How to Tell You Have Anxiety About Moving

1. Go to sleep on Friday night. Proceed to dream that:

1a: You are not moving back into your apartment in Brooklyn, but the hippy house you lived in during college--the one with the purple shutters, neon green walls, and dirt. Everywhere dirt. But you're there alone. No roommates in an old house that used to belong to schizophrenic woman and still looks it.

1b: You ARE moving back into your (3 bedroom) apartment in Brooklyn, but with ALL your old college roommates, one of whom is your ex that you haven't spoken to in 2 years.

1c: You're moving back into the insanely gorgeous brownstone you lived in during a brief stint in Albany, for which you paid a paltry sum, but this time you're paying Brooklyn prices.

2. Go to sleep Saturday night. Proceed to dream that:

2a: You get to your apartment, and your roommate painted the living room walls mustard yellow, the molding red, and put down cobalt blue carpeting. Then he asked if you liked the new "pre-school chic" look. You didn't.

2b: You go to use the bathroom, fall into the bathtub, and no one will help you out.

2c: Your room is just a giant closet, plastered with photos of people from your 7th grade tech ed class whose last names you don't even know.

2d: Your dad designed a system of moving your stuff in that was not unlike a log flume down the hallway to your room. Everything got wet.

2e: You ordered a new love seat, but it showed up with a sink in the middle of it, and no one understood why you wanted to send it back.

3. That's pretty much it.

"Ooh, swish!"

My favorite part was the concept of pants as absolutely and completely audacious, but then I got to 1:00 in.

Via io9

Ri Ri

On her last album Rihanna sampled Avril Lavigne. "Drunk on Love" from her new album, Talk That Talk, featuring The XX's "Intro" (AKA the song from that awesome 2010 Winter Olympics commercial) is a super sized upgrade.

The Hole Time

I got my port out yesterday (Ha.Le.LUJAH.) and guess what, you guys? My port was PURPLE. The whole time!

And honestly, if I'd have known the thing was purple, I might have hated it less. (Because....I'm a fifth grader?) Actually that's probably not even true; I hated that thing from the second they put it in, and now it's out and (I can't believe I'm admitting this) sitting next to me on my bed in a biohazard bag.

Yup.

I've already been called (lovingly, by me best friend) or had it insinuated that I am (by one of the operating room nurses) a total freak for taking it, but I really wanted to examine it up close. The needle hurt a lot every time it went into my chest before chemo, so it's somewhat satisfying to see where exactly the tips ended up. I can actually see the holes in the rubber from the needles. So sticks and stones, people, sticks andddd stones.

For those who don't remember/don't want to wade through Justin Bieber videos to get to my old posts about my port, here's the 411: the type of chemo I was getting would've been risky to administer in a temporary arm IV, so they installed a "power port" in my chest above my right breast and below my collarbone. It was roughly the size of six quarters stacked together. And as you can't just stick something that thick without displacing anything else in your body, they had to (ughhh, grossss, GULP, sorry) "scoop out a pocket" in my chest to create a place for the port to go in.

All summer long I was really careful not to get sun on the scar itself in the hopes it wouldn't be as noticeable in the future, but then I also realized I would probably have a weird, sunken-in, hole-like spot where they port was. I asked my surgeon about it before the surgery, and they told me they minimize that effect by stitching the skin together underneath. I couldn't really picture how that works, but great!

It's actually not as bad as I thought it would be. Like after the placement, I have a two-inch incision stitched or rather glued together by this weird, clear medical glue that will most likely stay on for a few weeks, and the area where the port actually was is only slightly sunken and weird. I'm really sore and protective of the wound (example: the terror I feel whenever my mom stops short while I'm wearing a seatbelt), but I know it'll feel and look better eventually. And I once again have full use and extension of my neck!

