4 years of melanoma matrimony

Well, here I am. 4 years post diagnosis. It feels like forever ago but also like yesterday. I'll never forget that day, the day my life changed more than ever before and the day that life became so much valuable to me than ever before. 

Let me get one thing straight: I do not post stuff about my melanoma to garner sympathy or to dwell on all I went through, I only post out of obligation to keep a dialogue of awareness amongst all who will listen, and think about their skin. When I was diagnosed I still didn't believe that melanoma could actually kill me, and I believed that because I was young I was immune to death, and I felt like most people thought the same way about the disease, which scared me into wanting to raise awareness. I did what I wanted to do, and felt like I made my difference, and to be honest it's hard to stay active when all you want to do is just move on, forget a little about it all, be "normal" again. Which I never will be but that's ok. Either way, at least once a year I will share bits of my year and a half experience with actively fighting the illness with surgery and treatment, and hopefully my experience is enough to scare other young people out of using tanning beds or baking in the sun without SPF. Yes, I'm trying to scare people out of those habits, because I've noticed that you can "raise awareness" but if you don't also "raise fear" people are less likely to stop tanning. 

I like these four pictures because they say a lot of the physical side of melanoma. Surgery. Nurses. Tubes. Blood. Sores. Pain. Melanoma hurt. There was a lot of physical hell during that year and a half. My body had turned against me, and living in it was utter hell. After my surgery I came down with lymphedema, which is a buildup of fluid in a limb, in my case my leg. I didn't walk normally for almost 6 months after, and in my dreams sometimes I still limp. It's amazing that the body can return to almost normal with time and healing, and all that is left is the scars to remind you.

Melanoma hurt. I remember the second week of treatment, I had every weekend off so Saturday came and I wanted to join some friends at a movie at west ed. I got out of the vehicle at the mall and my legs crumpled beneath me, I felt like a marionette. I could not stand on my own. I went home, feeling defeated, feeling like I was dying, like I couldn't even keep my eyes open and wondered if they would ever open again. I wondered how I was going to get through a year of this medicine that might improve my chances of survival. I wondered who I was going to become as a result of this, and who I was going to be now while in the haze of this illness. I felt like I was trapped inside of a shell. The reality of what I was going through hit me just then. 

I got sicker and sicker that weekend, and it went beyond the typical side effects for the drug. I truly felt like I was going to die. Every second felt like agony and my body was angry. So tired, I slept all the way trough that weekend.

Monday comes and I go to the cross cancer institute to see my oncologist. I saw him every Monday for months. Mondays are clinic day, so the halls are filled with sick people waiting to see their doc. It's the worst place in the world to me. I remember feeling so horrible I considered asking for a wheelchair because walking was hard, both from lymphedema and just general weakness from the drugs, but I didn't, because one thing I hate is looking like a pussy. Ha.

I got my blood checked and they told me keep up the water but they'd delay my next infusion until they saw my lab results, so go home a while. I remember my dad picking me up, going to my parents and my brother was there, and I lay on the couch while they ate lunch, and I may have had one or two bites. Then a while later the cross called me and said that I had zero liver enzymes and zero white blood cell count, so I was really very ill. Take a week off they said, and next week we will resume at half the dose.

I found out later that this dose they were giving me was the same they start everyone at, no matter if you're 350 pounds or 100. I'm quite certain you could kill a horse at that dose for a month or two, it was that awful. 

That week off was really hard. I decided I might quit. I couldn't see myself doing any more of that. It was just too much. I spoke with someone who did interferon the whole year, and it sounded bad, but also thought, maybe I'm speaking to this man now because he did the whole year... What if I quit and then die next year? 

Obviously I had to suck it up though, because showing weakness doesn't work for me. I didn't want to have any regrets. I haven't gotten anywhere in life by quitting, and hiding. So I did it, and over the course of the year I became used to being sick, so I got a little more normal in that I just went on, and if I felt really bad I just went home and slept. But lying around sick got old, and I was bored, and still only 27/28 years old, I had a life to live. I had to get up and out even if my body wanted to stay on the couch. 

I don't feel like a hero for what I went through, it was something that happened to me out of circumstance, family genetics, and just some kind of fucked up "luck." I had been a bit of a hypochondriac since high school, a closet one, where I didn't really share that I feared I would get cancer, any kind of cancer, the one I dwelled on was actually lymphoma! I know that sounds nuts now. I spent years on and off thinking that I had to have lymphoma because I was tired, and had swollen glands, a cold that wouldn't go away, ect. Well it hit me one night, looking at my mole that ended up being malignant, I looked at the mole and felt nauseous. There's something very wrong with this mole and me. I didn't feel sick but I didn't feel right. Something had changed, something was off, my insides felt heavy. They felt burdened. I had to go to the doctor. 

One lesson I learned the hard way having melanoma was that we must all be our own advocates for our own bodies. No one knows your body better than you. The doctor I saw for the mole looked at it and said "it's a little ugly but I wouldn't be concerned about it" he said he would refer me to a dermatologist to remove it, if that's what I wanted. I remember his lack of concern. 

I ended up waiting two weeks and calling three times to make sure they put through a referral. The nurses at this clinic had to remind doctor idiot. Finally I got an appointment but couldn't believe it- I had to wait two months to get this mole off. 

I didn't think it was right, but I didn't do anything about it either. I was still naive about doctors and thought, well he's the expert. They wouldn't just let me die... Would they?

The day came and I sat in the dermatologists office really just thinking, ok, everything is ok, you are feeling fine, you're not dying, this might be a superficial skin cancer but it's "probably not" melanoma. This was my denial working at full capacity. I spent those two months in full denial. If I wasn't being rushed to the mole man, I must be ok.

Well only a few days later, 5 to be exact, on December 15th 2010 I got the call and my life has not been the same since. It was eerie, it was shocking, I didn't know what to do with that news. I went to work after I got the phone call. My ears were ringing all day. It was as if I had just been propelled into a dream world, where I was literally hovering over my body, pensive and feeling a dark force beyond my control looming. Overall, the loss of control is what is hardest. Your body controls you when you are sick. And that is a very scary thing.

