And Back to our Regular Programming

Well, we had a nice little break from Mom Drama. Hope you all enjoyed yourselves.

We're glad to have you with us today for the first episode of our second season entitled: Susan has the life she's always dreamed of, Mom has elevated tumor markers for pancreatic and liver cancer.

Now this does not mean my mom has pancreatic or liver cancer. These are simply markers that indicate the possibility of cancer. Or at least that's what I gleaned when I had a mental break and googled for a second.

You all know not to google diseases, right? Never, ever google a disease you or a loved one may have. There are two reasons and I'm not sure which should be number 1.
1. You don't know who wrote those pages. You know better than to read the webpages from schmucks who have crystals and unicorns on their blog, but for some reason, those are the articles you end up reading. You may deny this, but all of us are cynical conspiracy theorists at heart. We know the only accurate information we can trust is from the AMA and CDC and a elite group of hospitals and universities, but when it comes to the disease google, your rationale slips. And you find yourself almost believing that the government secretly has the cure to cancer. The government and Charlie from CharliesCureforCancer.com. And you find yourself thinking, maybe Charlie is right. Maybe just going strict vegan and practicing yoga with Puss in Boots twice a week is the way to shrink that tumor.
And,
1. The news is always bad. Very bad. And that's because the articles that attract us most are the extreme ones. And the last thing you need is Charlie saying, "Listen, I know how to cure you, but if you don't start right this second, you are totally fucked. As a matter of fact, you should have started six months ago." That is not a good time.

So I googled for a second, quickly came to my senses and blocked out the horrific bold blue headlines, and began to frantically clean. It's my thing. I stayed home from work today because we had three deliveries coming in. Washer. TV. Media Center. We got two out of three. Everything worked out except the washer. It was damaged. They're coming Monday AM.

Where was I? Frantically cleaning. And doing handy man stuff. While waiting for the various delivery people, I maniacally cleaned and organized. I used a straight edge to place items in my medicine cabinet.Yes. Your Princess is handy. But she is always careful to be cute when being that way so that she's not mistaken for those girls who go to Ginger's and identify themselves as couples by wearing the same flannel print. Like a Scottish Family's Tartan, but not. (Those lesbians would never be seen in a skirt.)

Cleaning. Handy-Manning. As I told you, I got a keychain from Tiffany & Co. for the new keys. One of my keys did not fit. So I drilled it. Now it fits.

We have a shelving space and we got new shelves from Lowe's and we asked a nice kid who makes about $8 an hour to cut them down to a specific size. He was off by an 1/8 of an inch. A seemingly inconsequential amount, but with my measuring skills, a disaster. So, I cut down shelves with a 18 volt DeWalt circular saw. I later installed those same shelves. I filled those shelves with my shoes in a nice orderly fashion. I put away photo frames that have yet to be hung. I put crap out on the street like my jacket that I hung myself on a fence with one fateful night when I forgot HRH had my only set of keys to my apartment and I sent her home with the intenion of staying out a little longer (I always did) and when I realized my stupidity, I tried to climb the fence next to my apartment building that enclosed the Bette Midler Green Up New York Park Project Park (or something to that effect), and actually made it, but not before slipping, catching my jacket on a fence prong, and hanging, literally feet off the ground, hung up by my jacket collar like a scene from the Little Rascals, and then scrambling physical comedy style, back up and finally over the fence.

Again. I digress.

So, what I was talking about was how Mom is potentially very, very sick and how I am driven to distraction after distraction in an attempt to avoid the whole thing.

HRH - Right Again.

I hate when HRH is right. I mean, it's bad enough that my girlfriend likes to torture me by saying that HRH is funnier than I am (she is NOT funnier than me.), but to have to admit to you, my loyal fans, that she's been right about her L-Train rants. All 472 of them. It hurts the heart.

This past week I was commuting into work and I missed the station for my transfer from the F to the 6 so I ended up at 6th Avenue and had to take the L train over to Union Square. For you non-New Yorkers, this is a one-stop trip that should take approximately 3 minutes. Total.

As I walk down to the L platform I see these signs. Little lighted signs that give you the date and time and then ... it changes and tells you how many minutes you have until the next train comes.

At first I was pissed. HRH bitches and bitches about this L train and here I find this sign bullshit. Seriously. No other train line has that. And the L train was the first line to get all new fancy train cars. And she complains about crowds and waiting forever. At least she can know precisely when the next train is coming. That is huge. I know that usually you can get a train to appear if you hold up one foot while peering into the tunnel looking for lights. But on those days that you've lost your mojo, having a countdown would allow you to simply sit down and wait rather than returning to the edge of the platform repeatedly while thinking, "Maybe I should try my left foot. Maybe that's the one that will bring the train."

Then I see this.
(I know it's a badly framed photo, but that number on top is a 1 and I got excited.) Yay! I'm going towards Brooklyn. The next train is in one minute. Yippee! What is HRH whining about?

And a minute passes. The 1 is replaced by a happily blinking 0, excitedly announcing, "It's here! It's here! Here's your train! Come on! We're going!" But, the 0 lies. There is no train.

The 0 continues to lie for another 6 minutes. That's right -- until the secondary timer predicting the next train hits 0 as well. Blinking commences.

Still no train. And now I have two 0's blinking their lies at me and it's just too much for a simple Princess to bear.

Apologizing to HRH in my head, I make my way upstairs and walk to Union Square.

Who you calling blonde?

