Ten Random Things About Me

1. I prefer vanilla oreos to chocolate ones.
2. I begin to panic if I don’t have diet coke available.
3. My favorite meal is tacos in any form.
4. When I am happy I sing along with the radio/ipod/elevator music; when I am depressed I forget to sing.
5. I originally thought I could do 100 things about me; downgraded to 50; and around 8 I realized I was being way too ambitious.
6. I love washing laundry more than any other chore; I hate folding laundry more than any other chore.
7. The feeling of clean laundry out of the dryer feels like nails on a chalkboard sounds to me and the folding of laundry is less horrid if I wear gloves (yes, I know this is weird).
8. I feel guilty when I nap.
9. I am not really a cat person and holy crap am I in trouble now that I have a cat who LIKES being chased around by someone saying, “KITTY KITTY KITTY KITTY!” yes, I am a real life Elmira.
10. When I was a wee tiny Heather I used to worry that ants didn’t have enough food and I would put lollipops on ant hills.

Hello Consent!

Hello world, I am me. I am in no way perfect and I do not expect anyone else to be perfect either. Somehow though, I think yon’ kiddies have gone and fuckered up somehow. I have been engrossed (and grossed out) by the Steubenville, Ohio raping. In my vast internet searching of opinions and details I am just disgusted.

I enjoy sex. Hell, sex is one of my absolutely favorite things in the entire world. In the words of my favorite gynecologist, “if people don’t like fucking, they are doing it wrong” (I told you she was awesome). Throughout my college years I greatly enjoyed ‘mini-relationships’ or ‘hook-ups’; I have never enjoyed emotionless sex.  It turns out that over the years I just didn’t understand how to have a relationship and considering the multiple marriages of both of my parents this doesn’t shock me. Sex to me is something wonderful, not just because I can get off–but because it is such a connection with that other person. You can focus completely on that other person and sensations and fully immerse yourself in the joy of that time with the other person. It is, for me, quite spiritual. (okay–not every time; sometimes I do just want to get off–but most of the time; spiritual)

However, over the years I have sensed a distressing trend of young teenagers to immerse themselves into the ‘hook-up’ culture–but coldly.  I don’t know what it is about emotionless sex that causes me chills–but there is something about reducing what to me is an act of friendship and love to something equivalent to a fist bump (shit….I *am* 12. I want to make a bumping uglies joke and that is totally NOT appropriate. 🙂 ) that disturbs me deeply.

Recently, a new(ish) friend of mine asked me if my cervical cancer was caused by having too much ‘dirty sex’ and that question, well, sucked. Now, S–if you are reading this; do not get upset or think I am mad at you in any way. I am not. This is just an example of how a society based on repressed puritanical values will infiltrate and poison young open minds to think that sex is ‘dirty’ and shouldn’t be enjoyed. This is one reason I refuse to speak quietly about the fact I have cervical cancer. It sucks. It isn’t fair. And it is no-one’s damned fault.

In today’s news I was forced to read about society’s moderate outrage that Bill Gates wants to spend some (of his own damn) money to make a condom better. People are saying, well, if  you can orgasm in a condom it ‘can’t be that bad’. Sure–but it could be better. That is like saying, hey–the Ford Model T worked *just fine*; why would we want to make any other cars?

Sex-shaming has to stop. It. Has. To. Stop. We are animals that are blessed as hell to 1. not have any sort of penis spines such as those found in male cats and 2. the ability to THINK and decide what we want to do. We are sill just animals and as such our bodies *want* us to make with the procreation. But hot-damn! We were smart enough to think of ways around getting knocked up every time we have sex. Go Humans! Go Science! Does that mean everyone *should* have sex all of the time? I don’t care; it is a personal damn choice. If you want to remain virginal until marriage–good for you; that is an impressive sacrifice and I admire your fortitude. Does virginity decrease your value as a person? nope. Does enjoying sex decrease your value as a person? nope. Personal value IS mutually exclusive of sexuality.

Most women I know will say something like, “I believe in women’s rights; but I am not a feminist”. It has taken me years to understand that statement (which I used to say myself, btw) is utter bullshit. As a woman who worked with men on construction-type sites for years I was guilty of similar bullshit. I am not proud to say it took years before it dawned on my thick-head that I was an asshole and it. needed. to. stop. Nowadays when I am on a job site and something about me being a woman comes up I use clinical words such as vagina, labia, or ovaries to make men cringe; hell if I’m uncomfortable ‘all y’all gonna be uncomfortable. These things do not come up nearly as often as they used to; not because I am not a woman or do stupid shit like degrade men using supposed insults such as ‘girl’ or ‘youre being a woman’ or ‘pussy’–but because I am experienced and competent and them asshats need my help and nothing in this world is more impressive than a person who knows what the hell they are doing. In a moderately related note–hollywood is just as fucking guilty. The trailer came out for Kickass 2 and oooh-boy I was squeeing in my chair and I clicked and watched and for the most part, enjoyed. The parts that jumped out like a mental speed bump for me was when Hit-Girl was training with Kickass and she hit him as he complained she said something like, ‘Act like a bitch, get hit like a bitch’ and ‘take your tampon out’. See? She was written as saying the same kind of shit I was guilty of saying. I understand it is supposed to be funny–but if you take half of a second and think about the underlying BULLSHIT of the statements it just fucking sucks. Am I boycotting the movie? HELL NO! I can’t wait to see it. Will I continue to make sure anyone who see’s that preview understands how shitty statements like that are? HELL YES. Over and fucking over–until that women are weak bullshit STOPS.