Looking back, as my own advocate I SHOULD have pushed for a faster referral. I SHOULD have sought out a second opinion. I SHOULD have, but I didn't, and I don't live regretting those choices but I sure have learned from them. One thing I've learned is that the doctor is not god, he is not all seeing and all knowing. They COULD leave you to die. If you don't fight for your own life you could lose it. My oncologist later told me that the doctor I saw SHOULD have and COULD have gotten me an appointment sooner, because as doctors they are obligated to care, and if the patient is concerned, they should be too. I learned that I must always fight for my own body, and if something isn't right I must make it right on my own. And it's ok to tell the doctor, no, there IS something wrong.

Is it funny that after all this shit, pain, sickness, and utter misery I wouldn't take it back? I know people say that sometimes but don't totally mean it, but I do mean it. I just couldn't take it back because I love myself more than I ever did before all the craziness. I see things in a way that others just can't, after facing death head on everything changes. I no longer have bad days. I have days that didn't go my way, that were frustrating, or just weren't awesome, but no bad days. None. Why would I have bad days? I have days! That's all that matters to me. I have less physical issues than I thought I would, and that makes me thankful. I notice the shape of snowflakes. I notice the size of the moon. I see the difference a little kindness makes. I get to see my niece smile and hold her in my arms, and hear her call me auntie. I get the love and affection from my amazing man, best friends and loving family, and feel true unwavering support. Being a part of life, that's all I want, and I appreciate every single second of it. 

-E.

Hexy life hacks volume 1: Snoring.

Hex in the city isn't exactly known as an advice or "life hack" blog, but I'm thinking it's time I share some of my very own unique hacks that help me out with the little annoying bits of life, like your boyfriends snoring problem. Ok, like my boyfriends snoring problem. Maybe don't tell him about this entry, leave that to me. 

I hear so many women and gay men bitch about their mans snoring problem and it seems obvious that men are way worse than most women, but then there's that one woman who's log sawing sets off car alarms and knocks paintings off the wall. So not just you guys, but you know, men are most likely to be heard snoring loud and clear from across a house. Here's my learned tips and tricks to quiet a snorer. You're welcome.

1) Grow one toenail long and keep it that way. Let it grow beyond the free edge of your toe. Now, if you're worried about ingrowns I'm also an esthetician and I'm here to tell you you're better off with longer toenails to avoid ingrowns. Anyways. Grow it out and use it as a weapon against night time nose noise. Don't be too violent about it, slowly poke him in the lower calf, thigh or anywhere fleshy, and just push a little. The trick is to push until he rolls over to his side, that is the goal to all my tricks really. He will eventually wake slightly, thinking he must have rolled over on to a sharp object that shouldn't be in the bed, but he will be too tired and out of it to look for that object, it could be as simple as some kind of washer, screw, shit, even a nail, but if your guy is less handy it could just be a rogue potato chip, and he will roll over and deal with it tomorrow. But whatever you do, you mustn't let him know that you keep one toenail sharpened just for him, or he might just cut it when you are unsuspecting, say, sleeping. 

2) The slow yet persistent kick. This ones the most obvious; kick him until he moves! But it's not as simple as it sounds. There's an art to it. At least an art in being gentle about it. I like to start my kicks light, and do it with the inhale of each snore-producing breath, rhythmically and consistently with an end goal of him rolling the fuck over. My favorite technique is the "pendulum". Lie with your back facing the snorer and slowly kick your leg closest to the snorer forward (away from snorer) then bring it back so you have a little momentum. Control your speed and force, and up both if this fails to move snorer within a minute or two. 

3) The tickle. I like personally the ear tickle, because like the toenail trick it makes the snorer think there's something annoying on one side so they move to the other. Use whatever you want to give snorer a little annoying tickle, a feather would work splendidly if you have one near, but you do run the risk of being busted with a feather in your hand in the middle of the night and there will be questions. So use anything handy, like your own hair if it's long enough to reach, but if the snorer has long hair themselves you can use their own hair as a weapon against the snorer. I recommend being subtle about this too, you don't want to wake them suddenly holding a lock of their hair. Questions there too.

On a bad snoring night I may use one or all three of these tricks, but once you get the snorer on to their side you are going to need to keep them there or they will just roll back over and start up the sawing again. Here's my methods:

1) Knee behind butt. Or how about bones under butt. This is exactly what it sounds like, if they roll away from you which they most likely will since you are trying to create one inhospitable side of the bed for them, immediately bend one leg and put your knee just under snorers butt. They will try to roll over but will immediately be forced to not. Cause, uh, you're sleeping there man. I repeat, "you're sleeping there." You must never give away the fact that you're awake. Snore a little if you have to, you must make them believe you rolled into that position and are sound asleep. It doesn't have to be the knee, it can be any body part but the more bony, the better. 

2) Sew a tennis ball in the back of his nightshirt. K I've never tried this, mainly because I prefer to be a sneaky bitch over an obvious one. And the poor, broken and defeated man that puts this hilarious looking shirt on, my best guess is the snoring is just the foamy head of a tall beer of deep seeded marital issues, but I still think it is a hilarious and most likely effective tool against snoring. 

3) The "earthquake". If he's on his side and starts to turn back to a supine position, immediately start shaking the bed violently. I like to stay as still as possible while rattling the bed from my knees down. Again, don't give away the fact that you are awake. Stop the rattling as soon as he's even mildly roused, and again fake sleeping. Lie still. All he will know is that he must roll away from whatever is shaking over there, or it will backfire he will spring up in a panic thinking you are having a seizure, you must yourself decide if it's worth looking crazy or not, if it's 2am you're wide awake and work in the am, I would say it is worth it. 

Like I said, you're welcome. I hope that you'll think of these tips the next time your snorer is keeping your eyes glued open and annoying the shit out of you. 

BUT if these tips sound too mean, you can always grab some earplugs, go lie on the couch and read a nicer persons blog. 

Nighty night sweet translucent angels.

-E.

Pumpkin weigh off

K so this is a little late, but better late than never! Plus it's still October, it counts.

Here is the day me and my pal Jessor went to the glorious PUMPKIN MOTHERFUCKING WEIGH OFF!!! 

