The 1/2 Way Update: I might need Ripley to come to chemo.

Today I will have chemo infusion 8 of 16, which means I'll officially hit my 1/2 done mark at 4:30 or so.

Fun facts about Taxol/paclitaxil.

It was derived from the Pacific Yew tree in the late 60's/early 70's. Did you know yew is one of the trees that is universally fatally toxic? Yeah...even birds have to be careful not to swallow the seeds: the only non-toxic bit is the little jelly around seeds. Yep. I'm not kidding when I say I'm voluntarily poisoning myself every week.

Important note: the Pacific Yew is now endangered. Yes, directly because of cancer: it took a while for scientists to be able to synthesize the drug, and since it's the bark that's used to make Taxol and skinning a tree is pretty much as fatal as skinning anything else, I'm EXTREMELY aware of the sacrifices made to keep my cancerous ass alive. Or, cancerous boob, I suppose. Thankfully, it's now semi-synthesized.

Much of the negative response during infusion (oh, and I have some), is because it's essentially plant based histamine response. Two very important things to note from that sentence.

First, for all the anti-chemicals-in-anything folks who might read this: PLANT BASED ALL NATURAL DOESN'T MEAN IT'S GOOD FOR YOU. Hi, fatally poisonous plant without processing, and guess what? Still fatally poisonous. Taxol (like all chemo infusion drugs) is specifically measured out in doses based on my weight and health status, so it's a new personalized dose every time and monitored closely in case breaks/changes are needed. I'm all about natural remedies to support science, essential oils and stuff help mitigate some side effects. I wouldn't recommend chewing yew bard because it's "more natural" than Taxol...although I suppose that's a way to Darwin your way out of worrying about cancer anymore.

Second: I have hay fever already. So...I am pumped full of Benadryl and steroids before treatment (the Benadryl is part of the pre-treatment infusion bag of tricks, along with enough saline that I'm glad my IV has wheels for bathroom breaks). Unfortunately, MY during-infusion reaction is really intense sternum and hip bone pain, and low back muscle pain. SINCE WHEN IS ALLERGIC RESPONSE BONE AND MUSCLE PAIN? Luckily, it only lasts 8 minutes (last week Mom timed it, since she's a nurse and would be paying attention to those things) and it's not actually bad enough to stop or delay treatment. Honestly, I'd rather not stop or delay...even 8 more weeks is a long time to look at for me right now. I'm fucking tired.

I'm not joking you guys...the sternum pain gives me a serious "fuck, I really AM going to die an alien host" moment every week. (I considered adding an Aliens video here, but that's mean because it's a gross video and you're welcome.) Also I'm pretty glad that hasn't happened yet, because have you EVER seen a huge room of people with wheelie IV stands try to outrun anything? Ok, neither have I, but I can imagine it, and let me tell you that'd be a huge mess all around. Plus nobody has any energy in that room. I wonder if cancer and chemo is a transferable poison to aliens.

Anyway, that went off the rails a bit. I'm off to get my drugs in, and hope there's no secret sneaky creatures in my chest today.

8 more after today.

Updated because I put the damn date in instead of the actual number...today is the 9th and I had my 8th infusion, which means I have 8 left. Good lord...I blame chemo brain. 

I Dub Thee "Herman the Moulien"* (pronunciation updated)

So I have a (perhaps foolish) goal to submit at least two pieces of writing every month for publication this year. Yeah, yeah, I know...but it's not a sparkler-and-champagne induced resolution thing like losing weight or some other random general "goal." 

I'd like to say I have a really specific goal, such as writing 1k words every day for a year. But reality is a salty bitch, and I flat out don't have that sort of drive for anything (it's a goal I've tried in the past). 

What I DO have is a 2014 Dragons calendar with fantastic and varied artwork, all of which inspires at least one short story. I have a list of essays/article possibilities. I have two regular outlets for contest submissions both quarterly and monthly. And I am armed with a very large spreadsheet to track all this shit so I can pretend i'm an organized soul. 

I am not organized...you should see my desk. 

Anyway, yesterday was 1/31, and therefore (of course) I was doing last-minute revisions and changes because I had a invite to submit an essay in my email last THURSDAY, and the Glimmer Train monthly contest due by last night with a story only 3/4 finished. 

Why do you care? You probably don't...I probably wouldn't were I you. However, I'm behind on the blog posts I want to write (oh YES there is a spreadsheet tab for those, too) and I'm just too damn worn out today to give you a real/entertaining/funny thing that's in any cohesive form. So, that's my explanation why the rest of this post is completely random shit that isn't big enough for a real post, so it's mishmashed into this one. (Screw you spellchecker: I vote that if "selfie" can live in the Oxford English Dictionary, so can "mishmashed" so there. And how. Neener.)

