Figuring out what I wanna be when I grow up.
Oop..I AM grown up...

Friday, November 30, 2012

Oh my god. Remember THIS?!?

Do you REMEMBER all the Prince proteg├ęs in the 80's?!?
Too much.

So sad everyone: "Vanity" had to quit the group in 1984, so she was replaced by Appolonia.  Come on--you remember Appolonia:


Is that not HORRID?!? Come ON! You have to watch a few seconds of it. My favourite though, of all the girls Prince "created" was Sheila E. She was so cool when she hit those drums:


She had the other girls beat, because even though she might have been wearing a teddy, she could sing AND play the drums.

Vanity 6 

Appalonia 6 (source)
note the teddy bear

you know you lurv it

oh, and don't forget about Prince...

this was "sexy" in the 80's

Don't you miss all that lacy, lingerie CHEESE?  Oh, the 80's.  

I want to know which of you had PURPLE RAIN style.  

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Weekend After I Found Out I Wasn't Going To Croak

Yeah, yeah.  You people think I'm soooooo virtuous.  You think that all I do is walk around like a militant anti-junkfood despot.  You think it's all salads and antioxidants here.

Well, I have news for you:  I'm not a total robot!  Yeah, I avoid as much processed food as possible, and yes I am militant about fructose and I never ever have artificial sweeteners, and I exercise 6 days a week and blah blah.

But...last Friday after a month of stress, I found out my hooter didn't have a tumor in it....and....and well....

I drew it for you.

So...right after I found out that the little bumple they biopsied in my hooter was benign, I was soooooooo happy and relieved.  So was The Man.  He decided we should immediately celebrate.

I NEVER get coffee and a donut.  I mean, I make coffee at home, but...well, whatever.

Then he thought we should REALLY celebrate!  HOORAY FOR TAKEOUT FOOD!

Saturday.  The Man bought these chocolate croissant thingies. I never get too horny for store-bought goodies, but whatever.  I'd give it a try with my morning coffee.


Crack.  It was chocolate pastry crack.

Later I was checking the pathetic, run-down state of our near-empty liquor cabinet.  Mon dieu! What's a liquor cabinet if you don't even have the ingredients to make a CRUSTY WIFE! (you can find the recipe HERE)

So, I told The Man that he was simply going to have to fork out some big bucks to re-stock that cabinet.

And then, when he got back from the liquor store, it was like freaking CHRISTMAS

Then my dad came over for late afternoon cocktails.  Do you people know how long it's been since I've had a RYE AND COKE?!?  DO YOU KNOW????  NO! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW?!?  YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!!!


Perhaps a little too good...

Well, if you've been spending time socializing and enjoying cocktails, you certainly don't have time to make dinner.  Luckily The Man is RESOURCEFUL!


By Sunday I didn't feel good anymore.  At all.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

The Book That RUINED My Less Healthy Life

Remember the good old days?

I do.

It would be a Saturday night. I'd be comfy cozy on the couch.  For some reason, there's this one angelic TV station that has been having Saturday night Sex & The City marathons for months and months and months.  And you know, no matter how many times I've seen those episodes, I never, ever get sick of them.

I will never, ever get sick of you.  I don't care what

Except for that season when Carrie dated Berger.  Blech. I hated Berger.

hey! I was so whiny and douchy and unappealing on the
show that S&TC fans can't stand me in ANYTHING
now!  Now THAT'S good acting!

Yeah. Any season except the one with Berger in it.  But then, I also hate when Carrie dated the politician who wanted her to pee on him...

Wait.. what was I talking about?

Oh yeah...the former life of a juicier, less concerned karen.

It would be Saturday night, I'd be all cozy on the couch with a giant bag of Doritos on my lap, and a rye and coke at my right, ice melting gently into the delicious, fizzy goodness.  That's right:  cramming orangey red corn triangles down my yap and washing it down with DELICIOUS POISON.

But no.  Not anymore.

Last March I got into torturous, de-humanizing circuit training exercise dvd's.  And then, on a whim, I signed this book out from the library:


And I ranted the hell out of what I learned in THIS POST.  Cuz I was FURIOUS.

*For the record, you should be furious too, because even though you're probably trying to be healthy with what you buy from the grocery store, chances are you are being SABOTAGED, and we're all bombarded by all the shit they put--not just in our food--in our bath washes, and that stuff they put on couches and rugs to make it stain-resistant and the awful plastics that are used for EVERYTHING AND

Okay, nevermind.  You guys didn't get furious the first time, so I'll just keep my fury to myself and hope that at least a few people empower themselves from the evil powers that be, and try to rid themselves of as many toxins as possible.