I found out about it and immediately told all my friends and family that would listen, and anxiously awaited a good month and a half for this day, had pumpkin socks all ready to wear and a party planned after, because watching people weigh off giant freak vegetables really gets me thirsty for a good beer drinking binge with my buddies, who can all appreciate a big beautiful pumpkin. 

Jess and I arrive in town and it appears there's no where to park, why? Because half of fucking Alberta is here to get in on this pumpkin party! It was fucking ridiculous. Searched for a spot for 20 minutes and once we did, we got out and started walking to where we saw people, but there was people everywhere. We asked a couple of bitchy locals (never ask an angry looking woman for directions, especially in a small town) where was the actual weigh off happening, and one nasty looking witch goes "Wayyyyyyyyyy on the other side of town in the agriplex, hurrrumphhh." Let me just quickly point out she was probably 300 pounds. Made it sound like we would have to get back in the car and drive a ways, but this is a small town, how far would we have to go? 

Well we start walking back towards the truck and see a friendly looking firemen, and I say "Excuse me, where are they weighing off the pumpkins?" He says "follow me ladies I'm heading there right now!" Well Mrs. Mean fat and disgruntled meant 3 blocks when she said "across town." But what more can you expect from someone who probably drives the block distance to the grocery store? 

We arrive at the pumpkin weigh off and this shit is NO JOKE. There's a Ferris wheel outside with food stands and a farmers market and we get inside this building and there's people up to the ceiling in there, farmers and kids, weirdos like Jess and I, I see my parents neighbors and a women we went to high school with, people dressed in all orange and even some kind of creepy pumpkin clowns, like I said. No joke. 

We were a little late so I think we missed the heaviest watermelon and longest gourd, but fuck that, we came for the pumpkins goddammit! And pumpkins we got! 

The boys in the orange jumpsuits carried some of the pumkins on stage with a moving blanket, up to about 600-700 pounds worth of pumpkin! 

The bigger ones were lifted on stage with a forklift.

Shitty pic, but you get the idea.

Best part: we got to go pose with the freak gourds afterwards!!!! It was basically a dream come true.

Now here I am with the heaviest squash, she weighs a hefty 700 pounds or so. 

JESSOR WITH SQUASH

Jessor with the runner up. This fucker weighed around 850 pounds of glorious pumpkiny deliciousness. But in the pumpkin world bigger is truly better, more to love. And I lovvvve me these huge ass pumpkins.

GIANT PUMPKINS ARE SO METAL!

Note the look on that child's face behind me. I was so excited I probably yelled something that offended her little ears and she probably didn't understand how an "adult" could get so excited over a huge pumpkin. Stupid kids.

Another big'in, this guy had to be around the 700 pound mark as far as I remember. The look on my face gets stupider and stupider as I get more and more drunk off the sight of these gigantic beautiful gourds. 

Jessor creepily stroking the winner pumpkin. She weighed a hefty 1210 LBS!!!!!! That's right, over 1200 pounds of pumpkin! That's a real BBP or big beautiful pumpkin! Quite the sight to see in person.

Me and the winner. I live for moments like these. We went home with a deep sense of satisfaction. Them pumpkins did not fuck around. It was truly beautiful. I cannot wait for next year. If you want to come the more the merrier, next year I would love if someone wanted to drive me so I could partake in the beer gardens, where there was apparently going to be pumpkin moonshine. I left smiling knowing that there's a town that values pumpkins as much as I do. A town dedicated to pumpkins. The pumkin capital of Alberta, and it's right down the highway from where I live. 

My life is fucking awesome.

-E.

I'm so much cooler on the internet

Oh jeez I've been a tewibble tewibble blogger.

If you didn't know me you'd probably think I was a flighty bitch, who doesn't really have any real direction in life and the attention span of a small animal... and you would be almost correct.

What the fuck is this blog about anyways? It's got so many personalities if I ever end up in jail for some sort of atrocity they'll use this as a profiling tool.

Last year I barely blogged all summer too, because, well I had better things to do quite frankly. I'll admit that the majority of what you read on here is only written because I was fucking bored, probably stoned and needed to get up on my soapbox, I probably called all my friends and got no answer, left them creepy messages spoken in foreign languages about chicken delivery or threats to carve their name into my arm and make them watch me bleed unless they picked up the phone, and lawd knows when I smoke a doobie I need my microphone, I can talk up a motherfucking tsunami! This blog is that microphone, ok now you know it.

Did you really think that I could rant like that without any assistance to blind my judgement and unrestrict my word-flow?

Also this blog has become somewhat of a lie. Hex no longer resides in the city, she lives in the middle of nowhere, and life has changed a great deal. Hex on the farm is obviously what this blog should be renamed, but who changes the name of their blog after 3.5 years?

But really it wouldn't change that much as a blog because Hex is still Hex. You can take the Hex out of the city but you can't take the City out of the Hex. It's funny because though I lived the young adult city lifestyle for the last decade, I come out here and love it so much it feels like I belonged here all along. And what "here" means is THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. Not in a city or a town, no neighbours, solitary. I of course have my man and my kitties, but solitary with them.

People have let me down so much just in general as a society I no longer want to be living in close proximity to any. That is bad. But it's the truth. I couldn't just live in the middle of one of these towns out here because that to me would almost be worse, no anonymity, everyone will know your story and what you buy at the drug store, if you drink too much, that you had chlamydia, and if you write bad cheques. No really, theres a list at the grocery store by here on the tills that reads "DO NOT ACCEPT CHEQUES FROM THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE:" With First and last fucking names.

The further you go off the highway, the more it starts to resemble scenes from The Hills have eyes, the weirder the people, and the intelligence level takes a fucking nose dive. Common responses to questions posed to Sales clerks in these towns are:

"Huh?"
"I have no idea"
{stares into space} "uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

What baffles me is that with this many dumb dumbs everywhere I call or go for any reason, I can't get a fucking job to save my life. WTF is that about? I have decided I am not inbred enough, theres no other reason. Oh maybe because my last name is not one of 5 Ukrainian names from 'round here neither.

Life is different out here. It's slower paced, you dump your own garbage at the dump, you burn the rest of it, and there are tire piles up to the sky. There's big fuzzy caterpillars that you don't see in the city anymore.

