Special Feelings

Hi everyone, welcome to another superfun edition of The Adventures of Alle Malice: The life and time of a feral girl turned glamourpuss turned cancer patient!

Okay. That was overdramatic. But I kind of want to talk about that a little bit, because the whole question of How One Seems To Handle This versus How One REALLY Handles This has been a tough one for me to negotiate.

If there is one thing that I can handle, it is tragedy. In the face of disaster, I solidify. I have absolute certainty that I can handle it. So when my doctor said the word “cancer” to me, I had my fifteen-minute freakout and then I calmed right down. My mind cleared and I got ready to do what I had to do. That’s how I deal with things. It doesn’t mean that I’m not scared. It means that I’m mastering that fear and getting on with it.

The issue that I have is that I don’t know how to handle other people’s reactions to this. The word “cancer” conjures up images of chemo baldness and sickness and hospitals and cemetaries, because everyone has had someone in their life who’s had those experiences. Myself included. But that’s not what’s happening with me; I won’t even be in the hospital overnight for my surgery. The thing is that people don’t hear that right away, even when I say it clearly. They start to treat me differently, like a sick person or a dying person, and I hate that because I’m neither.

So I’ve basically been handling this as almost a joke, a light-hearted blip on my radar, no big deal darling; let’s talk about YOU. Because I can’t deal with more more pity-hug or one more tear-filled look, and I know it’s just because people love me but man, it sure makes it all harder. But if I make a joke about it, then everyone’s fine and because they see me being calm, they are calm. The converse, unfortunately, is also true. I’m setting the emotional baseline, so if I freak out…everyone will freak out.

That’s a problem, because I WANT to freak out sometimes. And I get scared. And I worry about the future, and I think about dying. And I struggle with feeling like damaged goods, like I’m so less than perfect now that no guy will ever want me. But I can’t talk to people about that because as soon as I say “I’m really afraid,” I see a look of panic creep into their eyes because if I’m scared, then they should be scared for me. And I don’t know how to handle that; balance needing to talk about what I’m afraid of with not terrifying my nearest and dearest.

Thus far I’ve handled it by talking about it in very small increments with lots of people; diffusing it, I guess. It’s worked and it hasn’t; it’s good to say things out loud, but I can’t really go into detail, so…fifteen percent success rate. I’m really not sure how to handle this going forward. I am so thankful for everyone who’s been worried about me and called me and texted and been sweet and supportive–this is not me saying that I want you to do more or be different, because I don’t. This is my stuff, my issues with emotional expression and giving an appropriate sense of drama to the entire thing. My friends and family have been wonderful. I’m just not sure how to keep them informed without worrying them.

I think this is the first time that I’ve written stuff down and not come to some conclusion by the end. I guess this is more complicated than I thought.

Loves you!

The Big C: update

Before I tell you where I am or what I’m doing, I want to stop for a minute and say thankyou. These last few weeks have been rough, and I am amazed at how much love and support I’ve gotten from every source. There were times this year where I really thought that nobody cared about me and I would never have friends again. I look at my life now and I am awed by how many incredible people are in it and how much they care. My heart is so full of love for you that I can’t even express it properly, so imagine me yelling “THANKYOU!” and throwing my arms around your neck and you’ll have an idea of how moved and thankful I am.

Anyway. I’m back in Naperville now and I’m getting ready for the next rounds of tests. My biopsy results came back last week and they were not good. What’s going to happen now is something called a colposcopy, where my (new) doctor has a look around at my cervix and takes some more tissue samples. She’ll also take a sample from my uterus to check the cell abnormalities in the endometrial walls. So think of me on Thursday; I’ll have a camera up my cooch. I know! It’s like the party NEVER STOPS!

My Mum is quite upset that I’ve been writing about what’s happening with my health, not to mention VISIBLY SHAKEN that I have discussed it! Out loud! WITH BOYS! “I know I always say that it’s good to be open and honest” she said over dinner last night. ”But maybe you should be a little LESS open and honest.”

I don’t agree. Dude, when my doctor called and told me that I had some weird blood levels and an irregular pap smear which could mean cancer, do you know how scared I was? I was TERRIFIED. And do you know what I found on the internet? Outdated textbook material and hysterical propaganda calling me a dirty whore who brought this on herself via premarital sex. Neither of which are accurate. Do you think I could find one personal account that told me “Does a colposcopy hurt?” Do you think that anyone was talking about whether or not I’ll still be able to have kids after all this shit? No. I could not.