Oh yeah! Doritos!  Well, the thing is, I found out that Doritos has SIX DIFFERENT GLUTAMATES in it.  Sure, you've heard of Monosodium Glutamate, or MSG, right?  Ooo...bad...avoid MSG! Yeah, and just imagine:  those chips that I loved so much I composed a frigging SONG about them?  They have SIX of those bastards.

And glutamates are BAD!  If you consume enough of them, they actually damage your brain.


Dig this shit:

The third most used flavor enhancer in North American food, after salt and pepper, is a drug. Glutamic acid, most commonly found in the form monosodium glutamate (MSG) is classified as a food additive by both the Health Canada and the US Food and Drug Administration. It is actually drug-like in its effects, despite attempts by both government and industry to convince us otherwise. 

Everyone is susceptible to the toxic effects of glutamates. Glutamate is the most common neurotransmitter in the brain; that is, it is responsible for transporting chemical signals from neuron to neuron. To do this job, glutamate is rapidly released in minute quantities and then rapidly re-absorbed. If there is a high level of glutamates in the bloodstream, glutamate can enter the brain and cause the neurons to misfire, causing physical and psychological problems, and in extreme cases, permanent damage.  

(from All Glutamates Are Not Created Equal )

And I know what you're thinking:  karen's such a DOWNER now.   She's all nutrition this and nutrition that and I just want to eat my greasy fries and not have her harping on me like someone's hellish mother

DAMN RIGHT I'M GOING TO HARP!  That shit's f*cked up!  And now that I know all about it, I can't eat it any longer!!! I haven't had Doritos in MONTHS!

And as for that delicious rye and coke?  I love whisky!  I want to marry it!  Come on!  You've seen the ridiculous whisky love festival, right?!?


Yeah.  I lurved whisky.  I still LURV IT.  It hates me though.  I didn't read anything scary about whisky.  I mean, booze in general is bad, and if you're a lady and you have more than two measly drinks per day, you raise your risk of getting breast cancer ridiculously, but har har, whatever.

My problem was waking up with a racing heart.  Yes, and when you're up at 3 in the morning, and you're fervently praying not to die, and you're NOT EVEN RELIGIOUS FOR CRAP'S SAKE, then there is something very wrong, my friends.

So, do you know what I eat now on Saturday nights?  Or most nights for that matter, unless demon PMS wraps her cold, dead hands around my neck, starts to squeeze and hisses EAT SOMETHING OR I WILL KILL YOU...

Do you know what I eat now?

Nothing.  A big, shitty plate of nothing.

Because I read that if I eat before bed, my body is sooo busy pumping out insulin to mop that shit up that I can't produce enough growth hormone while I'm sleeping to look healthy.  Is this even true?  PROBABLY, but the point is

I'm like THIS NOW


THAT'S RIGHT! I'm freaking NEO from The Matrix now!  I've just been cut out of my nice, warm, slimy pod of blissful ignorance, shot down a dirty tube into a river of sludge called REALITY, and now I'm in REALITY, which in the movie is called Zion, and everyone else is still plugged in to the LIE and they're eating their Doritos and sucking down their HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP, and washing themselves with gorgeously scented chemical-laden bath washes, and it's sunny, and they wear cool clothes and they're HAPPY but nooooo not me....

I'm in ZION wearing RAGS and eating HEALTHY GRUEL and drinking bullshit cocktails with real juice instead of pop



I do feel pretty damn good though.

But damn, it sucks so hard.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Boob Saga Part 5 - The BIOPSY

So!  If you've missed the story, or whatever, just click the label "breast saga" at the bottom of this post.

On Thursday, after much bullshittery and phone tag and such, I went for my biopsy.      
I was unaware that Monday November 12 was a holiday for some and not for others.  Who knew that some people still got a day off for Remembrance Day?  This pissed me off, and I fired off a letter to the Prime Minister, because seriously--am I not important enough to mourn our veterans?!?

And incidentally, after I was reminded so many times that it was a holiday, all I could picture was a Friday afternoon hospital office filled with workers wearing party hats, drinking cocktails and dancing in a conga line to loud Spanish music.  In the meantime, faxes are pouring through for procedures for sick people, and they're falling on the floor as everyone screams LONG WEEKEND!  HOLLA!

Don't get all mad at me if you're a hospital worker.  I don't really believe this happened and I know you work hard.  I was just feeling sorry for myself, OKAY?!?

