So how has 2010 been treating you, so far? I’ve been having to practice writing the 2010 part. Why? Because, I still haven’t figured out how the numbers are situated yet. I keep writing 2100, in which case I’d be about 250 years old. But look on the bright side. I could say that I survived chemotherapy!!
It sure didn’t seem like I would this past weekend. I had my second round, starting last Monday. Everything was all fine and groovy, other than the tired thing, until Friday when I started scratching. By Saturday I had a large splotchy, itchy rash all over my body and for some reason I thought Married Guy would know what to do, you know, since he touches skin all day. So I called him, since the Cancer Center was closed. Sunday the itching was so intensive I almost went to the emergency room. He finally called back on Sunday night and said one word: Benadryl. Duh! Okay, maybe I just also needed to hear a comforting voice behind the word “Benadryl” having been locked up in my snowbound apartment all week and only talking to my mom about her cat and furniture we had in 1963.
I did go to my cancer center the next day and talked to Dr. Really-Nice Brian and his evil assistant Nurse Makes You Feel Like and Idiot Even Though You Have Cancer. Ever since I “yelled” at her back in September after she sent me to a surgeon for no reason, she’s always ready with all her super efficient answers for all my apparently fake ailments.
Like before I had my radiation and was deathly tired, pale and feverish, I asked about all the fevers I was getting. Her: “Oh, it must be menopause.” Me: “That was four years ago, bitch dear”. And then this week when I went in, she looked at me, obviously still traumatized by the memories of my severe and horrific tongue lashing from September, because everyone who knows me personally knows how totally terrifying and scary I am, right Guardcat? (she’s pointing and laughing at me).
Anyways, I go in and have to pull down my pants for Dr. Really-Nice Brian (gladly, you said you were married, right?) and Nurse Ratched to display the rash between my thighs and she says, “Oh, must have been some dry skin from winter” and then evil smile.
Anyways, it WAS an allergic reaction to my chemotherapy and only 5-7% of the people taking my medication get it.
Fortunately by Wednesday, it was about 85% gone, so I was able to go back to my drawing class which I had missed the week before. Missing my class anytime is difficult , but particularly in the winter when my yearly depression descends. So after eating a little Chinese food at the yuppie grocery store, I drove to my drawing class. I was fairly certain I was co-hosting with Charlemagne, but he hadn’t hosted last month, so I wasn’t sure.
But walking up the stairs I heard that familiar voice and it sounded way better than it usually did, I guess because I hadn’t been out socially for a while and of course, because I knew there was a hug waiting at the end of it.
It was a smaller class than usual with my least favorite model. The one who, a couple of months ago confessed his genitals might be kinda red because he was getting so much sex. Thanks, Mr. TMI.
My main problem with him, I mean besides him, is the fact that our reserve of models has fallen so dangerously low, he is like the substitute teacher the female staff is uncomfortable around. He’s there anyways to draw, so if a model doesn’t show up, he’ll just tear off his clothes, including his gaudy Simpsons underwear and whip it out, so to speak and we’ll be forced to sit through basically the same poses he’s done week after week after week and its like being forced to watch endless reruns of “Joanie Loves Chachie”, except naked.
And I feel bad. Because I had gotten sick of other frequent models from the past. Like the Nazi Model, who would do this particularly terrifying bending over pose, where if you were at the receiving end, pretty much looked like page 36 in “Pap Smears for Dummies”. Ick! I mean I got so sick of her I started doing really mean drawings of her, like with horns and holding pitch fork with flames coming out of her mouth. Oh dear. No wonder I was still in therapy at that point.
Fortunately, I sat next to Charlemagne, who had his usual humorous running commentary throughout the night. Unlike any of the other hosts, he likes to run contests and give away prizes. I’m not eligible since I’m a board member which is totally unfair…do you hear me, Charlemagne?? I mean, its true he was only giving away some used watercolor pencils, but still. How many places do you go where you can win a prize by imitating a “Celebrity” laugh?
A couple of people did give it a go, just doing boring normal people laughs and pretending to be like Fergie’s pilate instructor or something. I was just sitting there looking at Mr. TMI, feeling totally uninspired. It wasn’t until I was in the shower this morning, that I realized how I could have totally won that contest. You want a celebrity laugh?
And how appropriate for a male model. Of course Mr. “TMI” would think it was about him, if you had said pecker.
Naturally during the break, after showing Charlemagne my carrot unicorn (you had to be there) , I got trapped, ensnared cornered by Zue, who still thinks we’re like BFF’s, even though I get that stricken look everytime she walks towards me. We always have announcements at the break and when we finish the official ones, she’ll keep going and going because she so needs to be heard.
Like for instance, next week(!!!!) she will be demonstrating lighting for cameras to take photos of models to make paintings from. OMG, no way! Yes way, witty! So of course she felt the need to come over to me and explain what an incredibly complex and difficult this task is (holding a piece of white cardboard up to bounce the flash).
She really does corner you physically too. It makes me uncomfortable. So she’s going on and on and on about cardboard and flashes and I finally had to stop her.
“Zue, I’m a photographer. I used to work at a newspaper. We had a photo studio. I’ve been photographed in a studio. I’ve had photos published. I’ve had my photos in museums. Thanks for the information, now can I get a cup of juice, please?”
I guess since I’m so knowledgeable, I will instead be her model. But she has assured me I shall remain clothed. Oh goodie. And of course, I probably won’t really need a flash, since I’m whiter than Antarctica and would probably create an instantaneous, if not slightly erotic Aurora Borealis if she tried to use one.
Charlemagne cleared out a little early so I finished cleaning up with JS and Tall Skinny Guy. JS had asked me about school. I still haven’t signed up for classes starting in a mere two weeks. My problem? Mostly depression. Not sure how things will go with my health. So suddenly Tall Skinny Guy looks at me and says, “Well then, we’ll just give you a big party….we’ll give you a big BIG party and….and…we’ll make you a very special fairy princess!!”
I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. A 51-year old very special fairy princess? Well dang! That sounds pretty darn good! I mean, I think he was trying to cheer me up. Right?
Incidently, I won a photo contest this last week in a local alternative newspaper. Some of you already know about this, but I thought I would share the photo with the rest of you.
I guess the wings in this photo prove the fairy princess thing.