Here's an exciting update!

I'm digging out from under boxes from The Great Moving House Adventure (All two blocks of it--yes, you read that correctly--we moved two blocks.  LOL), although slowly, I'm still trying to get stuff sorted and organized with the unpacking.

A few weeks ago, there was an incident online which I won't even dignify with commenting about, other than to say lesson learned and after nearly twenty one years on the internet, I will remain as neutral as Switzerland.  JS  

Cancer Bitches is growing by leaps and bounds!

Cookies, I've created new ones with using my base recipe, white chocolate chips and raspberries.  People jumped on those like crazy.  Some even made it to Oklahoma City, although I think more of my lavender cookies made it there than the raspberry ones, but that's okay.  My cookies are traveling!  Next up, miniature blueberry lemon cream cuppy cakes!  (Yes, oh yes, there will be foodporn!)

The Children of the Fur like the new house.  I've acquired a couple of small baskets and they really like laying in those for some reason. 

I love living where I live.  I was out and about to pick up Football Monkey this week when I stopped by a shop in town.  At the shop next door to where I was going in, there was a man and a woman, each with a rather large blanket, running around the parking lot.  They were chasing a ginormous rooster that's evidently been running all over town for the last two weeks and nobody can catch it.  I hope they caught it because roosters are chickens and chickens are scary, although I have to say it was pretty fucking entertaining to see people chasing a rooster in town.

People are trashy.  I picked up trash from the fence line earlier this week at Mr. K's around the corner.  People are seriously trashy.  This wasn't stuff that was blown around by the wind because you know, Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain.  This was people being too fucking lazy to ditch their trash properly and tossed it out the window.  A porn mag, seriously?  Beer bottles, water bottles, sports drink bottles, empty cigarette packs, paper soda cups.  But a porn mag?  What a fucking I can't even come up with something creative enough for that shit.

Up side?  I had carrots with me and was nicely hugged, nudged, and loved on by the horses who wanted carrot bites.  (Yes, horses can hug a human if they use their head and neck the correct way.  It's pretty awesome to be hugged by a horse.  It's probably like petting a sea turtle, dolphin, or elephant.)

Now that I've unpacked probably 3/4 of the way, I want to go back over to the small show horse barn and start grooming again, even if it's only once a week because of football going on right now.  (Note to self to avoid the scary, rabid chickens there.)

Speaking of unpacking, I found my horse cookie recipe.  This is awesome because I have peppermints and carrots and molasses and oats, so I can make horse cookies.  How fucking awesome is that, readers?  Pretty fucking awesome!

And speaking of finding my recipe, I stopped off at the local library to see if they had any interesting books available for sale.  Let me tell you, I walked out of there after having paid one USD with five books, two of which were amazingly spiffy recipe books!  I've got a wealth of new recipes to monkey around with in the kitchen and spent only twenty cents on each book!  I am sofa king awesome!

I've acquired more twit followers than I can shake a stick at, all over the world in all kinds of varying fields, and the same goes for my pinterest boards, although pinterest is now wanting to charge for paid pins, so I'm not too sure about that yet.  We'll see how that goes.

There's a crochet project I'm working on, which could turn out to be interesting, if it works.  

Recently, there was a discussion about advice for flatness.  Of course, there was a comment made about breasts not defining us as women--there always is one of those.  And of course, I had plenty to say about that shit.  I said I felt like my breasts did define me as a woman because they helped make me appear to be more feminine and they were part of what made me a woman and I hate not having them now.  If anyone feels like their breast did define them as a woman and that was ripped away, that's normal.  One person said she hadn't thought about it from the perspective of if someone didn't like being flat.  It opened up the conversation enough to where I was able to tell her I got so tired of seeing the fake platitude crap about yippee-skip-acceptance that I started the Cancer Bitches group.  If someone is having a bad day, and it happens to everyone, they're allowed to say something there in a safe space instead of being told to suck it up and wear the pink ribbon because yay, gtfoi, pink ribbons and shit.  Nope, if someone's having a shit day, they can cry or vent or rage in a safe space and will be given kindness and respect and now she's a Cancer Bitch.  (No, we aren't always going to agree with each other about everything all the time, but that's part of being a mature adult, being able to discuss things with others, even if it's not always something everyone will agree about.)