But whatever.  The point is, it was a long weekend, and I was told at least four (f*cking) times that because last weekend was a STAT HOLIDAY, things got backed up, and even though they submitted my request for a biopsy LAST FRIDAY, it was  A HOLIDAY, so haw haw, you know how it goes.  And even thought it was TUESDAY and I'd heard nothing about my biopsy appointment, I might not hear from the receptionist at the specialist's until THURSDAY because she was only there until NOON on Wednesday.

Did this deter KAREN?  Hellz no.  Be PERSISTENT, ladies.  I was on that phone. I was that lady's new best friend.  And lo and behold! I got me my appointment.  Nevermind that my x-rays were sitting on the radiologist's desk and he wasn't even planning on looking at them until FRIDAY but the specialist I saw for the consultation got on HIS ASS and bottom line


GAH!  That was the call I got on Wednesday.  It may take a while to get through the system, but every time they've called me back finally it's been all COME TOMORROW or COME TODAY...and do you know what that creates, people?


But did you need to know that?  No.

So, this past Thursday, I grumbled and wondered why the hell I couldn't eat anything?!?  In case I hurl on the table?  I was allowed to eat when they poked my thyroid! Sniff, sniff!


I was super nervous as I walked with my dad into the hospital.  Jelly legs and all.

Then I waited in the waiting room for not very long at all, before I was called in to get changed into one of those gorgeous blue robe thingies.  At least at the hospital they actually COVER your hoots.  Yeah, I'm talking to YOU, Dr. Specialist.

Then I had to go lie down on the bed in the ultrasound room, which was FREEZING and wait a few moments for the radiologist to come in, as he would be the one doing the biopsy, with an ultrasound technician to help.

Waiting was HIDEOUS, and I wished like crazy that I'd taken my last MAGIC PILL that morning.  STUPID KAREN! STUPID!


FINALLY, the doctor arrived, and he thought it would be all helpful and shit to explain EXACTLY what he would be doing:  wash the area, mark the area, freeze the area, make a small incision, insert the needle/chompy thingy that would take off bits of tissue for samples and...



This is when I felt like shrieking


Okay, so he did all that and I figured out that he would have to send the needle in on a angle so he could find that teeny nodule with the camera at the same time.  The needle made a noise like a 'stapler' and every time it made a little staple noise, I felt like growling YEAH, YOU GET THAT THING!!! GRRR!

And then it was done!  It was WAY less hideous, in my opinion, than a thyroid biopsy.  My sister explained why, in a most scientific way:

"Sure, because that's your NECK.  You use your neck to BREATHE and SWALLOW, but your boob is useless.  It just hangs there."

I was given a little ice pack and sent on my merry way.  Jelly legs and all.

Sooooooooooooooo happy it was over!  One more step DONE, BITCHES!!!!

Back at my house eating the McDonk's breakfast my dad bought for us...feeling good!  Feeling relieved!


But, I didn't.  I felt like I could, but I didn't.  Fun to draw though.

And now, I wait a week or so to find out the results.

Stay tuned!

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Monday, November 12, 2012

Boob Saga Part 4 - The Consultation

If you click the label "breast saga" at the bottom of this post, it should lead you to the whole boring story, and my super sub-par drawings! Hooray!

Okay, so what have I been up to lately?  OH RIGHT! Freaking out!  Yay!


I'm tired of freaking out.

I had a totally stupid convo with the tech lady in the x-ray department of the hospital.  Why the hell are we responsible for bringing our own mammogram x-rays with us to a consultation for a biopsy?  I mean, WHAT THE F*CK?!

Well, she was all confused that I thought I was getting a biopsy at the specialist's office, because they're always done in the HOSPITAL. Then she was all slightly chastising that it's a GOOD THING I called, because it's a HOLIDAY and she's the only one there, and she has to GO DOWN THE BASEMENT to get my x-rays and I'd BETTER GET THERE before THREE because it's a HOLIDAY and she'll be gone by then.

At that point I felt like shouting; "YEAH? IT'S NOT A FUCKING HOLIDAY FOR ME!"

Apparently the important people of the world get a day off for Remembrance Day yesterday.

Anyhoo, because she thought it was so weird I was going for a "biopsy" at the specialist's and was sure it would be just a consultation, I had to get on the phone AGAIN and double check with the specialist.

DAMN IT.  I was totally mentally prepared for a big old needle in the hoot.  I was so prepared in fact, that I was PISSED OFF when I found out it was just a consultation.  WHAT DOES HE NEED TO CONSULT WITH ME ABOUT?!?  I ranted.  JUST STICK THE NEEDLE IN!!!

But alas, that is not how the medical world works.  You must go through the tedious chain of command and all that bullshit.