Okay, so for lunch today I trekked uptown to my favorite salad place, Just Salad. In life there are certain food destinations where once you have experienced their food no other can compare. For me that means sandwiches only from City Sub and salads from Just Salad. Now Just Salad is an insane place where they have like a zillion toppings lined up and four different types of lettuce and they give you a reusable bowl (hello save the environment and have great salad) which if you bring the bowl in you get two free toppings. Not to mention they chop it up into perfect little bits.

So, today I go into Just Salad and to begin the order the woman says, “Your name?” To which, I kid you not; I paused for like six seconds, “um…Heather.” Hello, I blanked on my own name. Is it me or am I getting blonder by the second? Really. My own name. In fact I started laughing and said to the girl, “You’d think that wouldn’t be such a difficult question for me.” Thankfully, she and the guy about to make my salad both found this humorous.

This sadly is not my first blond moment at Just Salad. On my first outing to Just Salad, I successfully answered not only the question as to what my name is but what type of lettuce I wanted. Then as the gentleman stood waiting for me to tell him which ingredients I wanted in my salad, I had a full on panic. I just couldn’t decide, so many choices, I was truly overwhelmed. But fear not, apparently the boys who work at Just Salad moonlight as therapists because he said to me, “Its okay Heather, take your time.” I’m not saying this is what made me a Just Salad convert but it sure didn’t hurt.

Fear

“Fear is the natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.” – Pema Chodron.

In my ongoing quest for peace I’m now reading Pema Chodron’s book, “When Things Fall Apart.” The largest obstacle for me is learning to not think beyond the moment. I can only figure that it is my fear of the unknown that drives my mind to constantly attempt to resolve it. Which honestly is a huge waste of effort because I have never found that the future my mind believes is going to happen is ever the future that exists.

I can’t help but wonder if almost every negative emotion stems from fear. I’ve found that even in the moments when I’m experiencing joy, or love, or abundance I feel fear breathing down my neck. I’m reminded of the Sir Walter Scott quote “Oh what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” Honestly, isn’t my belief that I have any idea what the future will hold a form of deception, one that I get tangled up in but never satisfied from?

Of course I am aware that I am capable of evolving beyond my fears. Take my subway ride this morning. As I walked to stand in my normal spot I noticed a particularly disconcerting homeless man standing near my designated train boarding spot masturbating. Well, honestly, when I first moved to New York not only would I have not been able to stand there but I would have been a little frightened. But I have grown. Today, I was only frightened that he would actually get on the L train with me and I’d then be surrounded by the smelly Williamsburgites and The Masturbator (whom I didn’t get that close to but I’m guessing he was smelly too).

Go Somewhere.

Travel is essential people, and here is why.

If you never get out of your little world, you can never progress beyond it. If you're never exposed to options, you never know you have them. This is the problem with my hometown.

The majority of people there are absolutely terrified of leaving there. A day trip to Atlanta is huge. Panama City. Jacksonville. Hell, Tifton is an occasion because they at least have a mall. Though, if you want good stuff you have to go to Valdosta or Macon ... Albany in a pinch.

When I am in Fitzgerald, inevitably I run into someone I should know. Usually this meeting includes some awkward variation of Mom asking me whether this person and I were in the same class in school while I struggle to recall who or what this person was to me twenty years and about ten lifetimes ago.

Then this person rescues me by going into painful detail about our close friendship and how much fun we had that time at that bar on the edge of the county that would let absolutely anyone in when we were with those other people I don't remember. This is a person who has never turned a page in their life.

And it doesn't matter who I run into. If they're around my age and are still in Fitzgerald, they have never changed a thing about their lives. It's like they've been reading the exact same book for decades so they're still very involved with the story and still remember all of the characters and plot twists, while I finished the Fitzgerald book twenty years ago and have poured through a dozen others since.

My recollection of my Fitzgerald days is like my recollection of Huckleberry Finn. I remember the basic story line. I could have an intelligent conversation about the underlying themes, But I can't recall any characters other than Huck, Jim and I believe there was an aunt involved. And people, I read that book eight times. I only lived in Fitzgerald once. (A very long once, but still.)

Another thing that gets me about the Fitzgerald For Lifers is their fear. When I end up talking to them and they ask what I'm doing and they find out I live in New York they get wide-eyed and ask questions like, "Do you really like it there?" "Isn't the subway scary?" "Isn't there a lot of crime?" "How do you deal with all of those people?" Usually there is a story about how a cousin or a brother went to New York once and stayed in Times Square and saw a show and went to Macy's and how it just seemed so crazy to them.

And I realize, that the sadness I feel when I think about their lives and how awful it must be to live in Fitzgerald is most likely the same type of sadness they feel when they think about me living in New York.

Dedicated to Klutz-o.

I love Jeopardy. It's on my DVR record list. I take great delight in answering Jeopardy questions and on those, not too rare, occasions that I know the Final Jeopardy answer when none of the contestants do ... OooooWee. That is a good time.
As I'm sure you've read in the latest edition of, She's Princesstastic!, my fan club's newsletter, December 9 is my birthday and that makes me Sagittarius -- the finest Astrological sign in the cosmos. (Williams-Sonoma; Crate and Barrel; and Bed, Bath & Beyond gift certificates are a particularly thoughtful birthday gift for a new homeowner.)

Perhaps there are those of you who are not intimately familiar with a Sagittarian ... I am sorry for you. We are fantastic. And we should know, because we know everything.

So. (!) Today I'm watching Jeopardy and for $400 on Double Jeopardy under Astronomy ... (Get ready HRH).

The answer is: To Northern observers, the most brilliant part of the Milky Way is found in "The Archer", this constellation.
The question: What is Sagittarius.
The most brilliant.

Word.