Can You Feel the Radiation Tonight?
August 9th, 2004radiate (VERB: 1. To send out, issue or emerge in rays or waves: Heat radiated from the stove. 2. To extend in straight lines from or toward a center; diverge or converge like rays: Spokes radiate from a wheel hub. 3. To spread into new habitats and thereby diverge or diversify.)
You know, I talk a really good game and for the most part I put up halfway-to-nearly honest things about myself on this here blog, b/c it helps me sort my head out, and sometimes it just feels better to put it out there. But I’m going to be fully honest for a minute, and I’m gonna embrace a countryass phrase while I do it: I’m sore, ya’ll. I’m fucking sore as hell that I’ve had to go through this all-too-heavy health experience recently, and the heartache one before that. Despite the casual, easygoing front I (try to) write from, things crack beneath the surface; I’m not 100% cool with changes hitting my life lately, namely this Radiation scenario I am about to start later this afternoon. I’m not even TRYING to complain here — please, beat me like a bitch if I ever try to emote about how HARD it is to not be having cancer anymore. The reality of it is just setting in and it’s got me a little fucked up, somewhat anxious and resentful, and mildly sad. It’s not natural to blast radiation into your body so you don’t get cancer, it’s just not. (Now see, right about here is where I’d probably add some little joke about how I “never really have liked doing what’s NORMAL anyway” and that this radiaiton therapy is just another example of my desperation to be a STAR… but I’d really only be tossing in the jokes to make light, and to maybe throw you and me both off the emotional track of what’s really going on). Who really wants to be Radioactive Boy?
I sat with the nurses the other day to talk about my treatment. The sessions are gonna be simple: 15 minutes a day, 5 days a week, 3 weeks, and I’m done. Side effects are supposed to minimal and gradual, hitting me maybe by the middle of week 2 if at all. Ideally, I should take it easy for the rest of the month with good books, Netflix, Instant Messenger, and quiet nights in. But I don’t wanna fade into a listless and isolated place either, so I’m gonna try to keep things balanced. I’ll go to work, go to treatment, and then my day is free. I still have plenty of Concierge perks around the city to cash in on. Shit man, Lotus just sent me a permanent VIP card. I know, nobody even goes to Lotus anymore, I know, but still. I didn’t have access to spots like that a year ago.
Whatever. This process is real, it’s barrelling on, and I’m sore as hell about it. It’s a lot for a little man to take. Bear with me, winners. I’m just looking forward to when I’ll be looking back.
Serious Drinking Problem
August 7th, 2004So here’s another reason why I continue to just plain struggle.
I had a really easy, breezy, beautiful covergirl day at work. No stress, and the morning flew by quick so I bounced out at 4p and hit the gym. I had a good, re-energizing workout and decided to reward myself with a Mint Arctic Mocha — call me counterproductive, ok? I earned that shit. Anyway, I’m crossing the street from the cofeehouse and spot that stationery shop Papyrus where my very good buddy M (who, like me, has true love in the soul for Miss Sofia from Color Purple. You just can’t keep a good black woman down, ya’ll. Seriously, our devotion is just INSANE!) just started working as a manager. I always love when people I know drop by my job to say hey for a minute, and he was working, so I popped in to say what’s up. As soon as he saw me, he pulled me close and hugged me and whispered, “I just quit.” What the hell? He’d just freed himself from 6 long years of stress and underappreciation @ Barnes&Noble, started this new job the other day, and already quit? Whatever man, retail management will make you crazy. So we’re chitchatting and I’m feeling empathetic for him, but still feeling good and healthy and energized, and I take a big sip of my Mint Arctic Mocha and smile at him and SPLOOOSH —- the drink just spills right the fuck out of my mouth from the open spot where my tooth got pulled. 
Oh yes it fucking did. Poured right out of my smile like a boat that’d just sprung a leak, like I’m a cartoon. And everybody in the store saw, every judgemental eye up in that bitch saw my utter failure to maintain basic motor skills. “You see?” I sighed, humbled and shaking my head. “You see the humiliation that ensues when you get a tooth pulled? I should’ve just lived with the pain.” M didn’t even try to hide his laughter, just ran behind the counter like a good (embarassed) friend and grabbed some tissues to wipe me and my face and my shirt and my messenger bag off.
That implant/false tooth replacement ain’t seeming like such a bad idea now.
The “L” Stands for Lonely
August 6th, 2004I rode the L train across the city tonight, a track I practically never travel on. Not a single soul stepped into my car the entire time. It was a quiet, solitary ride from beginning to end. Kinda felt like I was sealed off in a secret time capsule or something, protected and preserved and maybe forgotten a little bit.
