10. The Seven Year Bitch
9. Experiment In Terrier
8. Dog On A Hot Tin Roof
7. Saturday Night Retriever
6. Annie Get Your Gun (Fido Has Rabies)
5. Hello, Collie!
4. Jesus Christ, Pooper-Scooper Star
3. Corgi and Bess
2. The Bark of Mormon
1. Death of a Mailman
Bob Sullivan’s Top Ten Everything appears every Monday.
During my many tournament travels, I often see, in a variety of sports, some poor team or kid getting trounced. They’re in the wrong skill group or age level or something, but it’s a lopsided whupping. Sometimes, especially in more competitive events, that team or kid will have a trainer. [Read more →]
10. “It’s so hot, Bill Cosby says he kinda wishes he’d been thrown in the ‘cooler’.”
9. “It’s so hot, today I fried an egg…at room temperature.”
8. “It’s so hot, the last guy who asked me ‘Hot enough for ya?’ I was compelled to beat to death with a sockful of nickels.”
7. “It’s so hot, I have a brand on my stomach shaped like a seat belt buckle.”
6. “It’s so hot, in Alaska, California, Colorado, Maine, Massachusetts, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington, joints are lighting themselves.”
5. “It’s so hot, I ran into a burning building, just to cool off.”
4. “It’s so hot, because of their mercury content, people all across the country have been subjected to exploding thermometers and tuna.”
3. “It’s so hot, Satan took out a full page ad in The New York Times, asking for his weather back.”
2. “It’s so hot, two hobbits just walked by and threw a ring in through my window.”
1. “It’s so hot, the last time Trump said global warming was a hoax, his pants caught on fire.”
Bob Sullivan’s Top Ten Everything appears every Monday.
Have you ever been on that stupid carnival ride that sends you up in the air, in a long row of seats, then bounces you violently back down to the ground? (It’s especially unpleasant for the boobed half of the population). I feel like I’ve been riding that thing for at least a week. I have felt so supported and loved by my family and friends, and so slammed and beaten by chemo. Up an down, again and again. Damn carnie won’t let me off! Lovely and miserable all at once.
The chemicals hit me hard this time. Day one seemed like it was going to be an easier ride, I got a gift from Miami and was smart enough to use it before I was on the floor and desperately needed it. I had some good prep, too, from some great alternative practitioners. Thank You, Mama!! Then day two I was in the depths, feeling underwater and seasick, far worse than the first go round. Right away my hair started to fall out, my mouth began to sting and burn, my heart took off racing like I’ve perpetually just finished running a mile, and everything I tried to eat tasted like a chemistry set. Fruit is the only food that still tastes like itself, even water was impossible until I added lemon. I was so tired, though, I didn’t care about food at all. I ate some plums, drank some juice, and slept.
Day three I shaved my head. I was just tired of the clumps falling out. What’s the big deal about losing your hair? It’s not just that, as a woman, I feel my hair contributes highly to my attractiveness and appeal. It’s not just that, as a redhead, I’m super attached to my identity as the fiery ginger. Those are some serious truths, but when you are diagnosed with cancer, losing your hair is like losing your ability to control your narrative. Was I open about my diagnosis? Maybe more than I should be. Now, though, I may as well be walking around with a scarlet C on my chest. I’ve been out in a beanie and out in a wig, it’s very clear what my deal is either way. I see the faces, and man people cannot hide their expressions. Their questions and their curiosity are written all over their faces. It’s like being the worst kind of famous. I’m Monica Lewinsky. I’m Tonya Harding. I’m the sad train wreck because I can’t alter the perspective of the crowd. I can’t look them in the eyes and say: “I’m fine, I’m going to be OK, this is temporary, don’t put your sad cancer juju on me!” I guess I could say it, but then I’m a train wreck for real, right? Fucking hair.
At the same time, right now, I can afford to pay for things by the miracle that is this go fund me campaign. The new mushroom supplements came in the mail. I was able to have a mid cycle acupuncture treatment today (seriously, the relief it brings is miraculous). I am calling a cleaning company tomorrow to make an appointment and get some help with this house. I have never been the girl who depends upon the kindness of strangers. I’ve been the girl who bristles at the mere mention of possibly needing any help at all. And then one day I just couldn’t keep it together and do it all. My husband says we’re like George Bailey at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. The money is pouring out on the table in front of the Christmas tree, and we definitely feel the love.
The third treatment (of eight, fucking EIGHT) is next Tuesday. I’m meeting my new oncologist that morning. According to the nurses that I’ve had during my infusions, the AC chemo is hitting me too fast and hard. The second nurse said to ask for an adjustment of my dose, which I plan to do. I hope this oncologist doesn’t suck. I hope he listens. I hope he’s read my damn file before I get there. I need to get through this without completely falling apart. He better be ready to help. Unfortunately, I won’t have my red hair on display to excuse my ginger attitude for me. Hopefully he can handle it.
10. Sidewalk Santa
9. Donald Trump’s communications director
8. Assistant in charge of slathering Chris Christie with tanning lotion
7. Public pool pee monitor
6. Bulletproof vest tester
5. Amish IT guy
4. Door-to-door fidget spinner salesman
3. Suicide bomber
2. Second assistant in charge of slathering Chris Christie with tanning lotion
1. Donald Trump Jr.’s defense attorney
Bob Sullivan’s Top Ten Everything appears every Monday.