From what my female friends have told me, I’m not the first one to go through this. I may be the first one to have precancerous/cancerous cells, but I am not alone by ANY means when it comes to dealing with this. I’m just not embarrassed to talk about it. My reproductive organs are body parts like any other. I am not a dirty whore with HPV–I don’t even have HPV, but while I’m on the subject, let’s discuss how nobody even knows how that virus is transmitted, how 1 in 3 people in the US carries it, how dudes are the ones who spread it but can’t be tested, how most strains do not cause warts, how it doesn’t cause cervical cancer but is a huge risk factor for it and how vaccines like Gardasil are amazing and readily available. And then let’s discuss that all of these things were told to me by my doctor yet were NOT all in one place on the internet.

So, you know what? Yeah. I’m going to talk about this. I’m going to tell you that a cursory biopsy is uncomfortable, but what’s REALLY uncomfortable is walking around with numbed-up insides. I’ll tell you what a colposcopy feels like, and I’ll tell you what happens next. If you’re grossed out by reading this or if you think that I’m gross for writing it, see you later; don’t let the door hit ya where the dog should have bit ya.

My internet access is severely limited at my Mum’s house; you should see the lumbering beast that I’m typing this on. I’ll let you know after Thursday what happens.

Loves you!

The C-bomb gets dropped

Last week, I got some scary medical news. I’ve been wondering what, if anything, I should say about it.

At first I thought, I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll scrunch the whole thing up into a ball and swallow it and it’ll be like it never happened. Except, of course, that’s impossible. I don’t think I’m capable of keeping something this size a secret.

So here it is, as simply as I can put it: I went to see my doctor, and some routine tests came back looking a little funny. I am currently undergoing more tests to see if the abnormalities detected are because of cancer in my uterus and cervix.

I have been tested, vaccinated, and then re-tested for HPV, which is the biggest risk factor for cervical cancer, and I do not have any of the strains. Repeat: THIS IS NOT HPV RELATED. Because of this, my doctor thinks that the abnormalities–she’s not calling them cancer yet, and neither am I–began in my uterus and moved downward. Apparently this isn’t totally uncommon.

I had a biopsy on Wednesday to determine where on the spectrum of “wrong” these abnormalities fall. I won’t have any results back for a few days. Once I have a better idea of what I’m dealing with, I’ll know what to do next. The good news is that treatment for anything, even full-on cancer of this type, is fairly simple and relatively non-invasive. I say “fairly” which, to me, means no chemo or drug treatments that would LITERALLY render me poisonous. It’ll probably be a couple surgical procedures followed by close monitoring. Okay, I’ll take it.

Emotionally, this has been a strange ride. I kind of feel like after a certain point, you can’t feel shocked by the sheer awfulness of events anymore. It just maxes out like a credit card. That’s where I was at when my doctor called and basically said “Yo dude, you might have cancer.” I was like, of course. Of course I might have cancer. This is just the CHERRY ON TOP of a FANTASTIC year.

And then I Googled it. Guys, if you ever hear a doctor say “cancer” to you, take my advice and DON’T GOOGLE IT. You will see GROSS pictures and hear absolute horror stories, and you won’t learn anything except new ways to be scared. Talk to your doctor first and ask if they can point you in the direction of good literature. It’s way less horrifying.

Anyway, I ran across the word “hysterectomy” on one site and lost my goddamned mind. I’ve only recently started thinking that I might want to have kids someday, and the fact that I might have lost the option at all…it killed me. I might have had a superfically funny but actually very serious tantrum about it: “I’m five foot ten, I’ve never had braces, I have a natural immunity to chickenpox and I’m a natural blonde! I’m a genetic goldmine! THIS CANNOT END WITH ME!” I now know that this would be the absolute last resort in the absolute worst-case scenario, and that my ACTUAL treatment for whatever this ends up being will not affect my ability to have kids in the future. So, phew.

The biopsy was weird and uncomfortable, but not unduly painful. As I was lying there, though, I just started crying. Hard. My doctor, bless her, was really worried–”Are you okay? Are you in pain? Don’t worry, this will be over really soon!”–but I wasn’t crying about any of that. I was crying because I was just. So. ANGRY. After everything, after this whole shitty year, how is this happening to me? What the fuck? Haven’t I had a hard enough time without being scared for my life? Which, don’t let the cavalier writing style fool you, I totally am. I mean, I know I’m not out saving the world or anything, but I really love life and I don’t want to stop living it any time soon.

So that’s my story. I know that, ultimately, I am going to be okay no matter what happens. Cancer, precancer, freak cells, whatever; I am going to get through it. This might be one of the scarier things that I’ve had to deal with, but I know that I’m equal to it. And I’ve got a wonderful safety net of friends and family who are backing me 100%, so not only do I know that I’m strong enough, I know that I’m never alone.