You can shoot a gun or blast fireworks, burn whatever shit you damn well please or crank the death metal to 100 and roam around in your underwear, which I prefer to do all simultaneously. Love it.

Everything for me has been dandy out here except the job hunt situation. I worked briefly at a golf course 30 minutes away but had to quit that nonsense, and then been on other interviews after repeated emails to the same employer, haven't gotten those, it's enough to make you very discouraged, look at yourself like WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU? Why can't you get a fucking job?

Well I have decided to go back to school for Medical Transcription. I can do that from home. Plus I get to decipher medical jargon all day, love it. That actually is fun for me. I've seen so much of my own I am really practically a certified doctor without any certification! Next best thing is data entry of doctor speak. And guess what.... you can do it from home! Thats right, I wouldn't even have to go out and work side by side with some idiot that only got the job cause she knows so and so's cousin uncle.

I am starting school the SECOND my books get here. I couldn't be hungrier for information and knowledge since my last shitty job, working with the public just is not going to work for me ever again. I am done letting people crush my soul slowly but surely through all my years of serving the public and no more my friends, no more. I need to be using my brain more than just figuring out the best way to deal with a jerk with a chip on his shoulder demanding money back. I'd like more of a challenge than smiling for the public offers me.

Don't think I haven't found my ways of getting even with these soul crushers through the years though. If you're sneaky you can at least have yourself a little bit of satisfaction. I had a couple of shitlists, wrote down the name or even just a description of the asshole, something like "Ugly crotch nosed piss face, your dicks so small it's an innie, may your wife cheat on you and your house burn to the ground." Those things I really wrote down. It helped me to just let go, instead of taking home all that shit and letting it destroy my evening, I'd get a list of 5 or so shitty people and my wishes for them, and leave work and burn the list or flush it down the toilet.

It always helped me go back to work day after day and endure the assholery.

Take that how ever you want it, if you think it's crazy you really don't know me do you.

Hey, that was fun, ever so random, and kind of hurt my fingers from typing since it's been so long. I will leave you with this equally random tune, because I am totally on a Scorpions kick right now.


http://youtu.be/GY3BTyLh8vQ

-E.

13

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13th!

My lucky day. 

It's also the full moon, which only happens on Friday the 13th about every 30 years or so...so my dark familiars are stir crazy. It's 11pm and the sun is just going down now, but I'm staying up to see the moon. I love the power of a full moon, I believe it stirs my creative juices and feels like a new beginning.

Watch out for them full moon Friday the 13th werewolves, oh and of course Jason.

-E.

Sandcastles

I'm going to get all Cancerella on you here. 

I like cancer blogs yes, but only ones that aren't' just a big pity party or sorry attempt at awareness, I like cancer blogs that have raw feelings put down with no filter for others sake. 

This guy was diagnosed with Leukemia at the age of 17 and survived to go to medical school. His latest entry took words that were in me but I haven't been able to even find these last 3 years, and everything that he says about stereotyping cancer patients is 100% true.

Well I am not going to rewrite what he wrote, I'll just post ya the link. It is worth reading till the end. 

http://nikhilthegrizzlybear.blogspot.com.au/2014/05/im-not-brave-or-strong-because-i-beat.html

Everyones experience with cancer is different, but a lot of things seem to be universal. 

"Everyone says I am so brave but I don't feel brave."

Now I suppose for me, I don't think I felt brave or weak, I was almost stoic instead for the majority of the time. Some kind of survival instinct kept me calm. I don't hear this from every cancer survivor I've spoken with but I do hear it from some. For a lot of people the worst of it hits later, after all the surgeries and treatment, keeping your chin up for the sake of others, because they wouldn't want to know how you really feel. Cancer patients lie all the time when they say they are "ok" or "good."

It's just for you, so you don't have to feel uncomfortable, or sad, or helpless, because in my experience I didn't like seeing people afraid for me. It felt like one more thing I didn't have energy to worry about.

So much about the experience of cancer can affect loved ones more than the patient even especially during the time where you are waiting for surgery and treatment. Once I was on treatment I slept most of the time so I didn't have much time to think about my mortality but those around you are, even if you say you are fine.

I know that even though we don't have to, patients put on a facade for loved ones and strangers alike. You smile even though it hurts your face because you don't even have the energy to do that let alone raise your glass of water to your mouth and people can tell you are ill but because you are smiling you are badass. 

Ok I would like to think I just am badass anyways and I would also like to think that slaying the cancer was all me, but the truth is I am just one of the lucky ones so far. I did my year of interferon. I had a team of great doctors. My body has fought off the cancer these last 3.5 years. That's it. I didn't kick cancers ass on my own.

There were plenty of badass, brave, strong, cancer slayers that are dead from their disease now.

One part about this entry I really relate to is feeling like others expect you to act grateful to have survived. When you look at the alternative, yes, you WILL feel lucky to be alive, thats a given, but inside I hate that I even had to have cancer at 27. I hate that I haven't gotten to live this part of my life like a normal young adult. I hate that I will always have that anxiety about every change in my body. Every lump and bump and every bad headache. The fear is living and real and if I had to choose the words on how I feel about this disease ripping my body and life to shreds for years I don't think the word "grateful" would be it.

"It's not easy being grateful for the worst thing that's ever happened to you..."

If you don't stand tall, smile, and proclaim you are grateful to be alive and that you're BRAVE, people look at you or will even say, "You should be more proud of yourself for that!"

It's not a personal achievement, it's the luck of the draw. Your string was not cut today, that is it.

You hope it won't be cut tomorrow either.

One thing that I've noticed is that life will never be the same, and the after effects of cancer are like rippling waves on sandcastles on the beach. You can build up, make progress to move away, get stronger, and then the tide comes in and dissolves your castle to nothing. 

I'll probably always live with some fear, I'll always have anxiety about my health, I will always see the world and everything in it differently than most around me because of my melanoma. The one thing I can do is transcend, I can keep building my sandcastles. That is my choice in the end and no one else in the world can do it for me. 

-E.

A Sunday rant

I feel a RANT coming on!