So my dad drove me to the hospital, and we picked up the x-rays, and then we walked over NEXT DOOR TO THE MEDICAL BUILDING AND....



So we drove over to the correct medical building of Dr. Rajagoblahblah and waited for freaking ever.  Then they finally called me in.

"The Doctor will want to examine you, so take off everything from the waist up and put the robe on with the opening facing the front."

Okay.  No problem.

No problem, except the FREAKING ROBE is either made from someone extremely small and svelte, or it's made for a CHILD.

No way that thing would cover my honks.

Is this done on purpose?  You make it sexier?

This is what I imagined:

At this point I was just not stressed any longer.  The too small robe just made this whole business ridiculous.  I actually laughed a bit.

Well, I grabbed a handful of the robe, held it together, and waited FOR. EV. ER. for the doctor to come in.  I read a Reader's Digest magazine and then I gave up and started singing to myself.

Right after my scary visit with my doctor on Friday, My sister immediately posted this Bob Marley song to my facebook.  It made me cry at the time, but now I like it.

"Don't worry about a thing cuz every little thing, gonna be alright!"

FINALLY the doctor came in!  He was pleasant enough but businesslike.  The 'nodule' they are concerned about is so small he could not feel it by hand.

Apparently there is some sort of 6 point assessment scale for breast nodules.  If it's a '6' it's definitely cancer.  If it's a '5' it might not be cancer, but chances are, it's cancer.  If it's a '4' they don't know what it is and have to check it out.

My bumple is a 4.

Luckily it is so small, that if it is anything C-ish, it will be very easy to treat.  The doctor said it isn't anything I should "get excited about."

Good enough for me!

And so, tomorrow I'll get a phone call about when my biopsy is.  He kind of smiled apologetically: he'd requested the biopsy on Friday, but, well, YOU KNOW HOW IT IS--TODAY'S A HOLIDAY.


Come on ladies, it's time to sing:

Every Little Thing by Bob Marley on Grooveshark

Sunday, November 11, 2012

A Small Story About A Breast Part 3: The CALL-BACK!!

So, I went for my mammogram, right?  Of course I was hoping for the "all clear, everything looks good, come back in a year" message.  But with my luck?  That is almost never going to happen.

I had to go back for ANOTHER mammogram.  I was confused and thought they needed better pictures of my cyst.

Of course, I was nervous.  Who wouldn't be?

And there I was, back in that dreaded waiting room again, in a hospital gown, with the "fancy" plastic purse to hold my clothes.

The technician was trying to be very helpful.  She asked if I was aware of why I was back again.  "Because they want to get better images of my cyst?" I asked.

"No."  She said.  They were looking at a DIFFERENT area.

I felt the blood drain out of me.

And then things got creepier when she got out the permanent marker and started drawing on my hoot.

After another squeeze-a-thon, I got to walk down the hall for an ultrasound.  Standard procedure.

On the way home in the car, I lost it.  Sure, I can be melodramatic. That's a given.

And it's funny too, because the day before the appointment I felt good.  I kicked ASS during my workout session, and suddenly the words of Good Saint Jillian came to me from "Ripped In Thirty" level 4:


Then, the DAY AFTER going for the new mammo and ultrasound, it was my husband's 40th birthday.  I was in the kitchen with my girlie getting all set up to make the birthday cake.  The phone rang.

It was the Dr's office.  My doctor.  They wanted me to come in THAT MORNING.  I got off the phone, walked over to the couch and put my head between my knees, lest I barf.

And then I did what any good, grown woman does:  I FREAKED.  I brought my sister to the dr's with me.  My dad drove us there.

She told me I have a "suspicious" spot.  She told me that it's REALLY GOOD I came in to get that cyst checked out so they could find this and investigate.  She told me it's very common to get called back. She told me that the lump is so small I'd never have been able to find it myself, so in the event that it's anything "bad," it will be "highly treatable."

But I cried!  I cried because when my Mom went into the hospital finally, they told her she had stage 4 lung cancer, and even though this is nothing like that scenario, I was so frightened they'd say something scary like that.

So, tomorrow I go for a biopsy, and then I have to go through more agonizing waiting to find out.

There are actually a lot of comforting stories online about other ladies going through the exact thing I'm going through, and these little lumps all turned out to be nothing for them.

Hey, if there are any of you ladies out there who have been through this, and you've usually been too shy to comment, can you speak up please?  I could use some good stories right about now! I've been having a rollercoaster weekend:  one minute INVINCIBLE, and the next minute sobbing.  Apparently this is my new face:  with major bags under the eyes.

Stay tuned....


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