But how it looked and felt in my body was only half the reason I resented it so much; it barely ever worked properly on the first go around. Before I could be administered chemo, the nurses would have to draw blood to make sure my white blood cell count was high enough to withstand treatment, and they had to do so from my port. So one of the nurses would stick the needle in and try to extract blood, but every time they ended up pumping the empty syringe 30 times or so, only to have, at best, a tiny trickle of blood come out. I'd then have to go into a private room and lay in all types of positions to try to get enough blood flow for the pump to work: one leg up, now the other, now both, now sit down, now put your arms up, one arm, etc. In the beginning that would be enough, but for the last six treatments--and I am not kidding--I was doing jumping jacks and skipping around the halls of my doctor's office to get my blood pumping. I even tried hula-hooping a little. All of this with a needle in my chest, in front of other patients getting their treatments. I felt like a total moron, plus I barely had energy to skip around, which is why I think I wasn't able to see it as funny as I see it now. But it always worked, and so it became just another weird thing that eventually became normal over the months during treatment.

But that's done, and the port's gone. If nothing else, having a weird, plastic object in my body for the past 6 months has reinforced my notion of breast implants as terrifying, so there's that, too.

The gray part in the middle is rubber, where the chemo needle would go in.

Also, they washed it, I swear.

It's a good day to be French

Or to watch this and pretend I know what they're saying.

How To Learn That Putting Up a Christmas Tree The Second Week of November is Wildly Inappropriate

Full title: How To Learn That Putting Up a Christmas Tree The Second Week of November is Wildly Inappropriate (Even If You're Just Trying To Put Yourself In A Good Mood.)

1. Come home from a week of house sitting in Brooklyn a little worse for the wear; you went out far too often, ate far too little protein, and witnessed all of your friends actively being adults--going to work, going to school--while you sent out resumes and writing into the ether during the sad hours they weren't around to hang out. Also, you miss GoGo.

2. Fall into a little slump for a few days. Let it sink in that the celebration of being done with treatment is over, and it's time to stop being polite, and get real.

3. Briefly consider applying for the Real World in the days you pass in existentialist crisis. Remember that your mom told you if you ever went on Reality Television (and this was even before they were making reality shows about literally everything), she'd disown you. Consider culinary school. Consider beauty school. Consider dog grooming school.

4. Get what might--might--be a good lead in the career-staring direction and perk up a bit. Run with that tiny bit of... percolation (but mostly run from fear of feeling as depressed as you have been) and decide to get into the Christmas spirit a little early this year, since the holidays make you happy and generally warm-feeling towards the rest of the world.

5. Decide to let your parents in on your preemptive cheer. Proclaim "CHRISTMAS IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!" at dinner one night, and that it's time to put up the tree. Scoff when your Dad tells you "You're going to ruin Thanksgiving." Realize you have a partner in crime when your mom cocks her head to the side and nods as she considers the calender on the kitchen wall.

6. Assist your mom as she (obsessively) researches which model Christmas tree to buy online, because this is the year she's finally "allowed" to get a new one that doesn't require 8 hours of set up and shaping. Vehemently argue for colored lights against your mom, who wants a "sophisticated" white-lit tree. Find a company that, amazingly, makes a tree that comes pre-lit with both colored and white lights. Marvel at the wonders of technology. What will they think of next?

7. Tell your mom you're going to put the tree up as soon as it comes. Waiver a little bit on that certain announcement when the tree arrives in two large boxes on your doorstep 3 days later, on the 10th of November. Let the boxes sit in the hallway for 18 hours or so, or until Friday afternoon comes along and you realize what your Friday night is going to be. Realize you're not even a little bit mad that you will be spending it in your pajamas.

8. Put on the Taylor Swift holiday station on Pandora; if you're going to do this, you're going to do it right.

9. End up with 5 pieces that look like they just have to be stacked upon one another.

10. Quickly realize that's not true, and neither was the part of the online description of your new Norway Spruce that promised "easy setup" with "no shaping necessary."

11. Insert the bottom section, section E, into the base. Plug the red "male" (ew?) plug from Section D into the red "female" (like, really?) socket in Section E. Same for the yellow plugs. Wait, why isn't D lighting up? Consult the directions. Maybe Section C has the socket in it. Heft Section C onto the pole. No, no, take that one off, I can't get to the plugs in Section E now...

