Beautiful frozen birthday cake. RIP.

I had a big chunk of cannoli (minus the cannoli) birthday cake in the freezer. Because I love cake and can't seem to throw out food I love.

However, having asked my daughter and husband if they "want any cake" (meaning, I wanted it!) for the past couple of months with no takers, I finally broke down and sliced a piece off tonight for dessert. I'm uber-hormonal. I figured, why not? And as I indulged in the creamy frosting, the fluffy cake, I realized - I don't need this shit.

So, I threw the rest out. After I practically licked the plate clean. Whatever. I'm hormonal. And I have cancer. I might die tomorrow!

But, I managed to tip the container over in the garbage can to hear an audible, sad, and calorie saving "THUNK". And I felt good about my decision, luckily... otherwise, I can picture myself digging through the garbage to see if I can salvage the hunk of cake. Maybe I could slice away the sides and save the inside. Ew.

There it is. Perhaps I AM growing up. My willpower has been a bit teeter-totterish recently, though I've kept my weight hovering below or on point with my pre-diagnosis weight. Not without effort - it takes SO much work to remain my size with the tamoxifat. But, I'd rather live and be thin, than live and be fat, or go off the meds to make my weight issues easier... and die.

Sometimes, when I look at the situation realistically, or at least in black-and-white, I realize that I have choices. Life is like that, but when you have an illness? Shoo. The crap is in technicolor, but there still is a "good vs. evil" vibe.

Good - stay on stupid meds that may have kept my mom alive for more than she was here. Perhaps she could have seen me past my 18th year on the planet. Perhaps she could have seen 51 herself. But, at least I painted her nails for the first time, at 49. Bright red. I remember it well. Her nails were black from the years of chemo. I finally showed up with a bottle of fire engine red polish and told her she couldn't fight me on it. I mean, at that point - it's not like she was afraid of getting cancer from nail polish! (Disclaimer: I now use all natural cosmetics, including nail polish). Because I don't want any more damned cancer than I have. But she was dying. And we knew it.

I also remember visiting her the day before one of her millions of surgeries. I brought her black lace panties. She laughed - my Very Conservative Mother thought it was hysterical. And, in my 17 year old mind, I had no idea that you don't wear any undies during surgery! But, she appreciated the thought and thought I was a hairball crazy. But, I am her daughter. We were/are different kinds of crazy. She was very rebellious considering her upbringing. Me? Well, I'm rebellious in my own special ways. Never to harm anyone, but just to enjoy life. And really, I'm a homebody and a loner like she was. Nobody guesses from my profession, but it's true. In a noisy situation I'll look for a quiet space, or simply crawl into a little crevice in my brain and hide until the noises calm down. My daughter is the same.

I was on TV yesterday! I missed part of it, since we don't have tv, but caught some online. Now the whole show is online, but I watched enough. I guess I've done it enough times, and while it's exciting, always, I just am too busy and tired to really get caught up. Plus, the mix sucked.

But my girls looked great! Nobody would guess that I had a big bag o' stuff in that dress! It's nice to look and see that I look "real".

Real cancerous.

I admit that I miss having 2 actual breasts. Not that I really needed them anymore, functionally, but it's weird to not feel one side. And not be able to do pushups. Or flys. Dips are challenging, because my foobie crumples up like someone balling up a piece of paper to throw when the teacher's back is turned.  So I just make sure that nobody is looking (except me - I can't help it! It's right there!!!)  And my triceps will NOT die because of this cancer shit. I am not going to have a flabby tricep like this! My great grandma, at a thousand years old, was adorable and spunky and thin, but boy, her triceps pretty much hung to her knees. No, thank you.

So, that's it. My vanity has helped my quest in keeping healthy. Cake in garbage. Triceps intact.

Will be south of the border in a few days for some gigs. I love traveling, but hate the thought of not drinking a lot of water (bottles sealed, please!) and eating NO PRODUCE. Jebus. I am the produce queen. I know I can probably bring my own apples. I heard a hilarious story about someone I know who recently got stopped for an apple in his bag. It was apparently not from Mexico, but imported from the US and forgotten about. He argued with the officer. Finally, he was told that "this apple lost it's citizenship when you flew into Mexico". Come on, that shit is hysterical!!! I'm still laughing about that. Perhaps I will pack a stash in my bag - 10 days without live enzymes is a long time. Let's hope Montezuma is not seeking revenge...