I was a total neophyte in just about every way as I opened my e-copy of “Kentucky Kaiju.” Graphic literature (comic books, back then) was not allowed in my home when I was young; I have not yet had the pleasure of visiting the state of Kentucky and enjoying its culture; AND, I have never encountered a Kaiju … though that last might be a good thing, judging by the creatures presented to me in this book.
[Read more →]
10. He asks you what the word ‘itinerary’ means.
9. He recommends insurance that names him as the beneficiary.
8. He’s skeptical that so-called “air travel” is even scientifically possible.
7. He hopes you won’t mind dropping him and his family off at the airport.
6. He insists that ‘Austria’ and ‘Australia’ are just variant spellings for the same city.
5. For the second leg of your journey, from London to Amsterdam, he’s just penciled in “Any way you can get there.”
4. He brags that the very first flight he ever booked was for Amelia Earhart.
3. The “meals included” at the Brussels hotel are just the mints on your pillow.
2. He asks where you want to go, how long you’ll be gone, where you live, and whether or not you have a home security system.
1. He’s booked you on United Airlines, and made arrangements for two sky marshals to personally drag you to your seat..
Bob Sullivan’s Top Ten Everything appears every Monday.
“DreamWeaver” is a good enough read for fans of swords-and-sorcery and other stories that fall within the realm of ‘fantasy fiction.’ I read my e-copy from cover to cover, and I enjoyed the experience. But I can’t help but think there’s something familiar about it … something that I’ve read somewhere and somewhen else, by someone else.
[Read more →]
10. “Hope everybody likes tofu burgers!”
9. “Is my hot dog supposed to have an engagement ring on it?”
8. “Tell Uncle Jerod’s that’s not a flask; it’s lighter fluid.”
7. “Okay, NOBODY LIGHT CIGARETTES OR FIREWORKS NEAR UNCLE JEROD!!!!”
6. “Wish somebody had told me this BBQ was BYO!”
5. “Why do all these burgers have long, thin tails?”
4. “Who stuck Yank My Doodle! It’s A Dandy! into the VCR?”
3. “Is coleslaw supposed to move like that?”
2. “Who puts mayo on top of all the buns? Oh, wait…. Whose bright idea was it to put our picnic table directly under this tree?”
1. “Don’t worry about blowing your fingers off with those firecrackers; we’ve still have Ocamacare for at least another twelve hours!”
Bob Sullivan’s Top Ten Everything appears every Monday.
The very first thing that crossed my mind when I got my diagnosis, I am not proud to say, was “shit, I’ve been growing my hair out forever.” That is the first thought that I think we all have when someone says the word chemo, the fact that a person’s hair falls out. Initially, I was hoping that I’d be one of those lucky women who could just have a lumpectomy and some radiation (maybe) and then move on. Then I hoped it would just be the mastectomy without chemo. Once I got used to the idea that the chemo was going to happen (my tumor was more aggressive than first suspected) I just wanted to be done with it already. That didn’t work because I started the revolving door of oncologists. I was informed on May 16th that I needed to start chemo, on June 27th I got my first treatment.
My new hope was that I’d be one of those bitches who says that chemo doesn’t really make them feel bad. Isn’t hope funny? I was told that it would take at least three days for the chemo to get in there and create the dreaded side effects. It took about four hours. I think. I actually have no idea what time it was when I started to vomit. I felt like I was made of granite. I was heavy, so heavy that I couldn’t move my arms and legs. When I was getting the infusion, I could feel it going into me. Especially the red devil, because they actually hand pump it into you with a giant syringe, like you’re a cartoon character getting a shot from a mad scientist. Lying on the floor hours later it felt like the red cement had finally hardened. I’m pretty sure that at some point I just texted my husband (only two rooms away) “help.” My thumbs weighed too much to say what I needed. I only vomited once. All that I will say about that is that a friend of my husband’s brought me something that helped.
Every day since has been a little different and a little better. On day two I barely moved or ate, and the bone marrow bomb on my hip went off, which was super weird. Apparently people weren’t showing up for their day after chemo appointments to get this shot that forces your white blood cell count up. I don’t blame them. The solution was to stick the shot onto the patient with adhesive, and set it like a time bomb to shoot the meds into them at precisely twenty seven hours past infusion. I could feel it pumping into my abdomen. Super freaky, not in the Rick James way. Last night, night four, I slept without taking anything for the nausea. Today is Saturday, and not only have I not spent the entire day sleeping and spitting (I feel like I need to spit a lot, and I’ve never felt the need to spit previously, like ever), but I also walked a few laps around our pool. I’m sure that sounds weird, but I didn’t want to get a block from home and then realize that I had to just sit down and text someone to come carry me back.
I have big plans for the upcoming week. I will spend the holiday feeling grateful that my extended family will make sure my kids have fun (as they are doing today). Then I intend to feel well enough by Wednesday to go wig shopping, and on Friday I hope to make it to physical therapy. Woot woot. Until then I am thanking my lucky stars that my kids know how to cheer me up, my husband feeds me when I can stand it, and I have Netflix, Hulu and HBOGO when nobody is home.
