched the second floor for a phone in total desperation, but there was none to be found. I knew there was a phone in the kitchen, but I heard screaming noises coming from there. I wanted to crawl out the window and run home, but I didn't know the way. I stopped myself at the top of the stairs, dumbfounded was to what I should do. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and Andrea stood there in a pink robe.

"I'm sorry I freaked you out, bitch. Let's just get some fucking shuteye."

I walked cautiously back to her room. She let me have the bottom bunk of her bed, and I was grateful, because I knew that would allow for easier escape. I don't think I slept a wink that night.

The next morning was weirdly quiet. I waited near the garage door, eager to hear my mom’s car engine. When she did arrive, I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I ran to her and I hugged her, I was determined not to let her go.

"Oh hi there, Mrs. Borra!" said Andrea's father. "We loved having Heather over last night. In fact, she's welcome to stay tonight as well if she wants!"

My mom took a quick glance of Andrea's family and then she looked down at me. She could see the tears beginning to wellup in my eyes.

"I'm sorry sir, but we've got a family event planned for this evening. It was nice meeting you all!"

I hugged her all the way back to the car.

After that, Andrea's and my friendship was on eggshells at best. Eventually we stopped hanging out all together. The weird thing is, I didn't really realize how seriously disturbed Andrea's home life was until much later. This is probably why a lot of abuse goes unreported. Kids just think it is normal because adults are causing the abuse and what adults do is always right. Each time I passed her house in recent years, I wished I could go back and save Andrea from her wretched home life, rather than just running away from it. But now I'm smarter and stronger. However, I still curse a goddamned motherfucking blue streak.