Maybe it's the Lockup marathon on MSNBC I've been watching but I'm feeling irate about the world and the shit people do and say. That's not new but I can't always channel all that anger into this blog or people would think I'm totally psycho. Also I don't always have time to write when there's a bee in my bonnet.

FIRST OF ALL and this one may be make some say WTF but this is my fucking blog and you are welcome to write your own WTF blog. 

If you know me, my bestest friend I've ever had in my whole life and the only one I know will be by my side no matter what is gay. Ok that's just him like saying, "my best friend is a heterosexual." Well he would most likely call me a breeder but that's really a joke between me and my bestie.

If the subject of sexuality comes up, and I'm talking about my best friend I will absolutely mention that he is gay. But I rarely just say "John's gay" I'm more likely to say "my best friend and his boyfriend" and let people figure it out on their own. 

What drives me crazy is people "bragging" about having gay friends. It's like they think they won the tolerance prize and almost wear that gay as an accessory. 

This weekend is pride and I'd love to be celebrating with my bromosexuals, but living an hour away and having to return a few hours later doesn't make it easy to show up at the parade and inevitably end up in the beer gardens. 

This time of year is when everyone wants to brag about having a gay friend. Suddenly a gay aquiantence becomes their "gay bestie" and you hear the word gay gay gay over and over again and Facebook is just an awkward place to be. 

He's your FRIEND not your GAY FRIEND.

That pisses me off. You know these people put the G word in front of the word friend want to:

1) look cooler because if a gay man will be seen with your ugly ass you must be beautiful. This just simply is not true.

2) Make you believe you are not a bigoted piece of shit. You could very well be full of hate but use one "normal gay guy" as your mask of tolerence. I hate hearing that word out of self named "fruit flies."

By the way the word is defined as:

tol·er·ate

ˈtäləˌrāt/

verb

1. allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference.

   "a regime unwilling to tolerate dissent"

   synonyms:

   allow, permit, condone, accept,swallow, countenance; More

   • accept or endure (someone or something unpleasant or disliked) with forbearance.

     "how was it that she could tolerate such noise?"

     synonyms:

     endure, put up with, bear, take,stand, support, stomach, deal with

Ok now of course there is the flip side where all you can sometimes hope for is "tolerance". I get it. But I have been working with, friends with and around gay men for a long time, and haven't seen one straight man outwardly discriminate against a gay man once. There has been the rare one who made cruel jokes about a gay man behind his back, but no more than women deemed sluts or fat or fat sluts or "weird" guys that look like they sit in front of a computer jacking off all day and wash their hair once a month... People will find a way to make jokes or discriminate about just about anyone. 

I think overall today's society is pretty blind to things like ones sexuality, but if you ask me "tolerence" is not the word I want to hear used. I don't know what I'd rather hear but "tolerating" isn't enough. 

We need to blend together without worrying about who likes to suck dick and who doesn't. It's really no ones motherfucking business anyways.

Ah that feels good. Seriously though now people, can we just relax and stop making people wear labels? It's bullshit.

I myself have been labeled by a few people here and there for my penchant for heavy metal music. It's almost like a stigma. Here's a list of the things people have said to me about my taste in music and my response to it:

1) How can you listen to that isn't it mostly just noise?

 

"I don't like noise, I like music."

Then they get a scared look on their faces and say:

2) But aren't all the lyrics about death, mutilation, murder and satan? I can't even understand what they are screaming!

"I thought you couldn't understand what they are saying?"

3) aren't  all the lyrics super negative and angry?

"Yeah I'm sure some of em are, but I'm not exactly there to read too deeply into the lyrics, I like virtuoso musicianship and some of today's best musicians play metal, and a band could have lyrics about baby killing but if the guitarist can shred ill probably buy their record."

This next one actually made me mad, and this is a real quote from an ignoramus who will remain nameless:

4) You are what you listen to and if you listen to "negative" music you are a negative person. 

"So if you listen to douchey music, or fake music with no real instruments, does that make you a fake douche?"

Infortunately in that persons case they really were the music they listened to.

What about people who listen to gangsta rap more than anything else? These people have no business saying shit all about metal lyrics. A lot of the music they listen to is about pimping, selling drugs, killing people and objectifying women, so what does that make them if their music defines who they are as a person?

Overall my taste in music doesn't affect most people's opinion about what kind of person I am, but some actually define me by my taste in music. Get over it. Some of my music you may really not like, but how in fuck is that my problem? There's no need to confront me on it. Its not I listen to metal to piss you off. I ask that you shut the fuck up and keep it to yourself what horrible negative music I listen to, and go troll somewhere useful, like the westboro baptist church of zealots or something. But you probably are a wannabe member of that cult if you hate my music that much.

 

Oh I dislike a lot of music myself, but never have written off an entire genre because of a few horrible representatives.  I don't love ALL metal ever written just as I don't love all classical music I've played on my violin. It is all completely subjective. I have songs from all kinds of genres. I have Leonard Cohens discography and know all his songs. I have some Dolly, some Mariah, some Yokam, even some Britney. All serve their purpose in my iTunes library.

One genre I believe has become totally bastardized and pretty much ruined is country music. It used to be about pure and stunning vocals and fun inventive fiddle, and deep guitar you can feel in your gut, something could affect your emotions and make you feel at home, but today's country is the worst shit on the planet I'm sorry. Some country singers are mixing rap and pop and then throwing a dash of "rock n roll" on top of it, and I shudder when I hear Toby Keith's voice. And when I see his face I shudder again.

I hate it, but you'll never hear me start a debate with all "new" country music fans about their choice in music. Just because you listen to music that is pretty much all about chevys, women in tight jeans and 

Red solo cups doesn't mean you are a redneck Toby Keith wannabe. Or does it?

Maybe those ignorant idiots want to be Toby Keith and sing like tools but that ain't my problem. 

I really don't give a shit enough to slap labels on people's foreheads. It takes time and zeal which I just do not have. I can think of better ways to spend my time. What matters to me is the quality of the person inside the T shirt of their favorite band, regardless of the genre. 

That's my moral message for the year. 

May you listen to whatever you want and have sex with whoever you want. Just no barnyard animals, children or dead people. There's no way I can "tolerate" that.

http://youtu.be/aC6CPwu0I44

-E. 

