So, I had my second mamogram ever on Tuesday at 9:45 am. On Wednesday I had my third mamogram ever at 9:15 am.  In between those two times I had one whole xanax at 6: 30 pm followed by a 1/2 percocet at 7:30.  All I really wanted was to sleep on a white fluffly cloud that was surround by a pretty irredescent glittery bubble. (which even with the help that didn’t really happen until 2:00 am) 

I work until 6:00 pm and usually arrive home between 6:30 and 7:45.  My day went  well, although I was a little stinky because you can’t do anything to make your self smell pretty before a Mamogram. (honestly I probably smelled like onions, for some reason that is what my BO smells like even though I don’t eat them, in fact I hate onions, although I will cook with them.  Me not liking onions is something we don’t talk about in my family, since my father grew up as an onion farmer and “Oh the horror and shame of having a son *AND* a daughter who hate onions, and to add insult to injury SHE went and married another Anti-Onionist.’ So why on earth would my body odor be that of anOnion?) <—Tangent. 

I go through my day in complete vapid blondeness, working….tweeting…putting on lipgloss….selling clothes at way too much of a discount, but generally happy and go-lucky.  Not thinking anything really at all…So when I get home my loving husband tells me the hospital called twice…WHAAAAA ?  I listen to the message and it is from 3:fucking thirty, saying I need to call today by 6:oo pm or tomorrow between 7:30 am and 7:00 pm.  Um, ‘Why’ I think to myself  ‘on the day I get the message at 6:30 are they there only until 6:00, and the next day they are there until 7:00?’ Then I ask my husband why he didn’t call me to let me know?  And then I think to myself, ‘Why didn’t they call me at work where I was when they called the house BOTH FUCKING TIMES’  So I’m all, um bewildered and trying not to panic, or, ooohh I don’t know cry or pour a Martini and smoke a cigarette. Trying to talk to my husband about it and well he is just looking kind of angry and I ask him if he is mad and all he says was ‘It’s not my fault’ (meaning that I didn’t get the message)…WHAAAA? I explain that I am not blaming him for not getting me the message, I am just a hugely little concerned because  typically they only call when something looks abnormal, while most likely nothing is wrong, they see something odd.  So once explained he tells me that what ever it is , whether it is something or nothing we will work through it together. I do love my husband.

So I spend my night in my little glittery bubble floating on my fluffly cloud, tweeting and watching Millionair Matchmaker and I still can’t figure out if I like the hostess (host?). Is she funny, cute, manish…just confused by her and the show, it was my first time and I had made myself a nice little cocktail of pharmaceuticals  (I am still in pain from my root canal over my root canal which is why I made mixed a cocktail for panic and pain.)

I drifted off to sleep about 2:00 am and woke up at  8 they said come by 9:15 stay for an hour and then go home and cry and rock back and forth.  So I get there and I’m in the waiting room in my gown AGAIN, stinking again. And reading about how Tara Reid is finally  happy with her body, and thank fucking God or else that would have kept me up until two am again. So about this time I start become a Buddhist and try to stay equanimous and let go, and then you know I become all Roman Catholic and say I will never smoke another cigarette, Please God let it all be okay…then My True Self enters the conversation and say’s ‘You know what you should do regardless, you should go buy a pack of Lucky Strikes, go home, pour a big fat martini up, dirty, with olives and go sit on the deck and enjoy your life!’  See this is why I am just not religous in the organized sense of things.  My true self will always win…and then we all got interupted by the tech who brought me into the room and said its your left boobie we are looking at. Well of course its the left one because that is the one that I have been thinking may have something going on ( and I don’t mean in the ‘There’s a party in my boobies and you are invited’ kind of way.)….for about 8 months now so lets just get rid of it, oh no I didn’t just think that I am not ready to not have ma boobies, ma boobies are rocking. I know I am an idiot to ignore these things…just stupid, but that is how I roll.

