Must Wear Beige

“Oh for the love of God, I don’t want to go to this bridal shower today.  Why do I have to?  Steven – why do I have to go to this godforsaken shower?”

“You owe me,” yelled Steven from down the hall.  “I went to that hideous work event with you so now you have to go to my partner’s third wife’s bridal shower.”

“But she’s a nightmare!  Major narcissist, faux listener, gossips 24/7 & only wants to talk about her farm to table lifestyle blog – which by the way is hilarious because she doesn’t even cook, so what exactly is she bringing from farm to table?  She’s going to be a horrible mother, just horrible.”

“Why don’t you write that in her card, I’m sure she would love those words of support.”

“Very funny.  That whole group are like the Nouveau Millennial Stepford Wives.  And I just ‘can’t’ with the beige theme.  I mean the invite actually said “Must Wear Beige” – who does that?  And you know how washed out beige makes me look.”

“It’s a rough life hon, I feel for ya,” Steven said as he skipped down the stairs.

“Okay, focus Susan focus.  I know I have a light caramel shift-dress in here somewhere, that will have to do.  And my cream vintage sweater with the sequins and rhinestone buttons, that’ll look good together.  

“Steven?”

“I’m downstairs, what?”

“These girls are very minimalist, can I get away with rhinestone buttons and sequins?”

“Have you lost your mind?  You are a grown-ass woman, wear what you want!  As long as it’s not hot pink or lime green, you’ll be fine.  I mean you’re twice the age of these women, so who cares?”

“Nice.  Thank you for reminding me that I could me this woman’s mother.  Like I’m not feeling ancient enough.  They’ll all have that perfect glow-y skin & thick eyebrow-look and I’ll just be sitting there like their plump grandma wearing a loud sparkly sweater.”

“Actually I think her grandma and her mother are going to be there, so you can hang out with them if it makes you more comfortable.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh.  I’m going to murder you.”

“How?  How are you going to murder me.”

“I can’t tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Ha!” Steven said as he rounded the corner into their bedroom with a glass of wine for her.

“Drink this, it’ll make you feel better and I’ll bring you over so don’t worry about driving.”

“Thanks,” Susan said as she took a large sip.

“You can add some lip balm to your cheeks to get that glow-y look you mentioned.  I read about it in The New York Times Style Section.”

“You read a beauty article about using lip balm on your face?” Susan asked. 

“Yep.  I know you’re not a huge fan of makeup and beauty stuff, but some of these products are amazing!  Last week I bought a facial exfoliating cream and I love it.  My skin looks brighter and it’s softer.  Not that you ever noticed.”

“I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“By the way, don’t forger her name – it’s Astamaria – last time you called her ‘Astralmaria.’”

“I did not, you are such a liar!” Susan said laughing.

Steven kissed Susan’s neck and whispered, “don’t let those gals get to you, you’re my Queen and you’re beautiful as fuck!”

Sparkle Brain

I never, ever remember that I had a brain aneurysm coiled a few yrs ago, but I just found this…

I can now officially say that I have a sparkly brain!  On Wednesday I had my brain aneurysm “coiled” with platinum – so swanky!  The surgery went smoothly, for which I’m very grateful.  But My God Almighty, I have never experienced headaches like that.  I spent the night riding waves of intense nausea mixed with the most brutal pain.

As with all my medical experiences, it had an absurd, comical side to it: the patient next to me had a visitor, (dressed head-to-toe in bedazzled splendour), who was blasting Celine Dion while performing a weird interpretive dance (in an ICU-type recovery room). And no, I’m not exaggerating.

The doctors wrote me a prescription for Percocet to help with the headaches and I was paranoid that I would become addicted. That I would end up like Nurse Jackie, doing anything to secure my next high.  Once home though the drugs were a godsend and I spent most of the day dreaming of Iron Maiden – who were dressed like Wizards – flying through the sky!

(Author’s Note: A special thanks goes out to my cancer!  Had I not been in the hospital being treated for Mesothelioma – where I ended up with “Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome” after a bad reaction to a drug – I never would have had my brain scanned and my aneurysm would have gone untreated.  So thank you Mesothelioma!)

Leroy

Leroy, my precious street-dog, is on the decline & my heart feels like it is breaking into tiny little bits, like a crumbling cookie. People always say, “oh how wonderful that you rescued that dog!” But really, it’s how wonderful that he rescued me. When I found him wandering on the streets of Los Feliz, I lassoed him with my H & M shrug and brought him home. Because what else could I do? He saved me from an unhappy marriage. He brought joy into my life and into the life of my beloved Corgi, little Quinny. The two of them were inseparable rascals, always up to some backyard shenanigans. When Quinny became very sick and I had to put her down, Leroy and I mourned her death. We were partners in sadness.

For the last year as I’ve been recovering from cancer treatment Leroy has been by my side, but now it seems his days as my canine personal support worker are numbered. We are up every night with his “doggy dementia,” and I am well aware that those who love me are worried about my health. I am not sleeping because of his cognitive dysfunction and that leaves me with a weakened immune system. Not ideal for a cancer patient. And yet, he still loves his walks. He enjoys the rush of finding a pizza crust in a bush. At the dog park he is reserved, careful not to get in the way of the younger more agile dogs, but he still thrives on it. The other day he met a dog as big as a pony and that thrilled him to no end. He still has a little sparkle left in him, but less & less. My heart is starting to prepare itself for when the sparkle runs dry.

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