A hairy situation

So just a quick one with a few pictures, and blurb and maybe one link to a song. 

Melanoma took a lot from me, it changed me on so many levels. Once I was diagnosed stage 3 I was ready to fight hard and not give up, but I wasn't prepared for what treatment would do to my identity. After four months my hair started to come out in huge clumps in the shower, it got thinner and thinner and broke off on the ends, shortening it by a lot, until I broke and just cut it off.

To say I was devestated was an understatement. Slowly over the course of my treatment more and more hair disappeared and I started to feel ugly. I didn't recognize myself anymore; my identity was stripped away cruely. 

I dealt with it ok, in my way, by investing in lots of inserts of different colors, even had fun with the different colors and styles I could play with. Fake hair was probably the best investment I made in my well being while on a horrific and life-ruining treatment. After interferon I had a scary look of baby hairs growing in with straggly fly aways, brittle and straw like stressed tresses and it seemed like every day I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. They say hair isn't everything but it can be to a 20 something cancer patient who loses 2/3 of that hair. 

Every once in a while I snap a pic of the progress to see how far I've come. I credit the increased growth as of late to no more bleach, no more dye, expensive salon product and limited use of heat styling tools. There's a hashtag on Instagram- #LongHairDontcare but mine is #longhairICare. 

I'm happy.

It'll grow back they said. Well, it finally did. And I couldn't be happier. I finally feel truly myself, and siscors: no thanks. 😃

Since there's no songs about hair that I like, I'll just post a quick hair metal band tune, one of the best of the hair metal tunes ever, and I know my friend Jess will be rocking out to this one.

http://youtu.be/i3MXiTeH_Pg

Thanks for reading my weirdos, stalkers and loves. Without you I would care less about most everything in this wild world.

-E.

May mishmash

Well it's been an interesting month so far!

First my boyfriend and I went to banff and ate and drank until I gained back 5 pounds I kinda didn't want, but oh well. It was delicious. We did some teepee creeping, which for those who don't know is basically a booze cruise, stopping at every establishment that is pouring beer and after 5 hours we went to dinner pretty much drunk, I was hiccuping bubbles like a cartoon character. 

A teepee creep is traditionally a freeloading booze cruise. You stop at one teepee and ask your buddy for booze and tobacco, and then when all the booze is gone and all the cheeba smoked you move on to the next teepee, sometimes extra buddies join the creep but then stay at the next teepee for various reasons- good booze and tobacco or just too drunk to keep creeping. Sometimes there's fights, drunken accusations of theft from buddies teepee, there might even be a teepee fire! But the unpredictability of the creep is what makes it a party. You creep the whole town and then when you're back at the home teepee you rest, but sometimes you might just have to rest at someone else's teepee. The point is to freeload everyone else's shit and make them think they partied with you, when really you just drank their hooch and smoked their cheeba.

Either way a good teepee creep should involve multiple teepees and end in a drunken pass out.

A few weeks back I noticed a bump in my underarm (Esthetican speak for the ugly word armpit) which grew into a lump under the skin. Alarm bells went off but I decided not to panic and give it a couple of weeks. Well a couple of weeks go by and it had grown, and hurting. Uh oh I said. What the fuck is that. 

So I call my oncologist and two seconds later they are booking me with my surgeon, aka Mr. Nicey Slicey, and I'm in full on panic mode. I actually had a job interview at the same time as the appointment they booked me so I asked if they could get me another date, but then they decided I should just go to my family doc. 

Ok whatever. 

Waited ten tense days to see my doc, who ordered an ultrasound STAT, which I did appreciate since this alien thing was growing it's own face and eyes and taking up space in my body at that point.

Here's the only benefit to being a cancer patient: you get results in under an hour sometimes. They do not fuck around. It's literally the only perk, if you can call it a perk.

It isn't malignant. It's a cyst.

Huge sigh of relief. I immediately started eating again. Stuffed a long john down my throat in one bite. Fuck.

The thing is about having cancer once is that whenever you feel something weird in your body your mind immediately goes to CANCER. Oh here it is, the lump that's gonna end it all. But it's just not always going to be cancer, and you have to try and stay calm till you know, not an easy thing to do. 

Basically the cyst would be more painful to remove than to just leave in there so that's what I'm gonna do. Leave it. Let the fucking thing enjoy it's stay in hotel Hex. Whatever. I've seen what they do- they cut you open and take out the pocket of stinky cheese clump, and then pack the wound with gauze! You have to clean and pack it yourself for a couple of weeks, and I am not sure if this is even a cure for it. So just leave it alone, no picking- hard for me- I love to pick and squeeze- and it ain't gonna kill ya.

Yuck, bodies make some gross shit.

Finally the 16th was my bunny Evie's 1st birthday, and it was the cutest! She had on a party dress and liked all her books and toys, and even had a cake all to herself which she picked up with both hands and put to her mouth, getting covered in icing while all of us laughed and took pictures. The cutest.

I wasn't really on it with the camera but here's a couple. Most of the cake ended up on her face dress and the floor. Love it.

-E.

Burn Booze and buddies

Country weird.

I had my first burn/booze and buddies night in my new setting and we had a real barn burner. Well more like a desk and plywood burner but still raging enough for a group of pyros.

As you can see above, John and I can't take a "normal" picture. 

Many more BBB parties to come.

METAL!!!!!!

-E.

There's a future ahead and it might be your last

A quick dose of simple wisdom.

Dallas Clayton rules. He's actually a children's book author but I love his poetry. He's totally the new Dr. Suess.

Night!

-E.

The new girl in town

So really the name of this blog is a lie now that I live on a farm.
2 weeks ago I packed up all my shit, quit my job and moved to the middle of nowhere, and I couldn't be happier.

EVERYTHING in my life has changed. Absolutely EVERYTHING.
I am going from city living in a veritable circus house full of laughter and people, no real routine and no real groceries to speak of, flying by the seat of my pants always, working for someone else, and of course, sleeping alone, which I do not miss.

It's a lot quieter here than the BGM (Big Gay Mansion) and I wake up at the same time everyday already, 8:45, WHAT?! So I already have a routine. A chick named Hex with a routine. Pshhh wow.