Oh yeah, and the Steubenville rapists? they are not a group of boys (and if you think there were only 2 of them; you are sadly mistaken) who ‘accidentally raped someone’ and now their lives are ruined; they are fucking RAPISTS who did their damned best to humiliate and degrade someone who was not able to give their consent and video taped this disgusting event not for their ‘personal pleasure’ but to make certain the victim’s degradation was known far and wide.  Can doing something that horrific happen ‘accidentally’? Fuck no it can’t. The scariest thing I read regarding the rape was written by a teacher and is located here (http://accidentaldevotional.com/2013/03/19/the-day-i-taught-how-not-to-rape/). That brave teacher (and I mean BRAVE!) took on a scary topic with her students not with the approach of ‘and now we are talking about rape’ but dealt with the subject as it came up naturally and handled it beautifully. What is scary? That these (and I am certain many other younglings) do not understand what rape means. Please read her description; it was amazing.

In general as I live my life as an ethical slut I avoid slogans; let’s be honest–after too many repeats it just loses meaning to too many. The other day I saw a t-shirt that read, “Consent is Sexy”. As slogans go; I give it a ‘meh’ rating. I like the meaning–but the slogan blows. However, when I think of that moment when two people are intertangled and one whispers to the other, ‘please fuck me’ and the other says, ‘yes, please….’ and hell yeah, consent is sexy. Let’s take it one step further–enthusiastic consent is REALLY sexy.

Ladies and gentlemen, I beg of you: do not play idiotic games, do not follow anyone’s ‘rules’ but the ones you are comfortable with, and if and when you decide you want to have sex with someone-give consent enthusiastically!



Random crap….

I fell asleep for about an hour and woke up from a very strange sex dream that was not in any way sexy. I also woke up hungry. So a quesadilla and a suburgatory episode later….here I am. Writing nonsense. I’m pleasantly sore from swimming every day this past week–not long and not far, but hell at least I did *something*. I worry sometimes about backsliding into not moving around anymore; here’s hoping that doesn’t happen-exercise is sanity.
It is so beautiful here on this island it is suprising how little I take advantage of things like the beach–I am working on doing those things more.
Over the last year I went through a lot of bad crap; I really did. Although everything that happened affected me, what I can’t stop thinking about was how deeply I was affected by the closure of the refinery. What I am finally realizing after I have been out of that place almost 11 months to the day was how I quite literally gave myself completely to that complicated mess that was an oil refinery. Was that healthy? nope. Was I alone? not even a little. People working at other oil refineries thousands of miles away live and breathe to hear rumors of what is happening with that place. I sat next to a man who received 4 phone calls asking about various rumors. There is a facebook group dedicated to keeping in touch with others who were in that place.
What was it that made it so all encompassing? not quite sure…still trying to figure that out.
If it reopens; would I want to go back ‘inside’? Again, not quite sure…still trying to figure that out.
On one hand I really learned more in that place than I ever had before–and I am still using that knowledge every single day. On the other hand I was only considered part of the team when they found it convenient; and I was cold-shouldered when it was inconvenient. That part sucked.

This is not a pressing question; just rambling and letting my thoughts take me where they will. I do know that I am blessed as hell to have been able to stay as well as get a job doing something I am pretty darn good at while working with some great people.
‘aight, I am going to try the sleeping thing again.
Love all y’all.

Results Are In

okay, so the cancer is exactly the same as the cancer we found during the first biopsy.


Yes, this is a woo-hoo! This means that the cervical cancer is NOT the outer edge of the cancer (example: ovarian cancer that is super bad and has spread to the cervix) but the center and total of the cancer. So, simple hysterectomy leaving the ovaries in place (torn on whether to just leave one and having them kill off the appendix while they are in there or not….) will be a total cure and tah-dah I should be fine.

I have an appointment to make sure my hoo-haa is healing okay tomorrow at 10am and I will schedule the hysterectomy then.

(still waiting for the damn water delivery…..I think they are just fucking with me now. *wink*)

Handy Tip – French Salad Dressing

Please note this is in no way a kinky post; but it sure as hell opens the door for a metric crap-ton of tossed salad jokes.

So, I have “developed” a lazy person’s way to make a very tasty salad dressing; the original version was taught to me by my Mimmi (paternal grandmother). I took her recipe and added slack. Enjoy.

  • Take one mostly empty bottle of ketchup–around 1/3 or 1/4 of a bottle (pro-tip: don’t do this unless you have purchased a new bottle of replacement ketchup or you will be SUPER pissed when you go to use some ketchup and all you have is french dressing).
  • Then eyeball how much ketchup there is and add a similar amount of sugar or substitute–if it feels like you are adding too much you are probably just about right–the original recipe was 1 cup ketchup plus 1 cup of sugar….so, yeah. I’m a diabetic, I usually use splenda. 🙂
  • Then dig up some vinegar–plain white stuff, balsamic (if you want it to taste balsamic-y), red wine, white wine, heck–even apple cider has been used. Whatever, vinegar. Put about half  the amount of your ketchup. So yeah, if you have a cup of ketchup–use 1/2 cup or so of vinegar.
  • Then find some oil–food based oils are preferred. 🙂 You know, olive….I have always used olive but be all sorts of crazy if you wanna. Throw a little more of the oil in the bottle than the amount of vinegar; not a ton more but more.

(just figured out why I never write recipes; please accept my apologies! 🙂 )

  • So, shake it up and use it if it tastes good to you. 🙂 This is red-french or catalina-style dressing. I find it tasty and oh so conveniently in a squeeze bottle. enjoy. 

(I am waiting for water to be delivered to fill my cistern and my theory was if I get super involved in writing posts it will show up more quickly; I appear to be wrong.)

fucking. call. please.

Okay, I’m extremely hyperfocused at the moment–focused completely on waiting for my damn cellphone to ring. A week ago today my gynecologist took a great whopping chunk out of my cervix in the lovely shape of a cone. That particular joyous event is called a ‘cold cone biopsy’. No, they don’t do anything fancy or freezy–they just don’t use any heat to stop the bleeding. If they use cauterization they call that a LEEP–same shit, different tools. I don’t get to have sex for 6 weeks (5 now bitches *wink*) and I get to look forward to ‘passing’ stitches (seriously? my dog gets dissolving stitches and we haven’t figured that shit out for humans yet?).

Yesterday I called the office because I had to know…were there any results? Yep, there were and they are still right there and I can’t have a copy because the doctor hasn’t looked at them yet….well, hell. Luckily they thought I was being funny when I told them that Dr. T was acting too needy. But give me my fucking results you useless asshats. *deep breath* they are doing their jobs etc. etc. etc. but I want to know….how far has the cancer spread?

It’s a fair goddamned question, no?

You all know I have spent more time than should be legally allowed searching all possible results–at this point I could probably interpret anyone’s cervical biopsy.

Wanna know what else I keep thinking about? huh? do ya? My mother, not the good one, the one less-than-lovingly known as Lurleen’s Mom (long story–involved white trash party names and lots of hilarious chats with friends) asked me if I lost weight because of the cancer.

well, fuck. I don’t think so. But hell–maybe?

So, I am a wee bit wound up today. Feel like an overstretched rubber band!

May I have my results please?

you know it is going to be a weird-ass day when…

you know it is going to be a weird-ass day when you meet your anesthesiologist in the elevator.

no, seriously. There I was at the hospital attempting to find the surgery department and there was this mustached older white dude carrying a red & white cooler running for the elevator. I held it open because in my world that is what people should do besides, I am still not sure if that cooler contained his lunch or possibly someone’s organs. *shrugs*. He asked where I was going and I replied–surgery. He said, Dr. whatshername—I said, “yup” and asked, “are you my anesthesiologist?”. Now, to this day I have no idea how the hell I knew he was an anesthesiologist and when he replied, “yes, how did you know?” I said, “you. look. like. an. anesthesiologist.”

Cue the awkwardness.

Thankfully he seemed to be just as awkward as I am so that worked out. Later on, he totally gave me a big ole’ shot of something benzodiazapiney and I was on a cloud of whatthefuckever for quite some time. Approximately 2 days after my surgery I found my discharge papers in my bag which they had me initial and everything despite the fact I remember nothing about anything. Very clearly on the paper it says, “no-one allowed inside for 4 weeks”. Something about the way that was written still cracks me up–so much for the cocktail party I had planned in my vagina (?!?)


okay…so. Time to get up and go do stuff.




I’m only a little broken. :)

So, I had a wee little bit of cancer. I say had because probably all of it was cut out of me last Tuesday during something called a cold cone biopsy aka – cut most of my cervix with a scalpel. Good times.

Thankfully there is such a thing as general anesthesia. 🙂

I am still supposed to get a hysterectomy but nothing is scheduled yet. I don’t have the results from the cold cone biopsy yet but if I have learned anything at all from this adventure if my phone starts ringing a lot on Monday morning and all of the calls were from my doctors office–the news is not good.

I’m doing okay. The hardest part was telling my parents; I expected my mom to freak out and my dad to be fine. My expectations were mostly wrong. My dad is worried sick; my mom is alright.

Anyway, just a quick update. *hugs*