Loves you VERY VERY MUCH!

In which I trick you into reading poetry

Eating: Marshmallows, straight from the bag.
Listening to: A mixtape I’m making for Erika, tentative title: GIVE IT UP FOR FEATHERS!
Wearing: Sequin short-shorts, fur coat, shark slippers. Yeah I know, I’m confused too.

…

If you’ve been alive this year, you’ve probably felt like 2009 has been especially rough. I don’t know what happened, but even if these last couple months are nothing but rainbows and puppies, this will still be the worst year of my entire life.

But why dwell? 2010 is right around the corner and despite it all, I’m excited! New places to go, new people to meet, new experiences to have…I mean, sure, they MIGHT be crappy. But there’s an equal chance that they’ll be totally awesome. And honestly, that’s a chance I’m willing to take.

And that’s why I love this poem. It seems sad at first glance, but I read it as being very hopeful. It says, yes, life is hard. Yes, things don’t work out the way you plan. But you have to keep hoping that things will be different the next time. Be brave in the face of ugliness and despair. It’s all that we can do.

(Photo was saved on my old hard drive. Please let me know if it’s yours, I hate these orphaned pictures!)

The Big Boots of Pain, Anne Sexton.

There can be certain potions
needled in by the clock
for the body’s fall from grace,
to untorture and to plead for.
These I have known
and would sell all my furniture
and books and assorted goods
to avoid, and more, more.

But the other pain . . .
I would sell my life to avoid
the pain that begins in the crib
with its bars or perhaps
with your first breath
when the planets drill
your future into you
for better or worse
as you marry life
and the love that gets doled out
or doesn’t.

I find now, swallowing one teaspoon
of pain, that it drops downward
to the past where it mixes
with last year’s cupful
and downward into a decade’s quart
and downward into a lifetime’s ocean.
I alternate treading water
and deadman’s float.

The teaspoon ought to be bearable
if it didn’t mix into the reruns
and thus enlarge into what it is not,
a sea pest’s sting turning promptly
into the shark’s neat biting off
of a leg because the soul
wears a magnifying glass.
Kicking the heart
with pain’s big boots running up and down
the intestines like a motorcycle racer.

Yet one does get out of bed
and start over, plunge into the day
and put on a hopeful look
and does not allow fear to build a wall
between you and an old friend
or a new friend and reach out your hand,
shutting down the thought that
an axe may cut it off unexpectedly.
One learns not to blab about all this
except to yourself or the typewriter keys
who tell no one until they get brave
and crawl off onto the printed page.

I’m getting bored with it,
I tell the typewriter,
this constantly walking around
in wet shoes and then, surprise!
Somehow DECEASED keeps getting
stamped in red over the word HOPE.
And I who keep falling thankfully
into each new pillow of belief,
finding my Mercy Street,
kissing it and tenderly gift-wrapping my love,
am beginning to wonder just what
the planets had in mind on November 9th, 1928.
The pillows are ripped away,
the hand guillotined,
dog shit thrown into the middle of a laugh,
a hornet’s nest building into the hi-fi speaker
and leaving me in silence,
where, without music,
I become a cracked orphan.

Well,
one gets out of bed
and the planets don’t always hiss
or muck up the day, each day.
As for the pain and its multiplying teaspoon,
perhaps it is a medicine
that will cure the soul
of its greed for love
next Thursday.

…

This is dedicated to all of my girls and boys who’ve suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune in 2009. May we all have better luck in 2010.

Loves you!

Actual Conversations: the Will edition

Following a very intense conversation, I looked over at Will with teary eyes and told him that he and I are two peas in a pod.

His response? “A pod with only two peas in it? What a rip-off! I’d be bummed.”

This sums up our entire relationship so neatly it’s ridiculous.

Loves you!

Time Capsule: November 4, 2006

Because I like structure, I’ve decided to keep to a more regular schedule with this blog. Wednesday is now officially Time Capsule Day–wherein I go back to one of my many old blogs and see what I was doing On This Day several years ago. Today’s entry comes from 2006 and features many things still evident in my writing today: quotes, brattiness and documented insecurity. Get nuts.

…

artists and scientists – placebo – ugly alle

Current mood: madonna

overheard at art and science on friday:

“the short layers make your hair look longer.”
“that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard–oh my god, you’re right!”

“so for halloween, i didn’t really have a costume. so i just wore this really cute black outfit with pinstripes, did my eyeliner all cool–it took me an hour, but i did it–and wore this great red lipstick. and then i was talking to (mutual ex-boyfriend) and i told him what i wore, and he’s all ”so you went as alle?” and…i guess i unintentionally dressed up as you.”
“you accidentally dressed up as me for halloween? and (ex) identified this?”
“yes.”
“i’ve never felt so flattered and creeped-out at the same time.”