I'm also trying to get my business together, and yesterday I officially started advertising my services. I really hope I get busy because I do not want to work for some dick who wants to pay me less than a Tim Hortons employee and tell me what to do. I do not do well with authority, mainly because I want to be the authority. It's proving hard to find a decent employer in the spa industry out here, I have to commute 40 mins- yes thats how remote it is- and encountered a bunch of idiots running spas that don't seem like they know anything about what they are doing. One guy had me fill out a 7 page essay  instead of an interview and when I called to follow up he sounded lost and embarrassed that he had no clue where my resume was. Another called me in for a second interview where I was greeted by a bitchy Slovakian woman who was asking me stupid questions like " Can you pain nail polish well?" And even asked me to come back on another day to give her a pedicure to make sure I know what I am doing. I didn't come back to give her a pedicure.

Because 8 years, my own business and a 95% beauty school average doesn't speak for itself I guess.

I go into town and I am being watched. ALL eyes are on me, the new girl in town.

Heres my song:

http://youtu.be/zM1z7FC7ui0

It's ok, I never really mind people staring, unless I have PMS and having a shitty day then you could get the fire lasers through my retinas so watch out. Sometimes when people stare a little too hard I give their medicine right back to em, I give a sweet smile and stare back, with an air of a singsongy kind of "what the fuck are you looking at? :)" They ALWAYS look away. So far I've noticed that people out here are:

-Friendly
-Like to talk
-Slower than city folk
-Buy lots of lottery tickets
-Know everyone (hence the staring)
-Like country music (just as I suspected)
-Wave at each other on the backroads
-Seem to have all the time in the world

In my city life I am often in 18 different places in one day. I don't have time to talk longer than a couple of minutes, and everyone seems to like it that way. I've noticed people out here talk an average of 10 minutes longer than anyone in the city you run into, and it's hard to know when to say "Gotta go!" So far it's me every time that stops the talking to hit the road. It's too foreign this concept of not being in a rush to get somewhere and do something, get shit done and not just be beating around town stopping to talk with everyone. I don't get it... yet.

There's so much to wrap my head around that it is a little overwhelming at times. I found I have been getting anxiety over trying to get my business rolling while getting used to entirely new surroundings and an entirely new way of life. Its exciting but also very scary. I am not one to get scared to easily but some days out here I am definitely freaked out. I know that in the end I am going to love it, and already do, but still, whoa.

When I go grocery shopping I feel like I am resupplying for a camping trip. It's weird. The little Sobey's in Redwater is so cute, and I don't expect it to have regular "big city" items and when it does I am surprised and delighted.

Out here is the ultimate in recluse living. Me and my man can sit on the back porch and shoot bottles with a BB gun.
We can burn shit whenever we please, and the metal is loud. I liiiikkkke it.

-E.

Unholy guacamole

So I realize I haven't posted a recipe in a while. This one is my moms recipe, tweaked only a little if at all and given the name unholy guacamole to make it sound more black metal of course. 

It's simple and so delicious it has to be evil. Except it's pretty good for you.

You will need:

-3 avocados

-A wedge of lemon or lime 

-Salsa

- Sour cream (my mom made it without, but I sorta like about a tablespoon of it no more than that) or you could even use a small amount of yogurt 

- garlic (to taste) if you're a vampire you will want none obviously, but if you're like me you want a couple cloves in there.

I crudely carve the avocados up and slap em in the dish I'm going to serve it in. It's too annoying to transfer it, and it wastes some. So fuck that, make it easier on yourself.

I add everything. Boom.

I'm using the jar minced garlic cause I feel lazy about chopping it today, and it's almost better anyways.

Lemon that shit up! I like lime the best but I seldom have them since I stopped shooting tequila on the reg, which by the way goes so seamlessly with this guac, like butta. Do the tequila, shit, even splash a touch in there. Rock on.

I just won't cause I don't want to dry out from a tequila binge ever, ever again. 

Get that shit IN THERE.

Ok now, FORK it over and over.

Fork it HARD.

Mmmmmmm not the most appetizing picture but I assure you it's fucking delicious already.

I usually clean the sides of the bowl then smooth it over with the fork, so it doesn't look like a messy tequila and guacamole binge the next day.

Tostitos ? Check.

METALLLLL!!!

-E.

Dr.'s orders

Dr. Seuss was a wise wise man.

I've had this as my phone backround for a while, so I can remind myself to be Erin, 

and all the sides within myself- because  I've got em. I used to think I was just one multifaceted person and that may be partially true, mainly because no psychiatrist has even diagnosed me with multiple personalities.. But they are there.

Warning I could switch from 1st person to 3rd throughout this entry.

Sometimes when I'm uncomfortable around certain people, or feel judged, I can't totally be myself. So I fall back on my reserved personality named Enigma.

Now you're like, really?! Oh this bitch is crazier than I thought, enigma?!

Yeah that's what I wanna call her. It only makes sense. Enigma is:

1) quiet

2) shy

3) mysterious, always mysterious

4) spineless

5) too trusting

6) PC 

All these things are the opposite of who most think I am, but they are in there. It's all socially accommodating traits that are there to not rock the boat, and the reserved part of her is the protective armor I sometimes wear, but overall I'm not a huge fan of her.

She is usually only present for certain people and situations. She is a mask I put on sometimes, and sometimes I immediately shed the mask and other times I put it back on everytime I see the person or I'm in the situation that calls for Enigma. 

When I party or shoot jagermeister, which isn't that often nowadays but it does happen a couple times a year, my party personality takes over and her name is Hobbema Valentine. I got the name after a very intoxicated camping trip where I took a wrong turn on the highway (the next day sober, she's not a drunk driver) and ended up in Hobbema. When she takes over she fucks shit up. She's fun but potentially violent, you definately want to party with her but you also don't want to step on her toes.

She is a force of nature, and doesn't stop till the barn burns down. She is:

1) drunk

2) fun but scary, like a roller coaster 

3) fucker-upper-of-shit

4) self destructive

I don't totally know Hobbema because she is an entirely different person, she takes over like a demonic possession. She also gets kicked out of a lot of gay bars, but usually the gay to do it hugs her and says "sorry I don't want to, but my boss is making me cause you've had too much babe" She doesn't tell me much and when I wake up the next day and she's gone, I've got a wicked hangover to show for it, and have to take responsibility for her wild behavior. I try to not let her out much.

