First, i am so excited to have a follower on my blog. I think I know who it is, and it is someone who I would tell all the stuff i write on my blog and then some, but if i have a follower, it is sort of like i am the next Ernest hemingway. Or maybe Hunter s. Thompson, if he did not write any of the serious stuff. And if he was a girl. With breast cancer.Now secondly, I forgot to write this on the blog about my kids. Maybe there is a way to edit that post, but i am sort of flying by the seat of my pants here. is that an expression or is this chemo brain again. I noticed that I did click on something to have commercials on my blog. I suppose if I were a true artist I would be appalled by this but I think it causes me to make money when I have more than one follower, which sort of makes me like a best selling new york times author. Which is really my goal. Not specifically, but in general- doing something that is really fun and slightly anti-social and profiting monetarially from it. Because, unfortunately, I am apparently too old to be a hooker again. I mean for the first time ever. I have a doctorate degree.
So what I wanted to add to the blog about the kids. My whole cancer-relationship with them can sort of be summed up in the profile picture I posted. (Alliteration for you girls latin girls and NYU English majors on my facebook friend list. And don't you have something better to do than read my blog? Very sad.) For Christmas, after getting diagnosed, I ordered Meghan and Laura t-shirts from a Sublime cover band that say "I don't get angry when my mom smokes pot...." And I forced them to put them on and pose for a picture with me, which I would then post on facebook. At the time they were sufficiently sympathetic to my cancer-ridden state that they did agree to do that. However, that was before I was the high tech wonder I am today and needed Meghan's help to actually post the picture, so she PHOTO_SHOPPED IT AND BLANKED OUT THEIR FACES. Well, kids, you are outed now. Of course now that I think of it, they probably would get angry when their mom smokes pot. Or at least annoyed when their mom makes pot brownies. Or maybe when she posts it on the internet.
And the other thing i was going to put on the last blog about my kids was about when i quietly might talk about funny looking people at the oncologist's. First of all they should be glad they don't go to the Plastic Surgeon (Barbie's) office. Much more interesting group of people. Anyway, i was going to say that I might talk quietly and discretely about other people, but I blanked on the word discreet. Couldn't remember it to save my life. Granted there is that whole older-brain-menopausal-add person on chemo thing going on and sometimes i can't remember the exact word I am trying to think of. But I think Freud would have something to say about my choosing to forget the word discrete. Or discreet. However you spell it. Like i forgot the word and then i forgot how to be it.
I am going to surf the web now and try to find even more embarrassing t shirts for both my kids and yet-to-be-conceived grandchilddren. Love you, girls.