“let’s change our myspace statuses to married to keep the weirdies away.”
“okay. we’ll protect each other.”
“okay. you’re my wife now.”
“okay. we’re wives.”
…
“you realise this is BY FAR the most functional relationship either one of us has ever been in?”
“sure is.”

christin does not just provide hilarious anecdotes to relate in blogs, she also does really good hair! so if anyone is reading this and realising they need their hairs cutted, i suggest looking up the art and science salon in lincoln park (halsted and armitage) and making an appointment with her. she is an excellent girl and an excellent stylist–you will love your hair afterwards, guaranteed.

placebo on friday night was EXCELLENT. i can’t tell you how long it’s been since i’ve enjoyed myself at a show that much. it was exactly what i needed; a night out with cool people and great music. she wants revenge was pretty underwhelming, but since i only have a passing interest in their music it was no big deal (loved the lights, though). but placebo–oh, brian molko, love of my life. they played lots of stuff from the new album, which is actually very good, but still–when they played “every me, every you” my inner fifteen-year-old lost her mind. if there had been an encore, i would have been happier because the set seemed way too short without it, but whatever. LOVE.

last night was sara’s apartment warming. there were so many people, i could hardly move. thank god for rob, who stood around with me, defused panic attacks and avoided conversation with “strangers.” (loves you, pope.) sadly, that wasn’t enough to save me from ending the night feeling totally awful about myself. no matter what men say about appreciating intelligence and non-skank-girls, as soon as an underfed whore with a fake tan sticks her chest out, it’s all over for the aforementioned girls (like me). i’ve never felt more unattractive in my life. maybe if i wore too tight cheaply made low-cut everything a la vapid tramp, rather than completely covering everything below the neck in clothes too big for me a la elderly muslim woman, i’d be more valued. whatever. at this point, i’m sick of being told how clever and above my peers i am. i just want to be told that i’m fucking pretty. okay? that’s really all i want right now. to feel like i’m beautiful just as i am.

yuck. insecurity leaves a bad taste in my mouth. i’ll be better tommorrow.

…

First, let’s talk about the quotes and the girl that they come from. I’ve written about Christin before but never by name; we became friends after a boy kind of screwed me over and picked up with her. The boy in question is referred to as “Mutual ex-boyfriend,” and the same dude that I randomly ran into in my neighbourhood recently. Oy. Awkward.

Christin was cutting my hair back in 2006 because I’d agreed to be her model for her big important hairshow. She really had her work cut out for her; my hair had recently gone from black to white to red to white to dark blonde, and was TOTALLY fried. I ended up with a really cute shorter cut, which bought me another month before I decided that my mop was beyond help and lopped it totally off. It occurs to me as I’m writing this that I’m in dire need of another haircut now, actually. Time to holla at mah girl!

Second, Placebo. The backstory on this was that my friend Natalie won tickets to see Placebo when we were about fourteen. She asked me to go with her but my Mum wouldn’t let me, citing the fact that I wasn’t mature enough to go to a concert unsupervised. Looking back she was totally right, but at the time? I was PISSED. So when my friend Beth scored Placebo tickets in 2006, inner-fourteen-year-old-Alle was PSYCHED. I actually called Mum to snottily let her know that I was going to see them and she couldn’t stop me; she was all “Um, you’re 22. Go for it.”

Third, the insecurity. This entry was written in the midst of my mid-life crisis. It was starting to dawn on me that I’d never, ever be the right size or shape to continue modelling, I felt like a failure all the time because of it and as a result I HATED my body. At the time of writing I weighed about 117 pounds, which is plenty thin for someone who is 5′10″, but I was about to make a last insane effort to shrink down to a size zero. The end result? 107 pounds, no boobs, hair loss, and an epic starvation-related tantrum in Spanish class. Anyway, the point is that I was feeling terrible about myself at the time of writing. At Sara’s party, as reported, there were plenty of girls with big fake boobs, turning the heads of every dude they met. Then there was me; emaciated and dressed like a homeless man, lurking in the corner and hating life. I really shouldn’t have ripped on the other girls for being underfed; I was barely eating at all back then & would have KILLED to be even underfed.