In other news, I hear they’ve been firing ppl @ work since I’ve been away. A lot can happen in four days, man. Makes me kinda wish I could just stay hidden on the L train where it’s safe and quiet and not thought of much.
Raw Naked Places
August 6th, 2004I got up early yesterday morning, free of the pain (the tooth pain, anyway) and took the train to Canal St. for some downtown time. I used to stay at this huge loft in Tribeca with Randy when he was dogsitting for his boss and there’s this diner on the corner of the apartment that made the best egg&bacon sandwiches I’ve ever had. Randy used to sneak out of bed early in the morning while I was crashed and get me a ton of them, it was really sweet and maybe that’s why I like them so much. Maybe that’s I am still willing to go all the way downtown for one early in the morning. Anyway, I walked around the neighborhood for awhile, enjoying the weather and the non-puffyness of my face, and stopped in at Pearl River Mart cuz it always makes me happy. There was nothing new @ the Apple store — I don’t even own a Mac but I still like to see what’s new — and H&M is basically all women’s clothes now, so I stopped into Tower and bought some DVD’s. After a few disheartening phone calls (nobody could answer/talk/meetup) I realized I’d be spending the full day alone so I went to Crunch to make it a productive afternoon.
I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym lately, picking up heavy things and putting them back down, thinking a lot. Most people get to the gym, plug in their workout mix, and zone out (or cruise for sweaty hotties, if it’s the weekend). I actually think a lot more while I’m there doing my thing — sometimes this is good but I usually end up leaving both sore and with a headache, too. To be honest, I don’t really like having all this time to ponder shit; this on-my-own, independant New Yorker thang is getting old, I’ve got it down way too good. I feel like I’m hovering in this lonely limbo stage between recovery and treatment (and I don’t just mean the cancer stuff), at a raw emotional place, not feeling solid or connected to anything…. just kinda of naked. I’ve been hella naked lately. Just so used to stripping down for doctors and nurses, it’s becoming a habit in all aspects of my life. The checker @ Duane Reade asked for my credit card the other day and I took my clothes off, it’s just out of control. I think I’m just looking for some signs of life, really. Outside of this webrealm, I feel like I haven’t really spoken to anyone in a good while, and there’s so much to say and hear… but it’s a challenge finding open ears and free time, cuz as quick as they are to declare their willing hearts? folks don’t like to hear about downer topics. Objects in the mirror are not always as close as they may appear.
I was @ the Radiology Center this morning doing one final prep before we start treatment on Monday. I was laying on the table with my mind wandering, and I was humming “Midnight Train to Georgia”. What the hell for, I have no clue. Maybe b/c it’d been playing on a loop on my iTunes last night and I got all caught up in all the utter desperation of it all. “I’ve GOT to go, I’ve GOT to go!” Sing your heart out, Gladys, and go get your man. Godspeed, you devoted, selfless bitch.
Hunting the Great White
August 5th, 2004My computer desk faces my living room windows that look down onto Broadway and the entrance to Fort Tryon Park, and I can see some of the random traffic from the 3rd floor. There’s this one white van that passes by every morning, it drives along the street and then UP ONTO THE SIDEWALK against the park entrance. The van is HUGE and it could run a small kid over! I don’t know if the driver is trying to skip a really annoying pothole in the street or if he just does this b/c he thinks it’s funny and nobody is watching him so early, but dammit I see what’s going on. I SEE THIS SHIT! I watch this happen every morning and my concerned/outraged citizen vibe is starting to kick in. I’m actually heading down to Chinatown in a few minutes to see a man about a dartgun. The next time he pulls this crap and thinks nobody’s gonna catch him? I’ll be waiting, perched up on my window ledge, just waiting to puncture his tires.
I’m gonna get this mofo, dammit.
Bloody Mouth
August 4th, 2004So let’s talk about denial. Let’s talk about ignoring the obvious. Let’s talk, ugh, about not going to the dentist since you were 11yrs old and just putting it off until it’s too fucking far gone for you to function like a normal person. It’s okay, let the judgement come, I can take and I deserve it. See, I never had dental insurance until I started working @ the hotel… and who really WANTS to see the dentist anyway? My smile has always been stellar (especially since I got that BriteSmile thing done), but things took a sickeningly ugly turn yesterday. I warn you now, this post isn’t gonna be pretty.