12. Utter strings of obscenities over the next hour as the Christmas music playing in the background becomes ironic and incredibly annoying. Tell your mom "Santa Baby" is, as its core, a song about date rape, causing a debate that's a nice little distraction from the catastrophe at hand.

13. Take a break on the couch while your mom goes up to speak with customer service. Consider burning the tree. Seriously doubt it when she tells you she thinks she figured it out, but humor her. Feel like you cured cancer (haha) when the appropriate sections of the tree actually light up. Apologize for doubting your mother, you jerk.

14. Finally get it set up. Step back and marvel at your tree, which you are controlling via a small remote. (America: the country where even your fake ass Christmas trees come with remotes.)

15. Be reminded by your mom that "you were the one who wanted to do this!" when you say "NO" to her request to put the ornaments on the tree. Trudge up to the attic and get the large box of ornaments down.

16. Notice as you begin putting them up that the usual nostalgic, magical feeling of handling your favorite Wizard of Oz ornaments can't get through the door because the frustration of putting up this freaking tree is taking up all the space in your living room.

17. Put more than half of the very large amount of ornaments you own on the tree. Hear the garage door open, the signal that your dad is home from work. Trepidatiously lead him into the living room and watch as he shakes his head at the tree.

18. Reassure your mom that the branches are not drooping (even though, now that you look at it, they do seem to be wilting a little with the weight of the ornaments) and beseech her to come eat dinner.

19. Drop your fork when she tells you she wants to return the tree and get the one from Frontgate that has wheels and only two pieces. Note that if it wasn't already gone, any inkling of Christmas cheer you may have started this process with would have just gone out the window.

20. Sit on the couch begrudgingly with a glass of wine as your mom begins to remove ornaments. Finally agree the tree has "bad juju," and take pity on your mom when she unsuccessfully attempts to take the top section off. Sustain scratches to your hands as you wrench--literally wrench--the sections of the tree off one another. Yell at your mom to "HUG IT. HUG IT TIGHTER" as you attempt to tie string around each section of the tree so it can fit back into its box.

21. Refill your wine glass and look sadly at the two large, slightly bulging boxes sitting in the spot where an hour ago, a beautiful (yet extremely annoying) tree had stood.

22. Ruminate on the lessons you could learn from this: that rushing headlong into something and spurring yourself on by the desire for a happiness that you know deep down is more sparkle than substance never works out. That even though you wasted hours setting it up and it's a pain to send it back, holding out for the better product (read: person/job) is the smarter thing to do in the end. But mostly that your dad was right--it's too motha truckin early for Christmas.

22a. Maybe don't change the Tay Swift Pandora station as you go to bed that night.

Asshole tree.

Watching the Country Music Awards with my mother

Me: That's it. They keep promising Scotty (McCreery) and they aren't showing him!

Mom: They just said his name. They just said it! He's on next, stay downstairs for 5 more minutes.

45 minutes later (with no introduction, by the way. What is that?)

Me: Is that him? Is that Scotty?

Mom: It's him!

Me: Oh my God, FINAL--

Mom: (ferociously) SHH!

I'm going to miss her when I move out.

Just some thoughts I had after a few beers

I've been thinking a lot lately about the concept of what it means to deserve something.

People have told me since I got sick that I didn't "deserve" to go through having cancer, and I accepted that like a compliment. But who deserves to do it? Who deserves anything?

I think a lot of people walk around thinking we humans have an innate right to be handled correctly by the universe, which is false. When it comes to fate or luck or whatever you want to call it, we deserve nothing. The pursuit of happiness is written into the basis of the laws that govern our lives, but we so often forget that it's the pursuit and not the actual happiness that is our right.

That being said, I do think we all deserve to be treated properly by one other. We have a responsibility to each other to do that, because how we handle each other's emotions is one of the few things we have under control. Maybe that's why I'm finding it so hard to understand how people trip over honesty like it's a root they didn't see jutting out into their paths.