I mention that I wanted to be told that I was pretty. I did. The thing about modelling–I feel like this might turn into a post all of its own, but I think this point needs to be made here and now–is that people will make very personal comments about your appearance all the time. Too old, too fat, too short. Your hips are too big, your shoulders are uneven, I don’t like your jawline. Whatever. You’re not meant to let them get to you, but hey, you’re human and THEY DO. I was so tired of it & I just wanted to feel appreciated on a physical level. Although even if a boy DID try to physically appreciate me, my self-loathing was so intense that you could forget me getting naked, at all, for anyone, period. I felt like a gelatinous blob of pure fat; honesty now compels me to say that I looked more like a sack of antlers than anything else.

I eventually quit modelling and started eating again. My hair grew back and I got my period again for the first time in a couple of years. I got back into therapy for my life-long body image issues and I got over thinking that I was worthless if I couldn’t fit into a size double-zero. I still dress a little like an “elderly musilm woman” although I’m a lot more comfortable showing off my body now than I was back then. But I no longer care if boys validate me by talking to me at parties, and I realise that being smart is a whole lot more important than being pretty. That’s personal growth. That’s beautiful.

Loves you!

Halloween 2009: PLASTIC SURGERY NIGHTMARE!

In 2007, I was invited to an impromptu Halloween party in the suburbs. Since I didn’t have a costume–or longer than twenty minutes to figure anything out–Cait and her mother helped me hastily cobble together what I referred to as “Plastic Surgery Nightmare.” It ended up looking like this:

Purple eyeshadow, big red lips and a couple of bandaids. Imagine sunglasses and a bandage wrapped around my chest and that was my costume. Basic, yes, but a total hit. I’m totally fascinated-slash-repulsed by plastic surgery and I LOVED this concept, but I wished I could have had more time to really go all out with the costume.

Fast forward to the beginning of October, 2009. I was perusing the internets and found this 2005 editorial from Vogue Italia that reminded me of my Nightmare. Only with more glamour, violence and plastic surgery, so basically with more EVERYTHING I’M MORBIDLY FASCINATED WITH.

(You can see the entire editorial here.)

I knew what I’d want to wear as my costume, but there were a couple of issues; the dress was see-through, I couldn’t find white gauze bandages or the right colour for the makeup, I couldn’t figure out how to keep the bandages from slipping down, etcetera. And I’d like to say that I solved 100% of those problems, but really I only got three-quarters of them sorted out before saying “SCREW IT! IT’LL BE FINE!” and going off and doing something else.

And you know how it looked on the night?

IT. LOOKED. AWESOME.

Fur? Check. Gaudy necklace? Check. Sequinned slip worn as dress? Check. Six rolls of bandages around my chest alone? Check. Brooke the sexy night nurse? Check. I love her and together we were an unstoppable combination.

You can tell that my makeup was a little more sophisticated this year. I researched plastic surgery post-op for HOURS to make sure that I got it right. It took three hours to apply, but it was worth it because I am REALLY proud of how it turned out.

They say the devil’s in the details; I totally agree. Tiny things, like the yellowing of the bruises around the edges and the fake blood in my nostrils really took this from silly and cartoonish to over the top but awesome.

And let’s talk about the company I was in. Brooke and her boyfriend Daniel are not only awesome friends, but when I told them about my costume, they volunteered to be my nurse and my doctor respectively. Well, Brooke volunteered. I just kind of told Daniel what we were being and that he needed to find a lab coat somewhere. But he went along with it. I love them; I couldn’t have picked two better people to get silly with on Halloween.

We filled this prescription bottle with Smarties and Brooke pretended to tease me with them while I wailed about needing a refill and being between husbands. Daniel kept telling me that I reminded him of Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous, especially when I did my tottery stumbly run, which was about the best compliment I could have gotten. EVER.

Doctor Daniel checking his nurse’s…pulse? Blood pressure? Hmm.

Even though we both have drunkface in this picture, I’m posting it for two costume-related reasons. One, you can really see the fake blood in my nose, a last-minute idea that I was totally proud of. Two, notice anything weird about my chest? Like how it’s totally flat? YEAH. Underneath the sequinned dress was a nude slip, a strapless bra, an elastic bandage wrapped oh-so-tightly to keep everything from sliding down (only worked for short periods) and six rolls of white gauze bandage. It felt like wearing a steel-boned corset and it looked WEIRD. “I’m not used to looking in the mirror and being flat-chested,” I told Brooke as I stripped off in the bathroom and completely re-wrapped (ugh) my upper body for the second time. “It’s like you’re ME!” she squealed. Sometimes I really love being a girl.

Anyway. All that you need to know about Halloween in general was that we didn’t win the costume contest at Darkroom. I KNOW, WE WERE ROBBED. Do you know who won? Wayne and Garth. Because it’s 1992. What the hell.

It was okay, though, because once we’d lost our shot at Pixies tickets (I KNOW!) I ran into the bathroom and unravelled my corset. And oh my god, can we talk about how breathing is the best thing in life? I just stood around for a minute taking deep, unrestricted breaths. It felt amazing.

