All posts tagged cancer

Chick Habit

Published August 12, 2012 by Sandee

On face book, a friend mentioned watching Death Proof.  This made me think of April March’s song Chick Habit, which was featured in the movie.  In error I referred to the song as Chick Magnet when I commented that I loved the movie.  It has one of the sexiest car crash scenes ever!

This song makes you want to wear leather, chew gum, spit it out, drink tequila, flirt with boys then dramatically squash your cigarette out with your boot.   Oh, and the song comes in French too!

The Sloan Kettering T**ty Smashing Machine and Other Tragedies

Published May 23, 2012 by Sandee

I am mean?  No, I am not mean.  But there is no way that I would have been able to tolerate what I witnessed behind the front desk at the Sloan Kettering Breast Center as I waited for my breast screening.  In the past as an office worker sentenced to sit next to some of the most hideously unprofessional people I have ever had the displeasure of working with, I have had the task of asking them to please keep their voices down when talking incessantly to coworkers instead of working, and to please turn down hideous pop music blaring from their cheap radios.

A worker behind the desk at Sloan Kettering had some holy roller preacher blaring on her computer.  Yasah, Jaysus-sah – praise Gawd!  Because ya see Jaysus loves ya, yasah!  Unbefucking-lievable!  This should never be tolerated in a place of business.  Another woman sits at her chair behind the desk and starts singing – OVER the other woman’s holy roller station!  And she’s singing a gospel song!  I’m thinking how rude this all is, and at the same time she’s singing music which would imply that she would be respectful to her fellow God-fearing man.  So she then turns on her computer, which is less than two feet away from the other woman with her holler roller station still on.  Her computer comes on, and ta-dahhhh, she plays gospel music on hers!  So we’ve got competing gospel stations on and one bitch singing!  And this is a place of business.

But, they seemed all kumbayah about it as the two competing gospel women began a conversation.  The one who was singing turned around, and I saw that she wore the tightest pants on one of the cottage cheesiest of behinds.  I could see the holes of her butt through her pants.  She says to her competing holy roller friend, “I thought these pants would be too tight.  But I lost a lot of weight.”  Her friend smiles beatifically and says, “Oh so they fit now.  That’s good.”  They weren’t religious rivals after all, but supportive friends and coworkers.  Who knew?

There was a third woman behind the desk who seemed oblivious to it all as she sailed through her work without a twitch, except for a questionable glance in my direction, which might have been interpreted as “Help me…”  She was a saint I tell ya!  I don’t think I could’ve dealt with that shit.

What I did have to deal with was having my already nearly non-existing breasts smashed to pieces in that God-forsaken machine!   The wig-wearing technician was a sadist!!  “I have to make this a liii-tle tighter,” she says, turning the knob further around.  “Seriously,” I tell her, “I never had this thing turned up so tight before.”  I left out of there screaming, I swear, “My titties hurt!”  I think I scared her.  Maybe she didn’t want to get fired.  In the dressing room, when I couldn’t find my glasses she ran over to help me look for them trying to be all nice and everything.

Lastly, the show on the TV in the second waiting room, the one away from the front where all the women wear robes, was a breast cancer awareness program.  I realized that one of the actors in the film was an ex friend of mine!  Ahaha!!  Could this day not be any more interesting?  She played a sympathetic family member.  (What a joke!)  I thought, well at least the bitch is getting some work.

A Nice Story for Mother’s Day

Published May 13, 2012 by Sandee



Your Spawn, Mona

Mona played chess with the computer, listened to death metal and ate quinoa.  She’d eat soft food until the pain from her root canal stopped.  She moved her black knight and the computer’s white queen checkmated her.  “Arrhhhhhhhh!!”  When Mona screamed there was a stabbing pain in her jaw.  She winced and flung the quinoa bowl onto the floor, and herself behind it, writhing like a junky kicking smack.  She cried in an intense implosion, not to allow her neighbors to hear this sad, desperate woman living alone breaking down in an act of humiliation and defeat.  With tears and snot on her face, she crawled back to the computer and turned up the volume on ‘Fall into Decay’.  The music was severe and celebrated decay, which she loved and could relate to.

Her pain lessened now and the internet station played one after another of the songs she liked, ‘Reality Distortion’, ‘Under the Rotted Flesh’, and ‘Nocturnal Dominion’.  She saw humor in this kind of anti-music.

The cell phone vibrated on the sofa.  “Who the hell’s this?  I hate everybody!”  It was her sister, the only one she could stand talking to when she was like this.

“Ma’s sad you’re not speaking to her.”

“I’ll go on ahead and email her some death metal songs for Mother’s Day, okay?”

“Ain’t no good, gon’ come to ya,” her sister said, and they laughed.

She didn’t think it would be mean to send her mother these songs.  For all of the issues between them it baffled her to no end that her mother was one who understood her – this woman who had betrayed her on different levels.  In the body of the email, she pasted links to the songs, ‘Seeds of Suffering’, ‘Thanks for Nothing’ and ‘Where Humanity is Cancer’, which had screams of agony and a great chaotic rhythm.  Happy Mother’s Day! she wrote in the subject line.  Above the links to the death metal songs she wrote:  Dear Mom, these songs celebrate my existence and are a tribute to your being the channel to my glorious life.  Who has five rows of teeth, bile colored toenails and squiggly hair?  Your spawn, Mona.

She knew that her mother would listen to all of the songs.  She hit send and called her mother two hours later.

“Yeah Happy Mother’s Day,” Mona said.

“Yeah you too bitch,” said her mother, as if possessed, her voice affected with  darkness.  Her mother’s usual was a lady-like manner and sweet voice.  And she rarely cursed.  The departure was exhilarating to Mona.

What?”  Mona laughed until gasping for air, coughing finally, wiping tears from her eyes.  What her mother had said was even crazier because Mona had no children.  She was caught off guard at these moments when her mother allowed herself to go with her brand of cynicism.  She realized that this was one way of connecting with a daughter who had distanced herself by focusing on the wrongs inflicted on her throughout the years.  Mona relished the sound of her mother’s demonic giggling through her own spasmodic laughter.