So on we go with more x-ray’s. ( I think I have had about 12 in the past two weeks on various parts of my body) But, I swear to God, Buddah and My True Self that this technician was trying to pop what ever it was they were trying to look at or she was trying to force it out with the evil machine of boobie destruction (knowing me the exray will reveal a hidden nipple or some other oddity). Owwwww it hurt, just way more than was necessary. Then she was done… and then she came back and did it again, Bitch!

Any way…I am more than happy to say that after all that everything is fine, which I pretty much knew but there is always that chance…and I get so mad that I let my self get caught up in negative thoughts like, ‘Oh god, what would I do with out my boobies’ or  ’well, geez… what kind of new boobies would I get if I survive?’  And then I think how thankful I am to be healthy and live a blessed life. And I am grateful.  As is my husband, he is quite fond of my boobies, even the evil left one!

So instead of the martini and lucky strike thing I went home, made myself  smell pretty, put on some lipstick and went to work and didn’t complain about anything. (except for the pain in my tooth…) 

A Sante! Mes Amis.

(said with a very fine french accent holding a beautiful glass of Dom)

With Great hesitation, and I mean great hesitation, I threw my self into the doormat positon and invited my college bestfriend/roommate, whom I have not seen in several thousand years…yes dear internet I am that old.  Not to say that she made me feel like a doormat then, but I may associate that time of knowing her as being somewhat like a doormat for others. To say that we were very close is an understatement.

(isn’t it nice how the font changed from the pretty grey above to the harsh black below with out me doing a damn thing?)

She has been to my home for Christmas, I have been to her home for Yom Kippur.  She has eaten my mothers Croquembouche and I have eaten her mother’s Koogle (that just sounds totally sexual and jewish). We have been on spring break together,

We both got the same tattoo at different times at Jim’s Tattoo Parlor in New Hampshire.

At that time, you know around the turn of the century, if you wanted a tattoo you had to leave the state of Massachusetts. 

Kitty could drink this shit neat,

but if you wanted ink you had slum your way into some place that looked a lot like this,

to come out with something that looked a lot like this. 

Which now looks a lot like this. 

And hope that you didn’t leave with some unseen godforsaken disease.

Post college we have lived very different lives. She got married right away and started procreating immediately and then developed a nice career for herself.  I, on the other hand floundered around dating multiple douche bags.  Working in jobs (not developing a nice career) that I didn’t much care for, getting fired, absolutely not procreating in anyway, thank God. All while trying to attain the lofty goal of being an actor.  Until one day I thought to my self ‘I hate these people, Actors are the worst, most evil, flaky people out there’ plus you know I was almost 2000 years old at that point and felt the need to try and be a little more grounded and oh you know, make some money.  (since douchbag # 2 was spending it all, on other chicks, with out me…ooohhh yeah cause that’s how I roll!)

Okay, um where was I going…Oh right. So after thousands of years gone by my college best friend (CBF from here on out) came for an overnight a couple weeks back, she brought me a gift (a nice pretty gift) and some wine  ( some how after not seeing each other for eons, she still knows her way into my heart) which we drank all night long.

This is me after drinking all that wine she gave me. 

She posted this on the web for lots and lots of people to see…. obviously I am okay with that.  

So here are some of the things I have learned after my slumber party

1. While life and time and distance may make things seem different. Things don’t really change that much.  We still are able to have a great time together.
2. Just because someone’s life has gone in a different direction then mine does not make them weird.
3. Having your CBF come visit you and your new best friend (husband) is cool too, (I think they liked each other), not awkward at all.
4. I am thankful for all of the great people I have in my life that have changed my doormat, from this 

 to this

To this Finally.

What I have also learned is that no matter who you are, if I care for you, and if you hold a special place in my heart, then you will always be with me and you are always welcome.  The life I have built with my husband is something I want to share with you. And have a good laugh and a few drinks and whatever else.  Cheers!

Here we are, reconnecting….do you think she had some work done, her head is awfully round and shiny.