And then we got silly.

We basically just started jumping around and spinning like the mature and elegant ladies that we are. “When did we become two drunk girls on the dancefloor?” Brooke asked as we fended off the creepy advances of a dude dressed as a priest.

Um. I’m sure this isn’t what it looks like.

Oh hang on. Maybe it is.

I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween! I’m already plotting next year’s costume; I’m going to have to work really hard to top this year’s.

Loves you!

Never trust a big butt and a smile

Last month I waved goodbye to Erika as she packed up her life and moved to Michigan. I was so sad when she left, I can’t even really tell you. I was worried that the physical distance between us might change our friendship. Yeah, um, how stupid was I? We still text constantly, AND she mailed me the best present ever, just because. Check it:

Sequinned short-shorts? HELLZ YES! She knows me so well. Even though it’s been freezing cold in Chicago, I’ve worn them around apartment more or less constantly. To say I’m obsessed is an understatement; I can’t wait til it gets warm again so that I can wear them outside without getting frostbite.

Anyway. Erika is awesome and it’s sucked having her anywhere else but here. So imagine how excited I was when she told me she was coming back to Chicago for a visit! I about combusted with happiness, then drove Will crazy by talking non-stop about unicorns. Yeah, we’re in our twenties and are still obsessed with unicorns. No big deal.

Anyway. We met up at Holiday Club on Wednesday night for kareoke and drinking, which was about the best decision ever made because it was non-stop hilarious from start to finish. I love this photo, incidentally; how cute is Erika? Seriously!

Here we are, a few dranks into our night. The gorgeous lady on the right is Berri, who is pretty much the funniest chick I’ve met in ages. Berri is a great person to have around on nights out, firstly because you’ll never stop laughing, but ALSO because she writes down everything funny or stupid that people say. She’s the personification of the Hypoid, for the twenty people who know what that means. I love her.

Within five minutes of meeting him, Juan had taken off his pants to show us a tattoo. Or something. Um. Juan and I got off to a weird start; first I loved him because he gave me a massive hug as soon as we met, then I was wary because he said that I didn’t seem evil. He won me over in the end, though, because he’s one of the only people to whom I can say “I like your accent” and mean it (he’s from Costa Rica). And I proved that I’m not pure evil after we had a rap battle to see who knew more words to “Baby Got Back.” I won. Respect.

Guys, let’s discuss how Holiday had CUPCAKES at kareoke. OMGLOLWTF, life is awesome. Of course, because I showed up an hour late, I’d missed out. Boo. However there were a couple of the rings used as cupcake decoration lying around on our table. On a whim, I picked one up, licked the icing off the back of it (gross) and asked Erika to marry me. She tearfully accepted, so now we’re engaged. Just to make my point, I stuck a spider ring on her pinky as well. Juan asked what I was doing; I said “I liked it, and so I put a ring on it.”

As far as the kareoke went, it kinda didn’t go down because everyone wanted to do something different. E’s brother sang “Twist it” and we danced onstage with him; Berri sang twice; I wanted everyone to sing “I want it that way” but you can’t sing that alone and nobody else would do Backstreet Boys with me; Erika wanted to do a group version of “Out of Africa” but nobody knew the words. While we were arguing over the songs, someone started to sing “Part of your world” from The Little Mermaid and hello, I know every word to every song from that movie. Berri and I started to dramatically perform it from our booth. This photo was taken right before the lines “What’s a fire, and why does it, what’s the word, BUUUUUUUUUURN!” which is the best part of the song. Next time we go, I’m singing “Poor, unfortunate souls” and that’s THAT.

Oh, did I say that kareoke kinda didn’t happen? I fibbed. Because we signed Erika up to sing “Poison” by Bel Biv Devoe before she could stop us. Even though we didn’t quite know the words, we worked it out. We got a standing ovation because we’re a big deal. Really into it.

Here’s Juan, and he’s doing something disgusting. His tongue is split, and he can WIGGLE BOTH HALVES INDEPENDENTLY, OH MY GOD. I was intrigued and creeped out at the same time & I bugged him with questions about it for a good fifteen minutes because I am so nosy and annoying like that. My friends make me feel so naked and boring; I have the tattoos on my legs, my ears pierced three times apiece (but not stretched) and my nose is pierced. Meanwhile everyone else is tatted up and pierced and modded and it looks AWESOME. I need to step my game up.