It might sound like I'm trying to say we all deserve to be loved, but I don't mean to say that--I just mean we all deserve to be respected.

And that's all she wrote, folks.

How To Be A Good Dogsitter

1. Get to know each other. After all, you're going to be spending a whole week together, so you should know that he's not constantly miserable, but that's actually just his face.

2. If you wake up at 7 am on the first morning to take him out to the bathroom, then again at 8:30, then again at 9, and by 11 he still won't get off his bed, pick him up and put him outside. Do not be startled by the grunts and sighs and general troll noises he will make as you do this.

3. Don't get frustrated when he won't eat his dog food but allow yourself to be impressed at the heights he will go to when begging for people food. Give him a bite of chicken.

4. Take him for walks and let him strut his stuff, as his is wont to do. Receive the most smiles from strangers you've ever gotten in your life. Realize it's not you they're smiling at. Attempt to take the pup up to the park, but realize it's you who's being walked when he takes you right to the door of a doggy toy store. Actually consider buying him a toy before you remember you're unemployed.

5. Lift him up on the bed to snuggle when it's time for bed. Completely reconsider wanting a boyfriend when he farts and snores like every guy you've ever dated. Feel slightly guilty when you lift him back down to the floor.

6. Feel guiltier when the next night you not only move him back down to the floor but actually evict him to his bed in the living room because you just. can't. sleep. with. the. SNORING.

7. Give him some space when he's a little pissed at you the next day.

8. Make it up to him by taking him to a tropical location for some fun in the sun. But make sure it's not TOO much sun.

9. Feel your heart fully liquify at the site of this:

(Also be reminded you have the voice of a 6 year old.)

10. Maaaaaybe let him sleep in the bed tonight with you. Maybe.

Da Brooklynista

Michele Morrissey, the beautiful Brooklynista, wrote a really, really lovely post about me on her blog. You can read it here, but it's probably a better idea to just read the entire blog itself. Mich works in eco-conscious fashion, and her blog is gorgeous and full of inspiration. Thanks, Mich!

Halloweekend

(This entry is brought to you by the Justin Bieber Christmas album.)

Of all the weird stuff that happened this weekend, I guess the weirdest is that I had a dream last night that Jessica Alba was my cousin and I was defending her acting. This was interspersed with a dream that I saw a collie riding a bicycle standing up. I woke up so creeped out and for a second had no idea where I was. Then I heard GoGo, the dog I'm babysitting, make his weird snarfle snoring sound and remembered I'm house sitting.

This is my new, live-in boyfriend, GoGo.

The apartment is 12 blocks south of Jenna and about 20 from my apartment with Andrew and Sara. I fully feel like this is my own house. I'm loving pretending I live in a place this lovely with a pup this...hilarious. He snores while fully awake, and he begs for food by doing a little jump. I laugh literally every time he runs down the hallway.

SO, Halloween. This year was top of the list good. I look forward to this weekend all year, but this one was special for a reason I think is pretty obvious, but I'll say it anyway: done with treatment. Ahhhhhh. (That was a nice little satisfied sigh.) I was extremely happy with how my costume came out, and the party we had at the apartment was kickass. I saw so many people I haven't seen in a long time, and everyone was so, so nice and congratulatory. I felt really loved and (I always use this word, but) just fortunate that I made it to the other side of this whole thing and my relationships with a lot of people are the stronger for it.

Now that the mush out of my system, pictures:

unintentional fruit salad

Beyonce with child

Despite threats from my skin to quit and walk off my face, I painted myself up again for actual Halloween and went to the village. We tried to get a spot near the parade, but settled on a bar instead. It was really fun, but it's quite possible I overdid it with the vodka, because I had a little mini breakdown on the crowded streets of the village and freaked out that "Cloverfield was happening" when I saw some kind of riot and police lights. I...don't know. I haven't been beer tears drunk in a while (a 7 month while) so I guess I had to get it out of my system.

Bob Ross/Birthday Roy

Kate Middleton and "William"

GoGo typed this entire post, btw