• My backyard looks like a Honduran jungle. This is not a euphemism for something dirty (I'm looking at YOU and your filthy mind, of which I wholly approve): I do not mean any part of my own person, but the actual fenced-in area behind my living space in which grass and some sort of weird weeds have attempted to swallow the dogs in the past week. Unfortunately, our lawn dude seems to have vanished. I'm afraid of toes and lawn mowers...also, I've never seen the Honduran jungle...so maybe I should correct that and say Mexican or Trini (I've seen those, and so am not a liar). 
• The visitor in our house who appears to have made its home UNDER the cabinet below the kitchen sink has not only eaten every fucking roach trap in the house and NOT died, as any polite rodent would do, but it also chewed into the bag of potatoes and ate some of one. Sigh. Bastard. 
• Herman (I don't know if it's a rat or a mouse or an alien...moulien? at this point, since the fucking thing eats roach poison and doesn't die but it avoids the mouse/rat bait like a damn champ) scared the shit out of my polar bear dog the other night. He tik-tik-tiked out to he kitchen at about 3am (DEMON hour, people) on the tile, there was some indiscriminate scrabbling (I couldn't tell which critter was trying to run, but I can imagine both the Moulien AND Chewy facing opposite directions in the kitchen, legs pumping like mad on the slippery tile and going absolutely nowhere), and eventually Chewy ran back into the bedroom. Of course he came to MY side of the bed, plopped his giant noggin on my pillow and breathed like a stalker all up in my face. I told him to go back to bed...he sighed heavily like I was a lazy bitch and don't I see he's TRYING to tattle here? and lay down on the floor next to my side of the bed. 
• Herman is still out there. I'm considering dipping the poison in peanut butter or nutella or something. Maybe potato slices, since he seems to enjoy russets. He's probably a Rodent of Unusual Size waiting to get my toes while I'm cooking one day. As if I don't have ENOUGH trouble with balance as I already am. 
• Yesterday, I spent most of my afternoon spelling the word "labyrinth" about seventeen thousand different ways seven different ways. Each was incorrect. The caption for the art I was using as inspiration was DIRECTLY in front of me on my desk while I wrote. The caption? "The Dragon's Labyrinth." Awesome. 
• Yesterday, I received one of the best compliments I've ever had about a paragraph I wrote. That's not a funny vignette: just a random moment in which I thought "huh, maybe I don't suck that bad at this" and it made my day. 

And on that note, I'm off to play Mario 3D while sports are happening on the TV. I'm only interested in the Superbowl outcome to find out whether Captain America or Star Lord lost the bet anyway.

*Husband says I should clarify. "Moulien" = mouw-lee-in (mouse/alien). Apparently the mental translation "moo-lee-in" also comes to mind, and makes even less sense than the gibberish I normally accomplish. 

UPDATED: Why Yes, I DO Prefer Non-Test-Tube Men, Thanks

Sign on my way to work this morning:

Homemade   males*

Now I'm 99% certain the males in my life of all species in all capacities are 100% homemade by their parents. No plastic Ken dolls here, and no test tube or clones. 

Of course, one can never be certain the body snatchers or Stepford scientists haven't been here, I guess.

Perhaps the Ancient Aliens dude with the super hair has a point? Are Homemade Males off the rack or custom made? 

That's not weird or gross at ALL...

*P.S. Said sign is for a Mexican restaurant; pretty sure it just lost the "Ta" from tamales. 

Which prompts the "what sauce options come with homemade males" question.

UPDATE: the raging discussion at work today is exactly what SORTS of upgrades and add-on options are available from a Homemade Males store.

Sadly, a cleaning option seem to be the most popular (self-cleaning AND house-cleaning were mentioned).

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS??

This will haunt my dreams. Proof the interwebz are possessed? You're welcome.


BEARLACC!!*

An alien contemplating its next victim?

A balding werewolf? (Team Jacob in 30 years!).

A SyFy Saturday night Creature? Really, who knows?

*Or it's a bear, after an unfortunate encounter with an overzealous barber and a set of industrial-strength clippers. Seriously, THIS is why animals wear coats. They look damn silly naked.

In case you're wondering, Han (my awesome nephew) utterly disapproves of these shenanigans.



DUDE! That smells TERRIBLE!

This post probably isn't as funny as I find it at midnight-thirty. I turn into a pumpkin at 10:30, so WHO THE HELL IS WRITING THIS CRAP? 

Fancy-Pants Hotel, or Den of Iniquity?

Last weekend we had an un-aptly-named "Staycation," because neither of us had the available PTO to go to Florida with the rest of the family.

We stayed here: The Graves 601, partially because the location is pretty darn ideal for wandering around downtown Minneapolis (The Graves is across from Target Center/Target Field, next to Kieran's Irish Pub, 2 blocks away from Nicollet Mall, and right next to a Starbucks...not that the Starbucks locale had ANYTHING to do with my decision when making reservations. Really!), partially because the price was slightly less than a few other luxury hotels in the area, and partially because I'm morbid and enjoyed the idea of staying in "The Graves."

The room was Ikea-esque: ultra modern with the whole low-profile bed, small-ish modern furniture, and a shower-only bathroom. Of course, the shower-only bathroom was acceptable since it was one of those 5 head massaging showers that hit you from the top of your head to your knees...awesome.

What I was NOT aware of (nor does their website say this anywhere): the Graves is a totally suggestive sex room. Is that because it's across from a major concert venue or because it's a business hotel during the week? I'm not sure, and honestly I don't think I want to know.

The naughtiness begins with artwork:

Those are supposed to be a woman holding a pear. That does NOT look like a pear to me: that looks like a weird, bumpy, GIANT green scrotum. Seriously, alien testicles on the wall in our room, cradled gently by a female hand. So apparently it was a sci-fi sex room.

Then we looked in the mini bar. Not only was there some premium (and ridiculously expensive) mini-bottles of booze (crown royal...for $15 a shot), but the "extras" in the minibar included:

• A disposable camera.
• A "female intimacy kit" in a charming black box, including various lubes.
• A "regular" intimacy kit, including 2 condoms and "gynecological" wet wipes.
• A shoehorn.
• A wine bottle opener.
• A bandage/first aid kit (in case the shoehorn didn't work?)
• Two types of suggestively labeled breath mints.

On the flip side, the food in the hotel's restaurant was fantastic, the view was pretty awesome, and the staff was very nice and accommodating. All in all I'd recommend that hotel for a romantic weekend, but maybe without the alien nut art.