Change what you can't accept or accept what you can't change.  I can't fucking change how much cancer fucked me over in a multitude of ways.  It fucking happened and I can't fucking change that and I sure as fuck refuse to accept it.

You're now returned to your regularly scheduled mundane blog reading.  I know you all missed my bitchtastic bitchitude here since I haven't updated recently.  I'll try to get that regular updating thing sorted out.

How do you do and a fuck you, too.

Welcome to the new readers.  Thank you for taking the time to read what thoughts tumble out of my brain, through my fingers, and into words on here.  So, how do you do?  I'd like to add a thank you for stopping by.  I hope you don't mind that I put the further content of this post together since it was something I think I've been wanting to say, but hadn't quite figured out the verbosity of it.  You can quit reading now, if you want to.  I wouldn't be angrivated about that at all if you did.

I would like to mention I've done a bit of remodeling since I seem to have more traffic these days.  Comments have been enabled, although I reserve the right to moderate them because I'm an evil bitch like that and I like the fact that I can refuse someone's comments about how evil I am because I'm evil.  Just saying.

I've gone from visits from the continental US and Alaska to worldwide visits, which is pretty awesome sauce.  (If anyone was wondering I've been on the internet over twenty years now, and have been blogging off and on for thirteen years, as well as being a wife and mom, married for twenty-five years with three male monkeys raised, so I do have a variety of life experience which makes me more than qualified to do whatever the hell it is I want to do.  Right?  Right.  Just saying.)

All of that said, the fuck you too goes out to the fuckers who kicked me to the curb when I was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer for whatever reason and the ones who just don't fucking comprehend that there is no going back to the old normal self and those who think they "know" better than I do about me and my life.  Instead of telling me that like you have all the answers, which I know you don't and in my book, that makes you delusional in an amusing way, why couldn't you have asked me what you could do to help me?  Oh wait, it's because you know everything, which I find damn funny.

Since some people seem to think they know everything, then maybe they have answers about how to cope with a cancer diagnosis and a year of poisoning with shit made from some of the chemical components of Agent Orange, being consistently and intentionally lied to about anything and everything related to said diagnosis, having the entire upper third of their chest ripped off their body to leave nothing but skin over ribs and not being allowed to have physical therapy because the surgeon "didn't see a need for it."  (I still have fucking problems with fine motor skill and dexterity nearly three years out from being surgically mutilated.  Even hand writing a check is very difficult for me now.)

Tell me how you know you have all the answers about how aggressive scanning isn't something that's a big deal when said scans are bad for the human body, how any ache or pain needs to be explained and/or monitored to make certain that I don't have mets, be it from chemo, what's done to me to monitor me, or whatever.  Sure, you have all the answers about me being the age I am and trapped in a body that has an added twenty years to it because of what was done to me and I'm sure you can completely explain all about normality and functionality when it doesn't truly exist for me any longer, just like you know all about my bitchitude because I talk about this shit and not the fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter.

Let me think about this for a moment.  Done.  (That lasted maybe half a millisecond, didn't it?)

Bitchitude and being brutally honest so that maybe it helps someone else versus fake, smarmy bullshit of pink ribbons and glitter and hope, because you know, people with cancer just "hope" it away.

Guess what the content here will be?  Yes, you guessed it.  

Bitchitude and plenty of it, so haters gonna hate on my bitchitude, Imma tell you go somewhere else and fuck yourself.  Or if not, you can always come back and read my future post about the cancer INDUSTRY and then you can tell me you don't believe me when I say it's an industry after I put the fucking numbers in front of your nose and then still keep your comments to yourself.