Then there's Hex. She is the one who writes this blog. She is powerful enough to take over and has before, but nowadays she's a big part of "me" but not overwhelming the other sides too much. She's the one that Enigma wants to hide, Erin goes to for reassurance, and Hobbema speaks for. She is:

1) not giving of a fuck

2) a little angry 

3) powerful

4) strong in her convictions

5) "rude"

6) without fear

It is Hex's lack of fear that has kept all of us going during some times of my life, especially with my melanoma battle. Hobbema can't handle it because she would just self destruct, Enigma is a little too insecure to handle fear as well as Hex, and Erin? Geez I don't even know what she's doing when shit hits the fan. Letting Hex take over is what she's doing. 

Hex gets herself in trouble sometimes, but Hex doesn't care, when she offends someone by saying what she wants she only shouts louder. Enigma is too weak to stop her. Hex will be the one to intervene on bad relationships and bad situations- ones where Enigma suffers pain. Hex says what she thinks and feels and has zero tolerance for bullshit. Hex will not be censored and Hex is hated by some who usually are trying to keep up some kind of appearance, and usually judge others. Hex isn't gonna stop for them when she won't even stop for Enigma, who sometimes cringes at Hex's actions, because they are slightly brazen, but in the end they serve us all best.

Hex will go to war and drag the rest of us out alive.

Erin isn't a separate personality, she is just a mix of these three personalities, with some of her qualities unique to just Erin. Those qualities are:

1) heart on sleeve

2) sensitive 

3) caring and considerate

4) off beat

5) happy    

6) glass half full

Erin is hyper sensitive when it comes down to it. She takes most things  seriously and doesn't understand when others don't. She can be wounded and even jaded, but always strives to be as positive as possible. She can see the postive side of the melanoma, or anything else hard in life. She can look for approval for the sake of harmony and social ease but when she doesn't get it Hex can take over the situation, and she keeps pressing on. She exists with little to no prejudice and is baffled by it in others. She is pretty peace loving but has a pretty strong spine, and will disturb peace to preserve her heart and her loved ones hearts. Hex taught her well.

Erin is a bit of a vessel for these different personalities, but she's realized that there is no silencing Hex, and there's no changing Enigma. Hobbema is just the wild card, but even Erin will take responsibility for her, even if it isn't really Enigma or Hex. She just lets them play their part in her life, and all of us in here get to be a part of Erin. 

Maybe all of this sounds batshit crazy to you, but to us it's normal, it's right, it's our life. You've got your own personalities too, demons many call them. They aren't demonic, they are innate, a part of you. Embrace them. All of them will thank you if you can thank them. 

And I thank you, those who understand this conglomerate of different people inside me. You mean more to me than anything else in the world. Without you all we would have nothing to live for. Without those who oppose us we would have nothing to fight for, nothing to identify as. So thank you all.

May you embrace your inner Hex,  love your inner Enigma, and let that Hobbema out of the cage from time to time.

-E.

The ugly side of beauty

So I'm thinking I should be calling this blog "The bitchy esthetician" cause that's how I feel these days, but I'd be ripping off this guy (who I love btw):

http://thebitchywaiter.com

My job fucking sucks.
It almost is enough to make me hate it, but I will not let those greezy lebs steal my soul after stealing out of my pocket.

There is ZERO incentive with that company. (I will stop short of saying the name of the place, that way they can never say I was slandering them! HA! Take that ********!!!) ZERO incentive. Even when I manage to sell a bunch of products I look at my check and I'm not even payed commission on them. When all you do all is day is groupon deals -that are basically half priced or less- you cannot earn commission. You could be busy 9 straight hours without a lunch and STILL not take home commission. Fucking bullshit. They literally are stealing money thats not there right out of my bank account. I could be making so much more but instead I have no choice but to make their pittance of an hourly rate. No raises offered, they don't pay you for the time spent in classes to benefit them, and charge high prices with the place crumbling around the customers. No working facial steamer. In a spa. Wtf. Not right.

To top it off, these half price customers are mostly the worst type of customer you'll ever have. Except you have them everyday. They complain, they don't tip, they have fucking packages so you have to see them for 4 whole fucking treatments, they are rude and like I said, either don't tip or tip you once like $5-$10 and then each time they return to you for another treatment in their package, they don't tip because they figured they already tipped you once, they've given you enough. How else will they get all of that for almost free?

Cheap people disgust me. They think they are so smart pocketing that money that should go to the person who just doted on them for an hour or 3, they will build a castle of that money and sit in there all alone and hated and miserable on the inside. They would wipe their own asses with that money before they properly tip the waiter or the esthetician or stylist or whatever. I hate them, I don't want them as friends, I wouldn't date a cheapo, I think they are the poison of the earth.
Their greed shines through their eyes, with steadfast resolve, an un-penetrable ugliness with the strict goal of saving a buck.

But really it's the company allowing all of these cheap people in in the first place, they are the ones doing this to me. They don't have to actually do the work so they don't care. The salon business is a tough go for anyone no matter how talented. It's not an east business to get rich in, but these guys seem to have it down. Steal from the employee, pocket a big check. Boom! Daddy's got enough money to support all the families in his village back in Lebanon, getting money off the backs of Canadians and the immigrants he pays slightly more than the Canadians. But lets not enough touch that one.

Ugh I almost feel like I just punched a pillow for an hour and am almost totally exhausted. I just am tired most of the time these days. Tired of bullshit. I'm about to stop all this working for someone else and go work for myself again. Being your own boss is the shit. I only want to work for Erin. She's nice and she won't make me work till 9pm or take a cut on commission, she will make me work hard but reward me for it! Wow what a concept. I can't wait to work for me again.

I only have a couple of shifts left, but my anger has been growing. It's all I can do to suck it up and put a smile on my face for the hope that I'll make a decent tip. That's right, that's why we smile, we've got motives of our own. :)

K blogeshere, friends and stalkers alike, this bitchy beauty school star has to go to sleep, to wake up and make cheap people feel special all over again.

-E.