…

After Holiday Club closed & we stood outside talking about dogs (and daughters and coffee, no big whoop), we decided to head over to Flatiron. On the way, we had a sing-a-long to MIA & Erika explained to Juan how I’m Jesus. Whe he looked confused, she explained further by telling him “Oh come on. You think Jesus wants to wear anything except a fur coat?…And maybe alligator shoes?” “…Boots with the fur!” I started to sing. It was contagious. “The whole club was lookin’ at her!” Yeah. You love me, right?

Here’s the coat that I mentioned. I got a LOT of funny looks wearing it to Flatiron, which is most certainly not a fur coat kind of place. In this picture, Erika and I are figuring out that we’re both wearing pins shaped like bows. “True Ladies wear bow pins,” said Erika. “Yeah, that just happened.”

A cute picture of Erika and Juan. I felt kind of bad for him because, as I’ve mentioned, we’re OBSESSED with unicorns and the Youtube series Planet Unicorn. We kept talking about how our ambrosia salad has too many churrrrrries on it and constantly giving it up for Feathers. Juan was so confused. He kept shaking his head and saying “Unicorn planet? What? A fur jacket? Tom Cruise?”

We ran into Matt, because I always run into Matt at Flatiron, and Matt’s beard which is not always this majestic. My Hollywood Husband is so delightful, even five years into our Hollywood Marriage. Though I do I wish I saw him during the day more often. Hear that, boy? Let’s go to breakfast, or we’re getting a divorce and YOU get the kid. Alex is at such a troubling age anyway; the terrible thirty-twos…

All in all, it was a fantastic night that was followed by a fantastic hangover. My mission–to get Erika so drunk that she’d have no choice BUT to stay in Chicago–was half accomplished, as she told me that she was too drunk to get up the stairs and had to sleep on the couch instead. Next time, Miss Gomez! THERE’S ALWAYS A NEXT TIME!

Fur and Fall

As I mentioned, I spent last week in Naperville with my Mum while I grappled–so far unsuccessfully–with my recent bout of insomnia. Spending time with my Mum is always good, or it’s good when we’re not fighting. This doesn’t happen as much as it did since we don’t live together anymore, but there are flare-ups every now and again. And always, Mum says to me “I hope that someday you have a child JUST LIKE YOU.” As a wee Teenage Malice, I would shoot back “Fine! I hope I DO!” but as an almost-adult, I have a bit more perspective on what that actually means. And oh my god, what have I done.

Oh, I had a point: when I got to Mum’s house, she proudly showed me her latest buy…a fur coat. Lynx. Floor length. And, because she suffers the same disability as I do with sizing, it is HUGE. Two, maybe three of me could easily fit in there; it’s like a giant, furry circus tent.

The truly puzzling thing about this is that it totally flies in the face of everything I previously knew about Mum and fur. She CRIED last year when I tried on a faux-fur vest because it looked too real.

I don’t know. It’s not my taste, but she was psyched on it. The best thing, though, was that this meant that I got her OTHER fur, which you may have seen in the last post. That thing is like a million years old; I used to play dress up in it as a kid and I still sort of love it. Originally I thought it was just going to be for nostalgic purposes, but I’ve already worn it quite a bit. Ramsey noted that it’s remakably well preserved, and he’s right; let’s see how it looks after one year in MY life. I’ll probably destroy it.

I wanted to throw in some words, because this is mostly a picture post. The leaves were changing in Naperville, and I know it’s pretty in the city but oh my god, the suburbs were just ON FIRE. It was so beautiful that one the one nice, non-rainy day we had I pulled on an old t-shirt that used to belong to my brother…

I had a choice between Rage Against the Machine or Slayer. I went with Rage, because I’ve not listened to much Slayer and I don’t wanna front that way, ohhh-kay? Mmm-hmm.

Anyway. Here are the pictures that I took. Enjoy fall in Naperville, aka: Pleasantville, USA.

This is the flame tree that I planted in Mum’s yard three years ago. It’s so beautiful now. You didn’t really need to know that; I just wanted to brag a little. Tee hee.

Growing up, it was very hard for me to imagine that trees in other places had leaves that changed colour. And I hate the schizophrenic Midwestern weather, best believe THAT, but in autumn I feel really lucky to live somewhere where I can see this firsthand. The world is a beautiful place and I need to remember that. Even when–especially when?–it’s getting colder. Just gotta remember to keep looking.

SURPRIIIIIIIIIIIIIISE!

Listening to: N*Sync, All Saints, other assorted 90’s pop.
Pleased because: Successful identification of emotion. Yes!
Excited about: Erika coming to Chicago today, eeeee. True Ladies forever!

This year, my darling AJ turned 25 on the 25th of September. If you thought to yourself ‘Oh, that makes it her golden birthday,’ you’d be absolutely right. A cause for riotous celebration? Oh hell yes.

