A Day In The Life of the Selfie
Dyed.
I realize I have been remiss in writing anything of substance here, returning correspondence or showing adequate respect of my friends in the LJ community. I am coming back. Slowly. I will start with this cell phone photo dump about my life to hopefully get the writing going. Sorry for clogging your browser, but consider this ten posts in one.
In this post, I offer you a day in The Life of the Selfie. This is me about 30 minutes ago, just back from a night out with kiddo during which we laughed really hard. Much of our laughter involved me telling her crazy tales of my youth, followed by one of my favorite punchlines: “If it was up your butt, you’d know.” These tales involved any number of things that I could write stories about, including learning how to play pinball from “trannies” even though now I’m not allowed to call them “trannies.” After being chastised at great length by my girl for using the now banned word, I said, “Anyway, back then they just liked to be called “girl.” I told my almost grown up daughter how these towering black cross-dressing men watched over me because I was little and, well, they were big. I was only 15 and 16 years old when I was dancing to Sylvester and Sister Sledge with the “trannies” back in 1978. Then I sadly reflected on the fact that they are most likely all dead from AIDS now. Then I ranted about how the high tech yuppie scum have stolen my city. Then it slipped out that I sold drugs to the trannies, and that I was only sixteen years old. So Bean was like, “Wait. My mom sold drugs to trannies when she was sixteen?!” She then thought about the stories her friends talk about their moms and mentioned telling her friends this story. I said “If they ask you what drugs, you can answer ‘If they were up your butt you’d know.’” We DIED laughing. Okay, maybe not the best Mommy role model moment, but it sure made us laugh hard, and laughing is healthy dammit!
That story followed the story of the time I broke a drunk woman’s hand with a baseball bat when I was working in a bar in San Diego. The woman was mocking me for not wearing a belt. I was dirt poor, and it was a very bad time in my life. I did not appreciate having my poverty pointed out to me by a drunk woman who attempted to assault my belt loops. The vaca reached behind the bar and tried to grab my pants. I acted on instinct, grabbed the baseball bat from under the bar, and smacked her hand with it. So I broke her hand in seven places. It was an accident. Seems normal to me. Next day, I showed up to work and was told I didn’t have a job. I was seventeen, same age as my daughter now. My kid, who has a brown belt in jujitsu, informed me that she knows lots of ways to break hands that don’t involve baseball bats.
We interrupt this broadcast with Luthien the Farting Cat.
The other story I shared, I am not going to share right now because it needs to be incorporated in my Great Reveal Post, in which I will tell you something about me that 99.9999% of you reading this do not know. Maybe tomorrow . . . If I forget, feel free to remind me, as in “Hey, KDD, how about The Great Reveal Post?”
Back to the happy photo above. Note on close inspection, I am not wearing make-up. I have a big ass scar on my nose from skin cancer a few years ago and a freshly healing (though needs more taking off of it cancer on my lip). Today my throat was biopsied. Two weeks ago, I had four cancers taken off my face. I’ve been dealing with the Cancer Shit since I got back from my art show in LA. Lately, I just want to take it easy when not dealing with this crud.
So the good news is that the throat stuff most likely is being dealt with without chemo or radiation. I am blessed. So many of my friends are battling hardcore cancer right now, and THEY DO NOT DESERVE IT. I, on the other hand, made some very bad choices in my past life (see notes above for example), and I am paying the price, but my guardian angel is still watching over me. Most of my cancers are a result of sun exposure though excessive drinking and smoking in my past life are contributors. At this point, I have developed a severe allergy to the sun and need to avoid it or slather myself in SPF 1000 to stay safe.
So after the relief of the throat biopsy and coming home from work today, I decided to dye my hair because I was sick of feeling dowdy with Cancer Face. For the record, one should not dye one’s own hair when emotionally fraught and physically exhausted. WHAT A DEBACLE! Hair dye was running down the walls! Running down my chest! My ear was slathered in it! It dripped on my brand new cotton sheets! I stained my big toe with the shit! I have no idea . . . Sure I had to scrub myself purple to get the crap off of me, but I still feel much more fabulous.
Pretty Purple Parasol Saves My Life Dammit.
Speaking of fabulous and purple, here is Selfie #2. I walk around with this bright purple umbrella to keep the sun off my body. I also have a green one and a gold one. I buy them in bulk at the awesome Mom & Pop owned dollar store on Grant and 1st. Wait? Is “Mom & Pop” politically correct, or is it off the table with trannies and dykes? Fuck if I know. Back in the 70s being queer was an act of revolution. The object was to REVOLT not to ASSIMILATE. I guess I’m behind the times. Forgive me, but I love anyone who has the cahones to stand up and go against the status quo. Call it whatever you want. Call it Cancer Face Purple Umbrella Princess!
Pokes is always there with love and purrs. Always.
In the meanwhile, as I have navigated the tumult of dealing with Cancer Face while working full time, recovering from my art show and parenting my child, my Fur Sharks have given me much joy, and playing guitar has given me much solace. The best part about all of it is that the Fur Sharks love when I play the guitar. They actually get stoned on it.
Punka totally stoned on guitar.
My new set-up includes my Cry Baby Wah pedal, Boss Overdrive, Super Pickle (not pictured here), analog delay, and . . . a Ditto looper. I’ve been working on the nuances of the looper. It is SO RAD. Like playing two guitars at once. All of which sounds amazing through my killer little tube amp of course. Oh shit, I better stop writing soon so I can go play guitar!
Max smiles and so do I even with swoll face.
To top it all off, Max came out of hibernation just to cheer up this old girl. I look like shit in this photo with the big guy (right after Cancer Removal #1), but Max is smiling and I’m smiling to see him. He GREW! He’s SO BIG. That tortoise can kill a ball of radicchio like nobody’s business.
Speaking of business. It’s late. I need to play guitar and get up early and ride my bike before work. I’ve been riding every morning to get my body chemistry calm and peaceful (relatively speaking) to make it through life.
My Set-Up
Typos stand or this blog will never make it to the interwebs.
Over and out.
KDD
PS: Two more photos of my Fur Sharks as we attempt but fail to get off the bed and two of Max devouring radiccio:
