you know you are getting old when

madonna is playing on the fucking golden oldies station.  i was on my way to the whole foods in urbondalay, when i found myself channel surfing at a red light and settled on a madonna song.  which madonna song?  at the moment i cannot recall, irrelevant.  what is relevant is that it was playing on the god damn golden oldies station.

my brother reminded me a few years back that i had made up my own lyrics to a track off her first album, it was to "borderline".  instead of "borderline, you just keep on pushin' my love over the borderline"  i sang, "pantyline, you just keep on pushin' my butt over the pantyline" and i had a dance i did too.  it was 1983 and i was 13 for fucksakes.  but i certainly hadn't categorized that memory as a golden oldie memory, until yesterday.

thanks yesterday.

then i do whole foods shopping, dreading the check out lane.  i dread it because they are chatty, but not in the good kind of chatty which would be "cool scarf" or "you look like you could use an irish car bomb" or "did a squirrel do your hair today?"

no they fucking ask the dumbest corporate questions that are the same exact questions the cashiers  everywhere ask, "did you find everything alright?" wtf?  if i hadn't i wouldn't be fucking in line checking out, i'd be asking where in the fuck is the lube to some poor stocker or the cat at the seafood counter.  i mean the cashiers' are already tallying your loot when they ask that question and who says "no, as a matter of fact i couldn't find the gluten free, fair trade, non-gmo, organic, mongolian snozberry kombucha?  where are you guys hiding that shit?  can you find it for me NOW?" and there's 3 folks in line behind you.  are they gonna hold up the line behind me to look for that bullshit?  that bullshit should've been taken care of pre-check-out time.

the second question they always ask, which is totally none of their business, "so, any special plans for the weekend?"  are you kidding me?  my mom used to ask me that question, and it felt the same as, "so are you dating anyone special?"  i nipped that one in the bud at trader joes by replying once, "nope just the usual, a lot of crying and masturbating, and not necessarily in that order".  radio silence.  i wish i had had that one in my arsenal for my mom back in the day.

leprechaun traps?

i don't have children.  my husband does but they're way beyond the age of crafting a leprechaun trap. martha stewart and others have posted instructions on how to build a leprechaun trap.  this is the first st. patricks day i've heard of such a trap.  who would want to trap a leprechaun?  that's like trapping a possum to be your pet.  like all things, cute when young but after a couple of years of feeling trapped and a bottle of chardonnay-a-day habit, that cute possum's gonna turn ugly.

or trapping a leprechaun would be like going on a family roadtrip with justin bieber.  a leprechaun trap.  i can't get over it.

to me a trapping a leprechaun sends the wrong message. it's like telling your kids that slavery is cool.      that trapping a boat full of africans on the amistad for the middle passage to the new world is a great way to get from a to b.

but the fucked up thing for me is the size of the leprechaun trap, it's the size of an oatmeal canister.  ladies and gentlemen leprechauns are the size of a peter dinklage (no offense) or a justin bieber, but with freakishly huge testicles and a temper.  if you think this will hold a leprechaun-

you are mistaken.  here is my favorite st. patrick's day news story of all time, enjoy....

peri-menopausinsomnia

not a word peri-menopausinsomnia, yet.

jesus fucking christ it is 5:30 am and i've been lolling about in my bed since 1 fucking 30 am.  guess what two songs are doing a mash-up in my head?  duran duran's union of the snake and some song that i thought was from the animal house soundtrack that goes "reproduction (then in falsetto) reproduction",  which drove me to post rather than insomniacide.

fuck.

shut the head off.  shhhhhhhhhhh.  my brain is speculating that the laryngitis i can't quite seem to shake is a giant ball of melanoma on my larynx, spreading to my lungs.  but the thing is why the fuck would i want to go and have that confirmed?  you see with me it's not about what it is or what it isn't, it's about i do not have one iota of interest in doctors, hospitals, surgery, radiation, or chemo.  none of it.  no thank you.

i don't write this like i'm some denyer or denier about my health, i've just had it.  and if i'm gonna go, i want to be ambulatory and not depressed.  neither of which i've been able to muster much of the past couple of years due to the stresses of doctors, surgeries etc etc.

i'm finally climbing out of one of the funkiest funks i've ever been in and am trying to take life day by day like the good wino i am. wink smiley face.  i will see a doc if this persists much longer, but if it is something cancer related and surgery or some shitty treatment is suggested, having had four cancer related surgeries plus radiation, plus a depression the depths of which i'm only able to write about now (superficially that is) i'm just going to keep on with my day to day.

is there a make a wish foundation for adults?

dear make a wish,
i have stage 4 melanoma.  my wish is to eat mushrooms with benicio del toro on a boat in the amazon while jack white plays guitar.  i'll be at this number 555-555-5555 until saturday.
thanks!
nicole

instead i intend on planting a beautiful garden, riding my bike, walking my dog and being in touch with everyone i love and maybe eating a few good meals.  oh, and i hope to get some shut-eye too.