Still rocking the Foca laundry soap and vinegar for the laundry.  I have Castile soap which I'll be using to make body soap and shampoo, although I think tomorrow, I may do a molasses rinse on the hair.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

The good.  

Progress on the house building.  

Youngest son's football team won the state championship game.  

The oncologist told me that since next month is three years from my bilateral mastectomy surgery date and I was scanned on Monday of this week, that he would say I am cancer free.  If I can make it another two years, he would say I am cured of the kind of breast cancer I had.  

Laundry update.

More of that awesome Foca laundry soap is making the laundry all fresh and clean.  Still using the vinegar as fabric softener and still having that work well.  

The bad. 

Mean Mom who I recently encountered, I made a simple comment in passing.  You were absolutely hostile to me for no reason when you replied to my comment.  I removed myself from the situation.  As I did so, I was thinking to myself, "I know the statistics, bitch.  You better hope you aren't eventually one of them, because you have no fucking clue about anything."

The skinny ditz who was wearing those atrocious tights/leggings thingies as pants.  I don't give a fuck how trendy you think it is and how skinny you actually are, your butt still jiggles when you walk and it looks ridiculous.  Why the hell do people think it's a good idea to wear those out of the house?

The woman who was at the store dressed as a cougar recently.  You looked like you were my age hunting for someone the ages of one of my sons.  I thought I left that shit in Florida.  Wtf?  

The ugly.  

I was talking to a friend who said an incredibly kind thing to me.  She said I shouldn't have to apologize for being myself.  If people don't understand or at least make the attempt to, that I should ditch them because they're not the kind of people I need in my life.

She is so fucking correct on that.

Just because I've known someone for whatever amount of time doesn't mean I consider them worthy of being involved in my life any longer.  I've learned who is worth being in my life and who isn't because they refuse to accept me for being me, be it the old normal, healthy me I once was, or the new surgically mutilated me who was poisoned for a year, who is still trying to learn to function.  If that means I have a bitchy attitude, or bitchitude, then there it is.

I've gone from I don't give a fuck because of a cancer diagnosis to mastering the zen art of giving zero fucks to removing people who refuse to accept me as me, regardless of where or how I am.  

People who were once welcome in my life are no longer welcome to be part of it, regardless of how involved they were and I will not fucking apologize for that.

And no, I don't give a fuck who it offends.

Pinterest milstone? Yes, indeed!

I now have hit over 500 followers on Pinterest.  Earlier, I checked and was at 499.  

I just checked again to see if anything exciting was going on and noticed I was at 501 followers.  266 of those are on A Valid Option, thus proving that people are seeking more information of all kinds about cannabis as a valid medical option for a variety of illnesses and diseases.

So, those of you out there who want to tell me I have a bad attitude, I don't have a bad attitude.  I have bitchitude, a bitchy attitude, and I'm putting it to good use.

I'm putting it to good use by speaking up about the vile pink washing of October.  I'm putting it to good use by reminding people that men can be diagnosed with breast cancer, also.  I'm putting it to good use by speaking up about mets and trying to tell people that what they are told about "breast cancer" generically by media is lies because it's not "curable" in the sense that media is lying about it.  They don't talk about those 30% of women who will wind up with mets.  They don't talk about how once diagnosed, the risk of that never truly goes away, be it within months or decades later, regardless of the kind of breast cancer someone was diagnosed with.  They don't talk about the lies about early detection saving lives; it doesn't.  Someone diagnosed at grade 0, stage 0 can still wind up with mets.

I'm putting it to good use by refusing to sugar coat or glitterize anything cancer related.

*I* do talk about those things because someone needs to.  If someone doesn't like it, then fine.  Go somewhere else.  The only fluffy thing around there that will be discussed will be my cats and the sheep who is my new BFF.  Just saying.