I woke up the other day with a sore tooth, which has happened tons of times before, only this time my cheek looked puffy too. Pudgy and swollen, distracting people from my pretty eyes and spiky hair and that’s just counter-productive, man. I went to work anyway, just popping some good old Ibuprofen, but later that night my head was pounding and it kept me up all night. When I woke up yesterday morning the entire left side of my face was puffy and it looked insane, like a cartoon, and my tooth was throbbing so hard I thought my gums were gonna explode. WHEN WILL THE LAMBS STOP SCREAMING? After a cavitied tooth broke off last fall and with all the junk I eat, I just KNEW infection was on the rise and I’d have to finally go see a dentist. Unfortunately, my dental plan is nowhere near as good as my health coverage and my assigned dentist was booked through the month, so I had to make an emergency visit to one of the shady practices in my hood. I stumbled into the first office I found and pleaded my case. They saw me right away, immediately affirmed I had an abscess tooth infection, and the kind lady went to work. I won’t really go into detail about how I screamed like a woman when she gave me that shot — yes, like a WOMAN. Removed the fucked up tooth, root and all, along with the river of pus and blood. It was DISGUSTING. An hour later, my groggy and gauze-sucking self was standing in line @ Duane Reade to get my antibiotics — suprise, suprise, NOT COVERED by insurance. Aetna can burn in hell, man. I hate that sorryass organization with the burning passion of a thousand STD’s. I’m dying here.
So I’ve spent the last 24hours huddled on my bed, sipping juice, downing ice cream, spitting bloody saliva, and tripping on whatever this drug is they gave me. It’s not as fun as it sounds. I had four days off from work this week and was hoping to skip town for a few days, but this tooth thing has me under house arrest and therefore watching way too much TV. I hate Ashlee Simpson and everything she stands for, she’s so deliberate and staged. Shit, if my big sister had a millions of dollars of credit attatched to our last name and I was able to go out and buy all the deliberately hip “indie” outfits churned out by Urban Outfitters? then shit, I could be a popstar too. I swear, all she does is sit around looking “rebellious” and PLUCKY in those clothes and poeple are like, “Oh my god, she’s so NOT Jessica!” Oh, and I just found out that JoJo who sings “Get Out (Leave)” — formerly a damn anthem — is 13yrs old. What the hell?! I just can’t bring myself to enjoy that song anymore. What’s with these girls who think breathy, throaty vocals are unique and inventive? I fell out of the loop really fast or something, I just don’t get it. But I’m totally buying into the hype over that show Nip/Tuck on FX. It’s fucking HOT, I love every episode I’ve seen so far and am still catching up on the first season through Netflix. Here’s a question though: why does that teenage boy — the son — look really cute sometimes, and then other times like Michael Jackson? Eyebrows, nose, thin lips, pale skintone, all of it. It’s distracting. But man, this show is addictive.
Go see The Village, by the way. I don’t care what the critics are saying, it’s AWESOME. “Let the bad color not be seen, it attracts them…” haunts me to this day. I won’t spoil it with commentary for you, cuz I really appreciated that nobody spoiled Sixth Sense for me. But go see it and email me, let’s talk about it. I was FLOORED!
A special hello to all the new visitors from PrincessMelissa.com! What’s up, kids? That foolass filipina finally got her blogging shit together and learned how to work the hyperlink codes, so here you are. It’s not as funny over here; certainly devoid of the slapstick dating-in-L.A. stories you’ll find there, but NYC gives me enough oddities to bitch about so between her and myself maybe we can keep you entertained from both ends. Ahem. Cuz we all know how much Melissa likes those menageries. Cheap shot, I had to take it.
Do ya’ll remember that made-for-TV movie Promised A Miracle where Judge Reinhold and Rosaana Arquette were Christian Scientists who refused medicine for their dying son b/c they thought God would heal him in death and bring him back to life? I so remember watching that when I was younger. Thank God I’m not a Christian Scientist, I’d be screaming myself to sleep with this abscess madness. No sir, I cling to my Erythromycin tablets like a dope fiend to his heroin. My dentist mentioned to me that I could get my empty tooth socket filled with an implant, or a single replacement that pops right in. 
A fake tooth. A bridge — at 25? HELL NO. As cool as I am with that cancer scenario under my belt, adding false-teeth to the mix is just too much grown-up reality for me. It’s a tooth way in the back that no one can see anyway, so whatever. I’m lucky it’s not worse. There’s this sweet girl I work with and she’s really fun and bubbly but her teeth are just FUCKED UP, all discolored and rotted. They actually moved her to the back office b/c of it. Ugly backwood swamp people teeth don’t really get you taken seriously in the workplace. Less sugar is a good idea. What the hell is this post about? I have no idea, winners. My mouth is bloody and I’ve been making the health rounds lately and no, it’s not being responsible. It’s fucking annoying is what it is.
Ashlee Simpson just came on. Ugh, where’s my spit cup? I’m about to hurl it at the TV.
Creole Lady Lemonade
August 1st, 2004
And in the same vein as her, her, her, and her, there’s a new woman in this town who has captured my fancy. She a big fine Dominican won’t you back that ass up, just killing me softly with her song. Lemonaaaaaaade!
Spriteboy Speaks