Tuesday, October 27, 2015


So the older we get, and the more we perfect the "see an obstacle turn it into lemonade" game, we get to be experts in "doing the work."  No matter what self help you prescribe to - be it herapists, psychics, pastors - all them - always talking about "doing the work."  We start going to hella NA/AA/FA - any thing you need help with anonymously it seems is all the self help rage.  Lets look at RA - Relationships Anonymous.  Does one exist?  We need one.

Here I have been piping that shit about how niggas ain't shit - and let's just use the word "nigga" to regard all men as I have a few surfers and Italians to throw in this mix - ain't shit.  Then you realize it's really your picker that ain't shit.  And you weren't very upfront about dealing with who people are, where they are, how they are UPFRONT - all Buddha-ey with your acceptance...meeting a person where they are, etcetera.

And then YOUR SHIT jumps up in the way.  "Hi, I'm Saboteur.  I've come to fill your head up with hella superficial shit so you can break off yet another relationship and then blame someone else."

It's so cool.  And hella convenient.  Not being accountable is strangely like what we say men do.

Luckily I am now old enough to call myself on my own bullshit.  So I've called bullshit on myself and my thoughts and my own fear that prevents me from a sliver of happiness just cuz..... I have no idea what the just cuz is....but I know there's one.  And I don't necessarily like it.  I'm bound to be unhappy lest I figure this crap out.  So I'm figuring GOTDAMNIT....I'm figuring.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

That Bullshit

I had my THIRD doctors appointment regarding my thyroid.  I'm an atheletic shaped girl -(in my head that's slightly better than scrawny...).  So my fabulous UCLA doctor 3 years got it into her head that because I have an Adam's apple, I may have a thyroid condition.

Fast forward to my friends with thyroid cancer, Graves, nodules, I'm like -- cool.  Let's check it out.  But shit, I've always had this damned Adams apple...so what gives.

What gives is the health system is ALWAYS trying to find something to get you hooked on.  I get an ultrasound....a $373 ultrasound.  They measure.  They say ok.

Go back to my doctor a year later for a check up.  She says...mmm lets measure again.  It's pretty big. I'd like to see if it's grown...considering my age and all....

It's grown?  How you know.  I go for another ultrasound, they say they measured it and it's grown.  I'm like ---- yous a lie.

I tell my doctor I think she's giving me the run around.  She gives me some better safe than sorry shit.  I go back yesterday to THE expert who's going to take an ultrasound and IF it looks crazy to him, get a biopsy.  In 3 minutes he decides I don't need shit and that it's normal.

Now tell me....why wasn't I introduced to him in the next building the first time, verses racking up 3 additional ultrasounds??? Money.  Fuckers.  oooh The USA makes me tired.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015


I clearly had a break down in Japan.  I am apart of the 1 in 4 women who have Uterine Fibroids.  I've been menstruating for about a year now with knock out cramps.  Some days are the scene of a murder.  I hide tampons and pads in each of my suitcases, behind the blender, under the bathroom sink, bedside table, it's a veritable Easter Egg hunt o' pads in my crib, car, purses....what have you.

I had a Myomectomy about 7 years ago.
The doctor told me then I had about 5 years before things came back so get ready...drop them babies.  I was, of course on a world tour with the Black Eyed Peas...and while I talked about throwing a pod in there, it was in between Cachaca shots and 17 hour transpacific flights.  Did he  really think I was gonna stop all of that?  I mean come on!  Couldn't I just accidentally get pregnant like most people?

Nevertheless, through a series of botched attempts (nothing like a little biological desperation to make a relationship stick!) and a small midlife crisis,  I escaped to this theory ".kids...I got 11 Godkids...who needs them?"

Back in the game, on the road...October 2014 my period decides...well...not to leave.  Week 3, 4 and 6 come by and I go to the hospital.  Good old Western doctors.... "the only real thing that works is a hysterectomy."  Oh yeah?  I would love to tell a man, "the only thing that's going to work is if I cut off your balls....yeah I'm sorry...it's just what it is.  Times up. " Insurance too....pre Obama Care...."yeah, your insurance is $800 per month cuz you have these crazy fibroids...but if you just get a hysterectomy, I can knock off 6 months."   It should be absolutely illegal to tell a woman this.  You think you depressed now...wait until I tell you your reproductive system is shot and so...fuck it, get rid of it.

It gets worse.

Sex.....I mean, I'm an aggressive woman who works hard and plays hard and needs a release just like the next head of household.... so now that my uterus is tripled its size I can make Pee Wee Herman feel like Mandingo.  Its painful and awful and all these brilliant lingerie sets I've copped from Journelle are for naught.  It's bullshit... AND I'VE HAD IT.

So  I was packing for the 22 hour flight to Thailand to get this Fibroid Embolization for half the American mark up, when my girl rallied the Fibroid Community and introduced me to Dr. Bruce Mc Lucas.
 I wanted to kiss him.  Literally make out with him in the doctors office yesterday.  He gave me a great cash price. "Better than Thailand" so he says.  But whatevs.  Fuck this insurance stress out. I'd rather work a month on a shitty tour and cash out.

The set up is for November, meaning....1 more period of hell while in Australia.  I may have a ceremony for it in Brisbane...except I'm pretty sure it's Shark season and I may not even surf this time around....but whatevs....I'm already a nicer person.

Look out promoters...you aren't even going to recognize me after November 10th!