However, thanks to the house that she and Chris purchased this summer, the crazy party that she deserved didn’t materialise. There were cabinets to put in and a roof to fix and papers to write and…well, you get the idea. Even if AJ and Chris were each two people their lives would probably still be too busy. Anyway, unbeknownst to AJ, her sneaky wife was planning a surprise party…on the 25th of October, which was perfect beyond perfect. I know that I wouldn’t be expecting a party a month after my birthday.

We all gathered at Sidetrack at noon on Sunday to surprise her. I’ve been having serious insomnia issues for a couple of weeks now, so I wandered down to Boystown having slept maybe two hours the night before. I didn’t think I’d be able to make it without a cupcake.

Oh-em-gee, you guys planned for everything. But we all know that the entire phrase is “A cupcake and a cuddle,” so were there also cuddles available? Hmm?!

Of course there were. Loves you, Berto!

We were helping decorate the bar with streamers because we had a little more time to wait for the birthday girl than we thought. Oh I’m sorry, of course I mean “helping” because we were doing things like this instead of being useful. My excuse was exhaustion and champagne; to his credit, Berto just folded up this streamer afterwards and wore it as a pocket square. Class act, this boy. And because apparently I need to clarify these points now, we’re not dating. He’s single! Heeeey! (And I know this seems like a really weird caption; it’s for three people, who are probably peeing themselves laughing right now.)

At one fifteen, Sandi got the call. We all hid behind the bar, grabbed some napkins annnnnnd…

The thing about surprise parties a lot of the time is that someone lets something slip and it gets ruined. BUT! Nobody said anything about anything to the birthday girl–including me, which was SO! HARD!–so she had no idea. The whole “three people can keep a secret when two of them are dead” thing is officially disproven; Chris: one. Benjamin Franklin: 0.

Last year, I was honoured to be AJ’s maid of honour (hah! See what I did there?) when she and Chris got married. A wedding of that magnitude doesn’t happen on its own–though there were times in oh-eight when I think we all genuinely wished that it would–and here are the people who made it all possible.

From left front to right: Nelly, Sandi, Erin, Emily, Anne, Chris, Kip, AJ, me, Ramsey. Fantastic human beings, all of us.

This is Sandi. Sandi and I have a long and proud history of taking totally awesome pictures together.

VALLEY OF THE LOLS. We’re also better than average at taking pictures of EACH OTHER. She grabbed my camera and snapped a photo of me and Ramsey; we’re one cheesy background away from a prom photo here, guys, seriously.

This picture followed. “That’s so hot!” Sandi exclaimed, and you know what, she’s not wrong.

After too many mimosas and Bloody Marys, we started being even more awesome with AJ’s birthday hat. The rule was that everyone had a turn wearing the hat, and when you were wearing it, you had to share something that you were really good at. Chris went first. Her talent was having the most beautiful wife in Chicago. Awww, you guys! I know I’ve said that AJ and Chris are the most perfect couple in the world, but it bears repeating because they just so are. Every time I’m around them I’m struck by how awesome they are together and, I don’t know, it gives me hope.

Our fantastic bartender did a hilarious dance for his talent. There was even a light show!

Emily didn’t want to show off, so she moped at the bar instead.

My talent was a runway walk, followed by some posing and hysterical laughing. In a perfect world, I would have stopped drinking RIGHT HERE. Alas, we do not live in a perfect world. Oy.

If I had to choose the best decision I’ve ever made, it would be getting these tattoos. However, showing them off? At a bar? Usually NOT the best decision. I’m posting this as a public reminder: don’t be like your Auntie Alle! Drink in moderation!

…

Emily and I had a fight last year. It was really damaging and long-lasting; she was an angry bitch and I was a stubborn bitch, and that was how I thought things were always going to be from then on. We made up at the party, which made AJ really really happy. Life’s just too short to fight with each other. We need to stick together. There are enough terrible things out there that will try to tear us apart without us doing it, you know? Yeah.

Do you feel the love? I know that I do.

All in all, it was a great day. There was singing (notably to “I’m not gonna write you a love song”), dancing (Berto and AJ) and stumbling home (me, oh god). The Bears lost to the freaking Bengals (I’m rolling my eyes SO HARD that I can see the back of my head) and I made some really awesome drunk phone calls (including to my mother, well done, self). Emily texted me on Monday to ask if I had slept at the bar; I said no, she responded “It was a legitimate question.” UGH. I’m never drinking that much again! Me and superdrunk are BROKEN UP FOREVER.

This marks the return to your regular blogging schedule. I have so much more planned this week it’s unbelievable.