Catz Meme

A quiz!! I love quizzes. Crankster tagged me with this quiz meme. Here goes:

1. A song?
"And I Am Telling You", Jennifer Holliday, Jennifer Hudson
(and tonight on Idol Lakisha Jones, a home-girl from up the street, rocked it like she wrote it)

2. An 80's rock album?
um??? How about Phil Collins, "Face Value" or Run-D.M..C, "Raising Hell"
(there goes my A+)

3. A singer?
Jill Scott

4. A man?
Dan Rather
(Man, I miss him. Did anybody else stay up and listen to all of his little sayings during the Florida-Bush-Chad mess? He was hilarious.)

5. A woman?
Granny

6. A writer?
Alice Walker

7. A book?
The Secret Life of Bees

8. A word?
palabra

9. A movie?
A Beautiful Mind

10. A wise statement?
Don't drive on ice.

11. A colour?
Blue

12. A flower?
Alstroemeria

13. A fictional character?
Neo

14. A name?
Tyler Perry

15. A guitarist?
India.Arie

16. A guitar?
Mine-- in the corner collecting dust (acoustic electric)

17. An Age?
of Reason

18. A famous Historical character?
Czar Nicholas II

19. A flavour?
Madagascar bourbon vanilla

20. A meal?
Golden Grahams and skim milk

21. A country?
Eritrea

22. A city?
Asmara

23. A monument?
Washington, DC Martin Luther King, Jr. National Memorial

I have no idea why this is called Catz Meme, but it is. Jump in if you want to take it. Leave me a comment so I'll know you've done it.

My Vagina, My Girl

February 14th was V-Day. No, not Valentine's Day, that's bullshit. Click the link.

I am a bad feminist in that this weekend I saw the Vagina Monologues for the first (and second) time. I'm way too old to be a Vagina Monologue virgin. But I'm glad I had it twice in one weekend.

I loved both shows. I left each performance feeling secure that I am very comfortable with my own vagina. She's my girl. I love her. I'm good to her. She's good to me. I was going to write an ode to my vagina, but y'all don't need to know all that.

I remember a friend of mine told me that she and her husband went to see the show and they left early because it was "too much". I was waiting for what could possibly have been too much for, um, married people. Reminds me of a conversation I had with friends last week.

We were talking about some woman not having (my first words) the balls to do something. I said it without hesitation, despite the fact that their kids were in the next room. Then, in an effort to be gender specific (although anatomically inaccurate) I corrected my statement by saying that she did not have the clit to do whatever it was I was babbling about. I'm crass. I've warned you about that before. I guess ovaries would have been the corresponding gonads, but that's not the point.

Everyone was comfortable with me saying balls around the kids, but clit stirred up uneasiness. What's up with that? Why can we talk (colloquially or otherwise) about the male genitalia, but mentioning the female's is taboo? Now, granted, I'm not the one to teach anybody's child about their own anatomy, but socially why can we yell balls, balls, balls all day long, but be considered vulgar to mention vaginas or their respective parts? We have so far to go.

But, for the sake of gender equality, here is the message on the T-shirt I bought this weekend.

Front:

VAGINA

Back:

Pussycat. Pooki. Twat. Powderbox. Derriere. Poochi. Poopie. Peepe. Poopelu. Poonani. Pal. Piche. Toadie. Dee Dee. Nishi. Dignity. Money Box. Coochie Snorcher. Cooter. Labbe. Gladys Seagelman. VA. Wee Wee. Horsespot. Nappy Dugout. Mongo. Pajama. Fannyboo. Mushmellow. Ghoulie. Possible. Tamale. Tottita. Connie. Mimi. Split Knish. Schmende.

The Vagina Monologues
Georgetown University
"Until the Violence Stops"

I think I'll wear it to the next kid's birthday party I'm invited to.

No? Well, can I at least pass out the chocolate vagina lollipops I bought?

On a serious note. This movement is about ending violence against women in all its forms. Gender inequality is the root of all of the atrocities that are committed against my sisters worldwide. It is the root of what is happening right now, this second, as you read this, to hundreds of women and girls--mothers, grandmothers and their daughters-- in conflict zones around the globe. It is a tool of war and it is a story the media won't tell. The violence doesn't end when our troops come home.

It's happening on college campuses, in high schools, next door, maybe even in the next bedroom. Violence against women is everywhere. You can't escape it if you desire eyes to see.

So I urge you to contemplate whatever resistance this post may have instigated in you. What's so hard about challenging deep seated notions for the sake of equality and peace?

I bid you peace.

I Just Had the Strangest Dream...

I was dying. I was emaciated and frail. I had withered to skin and bones and I was in bed, dozing in and out. I was afraid. Afraid that each doze would be my last and that I'd never see my family again. My family was there, all of them, mom, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins, brother and sister-in-law. The aunt and uncle that already died were not. Granny was there. Healthy as ever, she was there out-living me.

I was in her house, in her bed. The headboard was against a different wall, but I was in her bed in my pink and white Asian motif pajamas. I was more certain than I'd ever been of anything in my life. I was going to die. My death was imminent. Everyone around me knew it too, and though people were sad, they were busy doing what my family would have been doing at a gathering at Granny's--talking, watching TV, a few were outside and we were waiting for the stragglers. This time they were my brother and his wife.

I must have been in this state for quite some time. I was lucid, but very weak. Somehow, today I had a burst of energy. I wanted to get up. I felt like eating. I ate and planned to go back to sleep. Instead of sleeping I felt myself getting stronger. I got up out of the bed and walked around and talked to people. I remember talking briefly to my mom and dad who were sad, but not nearly as destroyed as I would have expected them to be watching their baby girl slip away from them. I was comforted by that.

My brother and his wife arrived and I told them that we needed to talk. They were trying to get money together for some big project. I told them to sell something of mine and that I wanted them to have the money and to use it towards their project. It was a huge sum of money. They assured me that they would use the money the way I would want them to. I felt so much love as my brother brushed my hair back from my face. He had so much sadness in his eyes. I love him so much.

As I regained strength I decided that I wanted to help make dinner. I went to the kitchen and I started making rolls from scratch. I moved very slowly, but everyone was patient. I'm sure they had to be the worst rolls ever, but I made them. I wanted to make them for my family one last time. I imagine that we all ate dinner, but then scene skips to us gathering around my bed.

I was feeling much better at this point, a little life had returned to my face and body. Everyone gathered around me for a family photo.

I felt overwhelming sadness. I loved these people so much and the thought of leaving them was tearing me apart. It tears me apart now. I'm sobbing as I type this. I thought about all the fights, all the tension, unfairness and mistreatment. I thought about all that has gone unsaid. It made me very sad to know that I was leaving with what I felt was so little resolution. I begged them to be good to each other.

I woke up. I couldn't bear to stay sleep another minute. I was certain that if I did I would know what it feels like to die in your sleep. I'm not ready to know that.

New Love

My heart is defended by a wall the best armies cannot penetrate.

Tonight my heart was stolen.

I have a new love.

I was warmed, soothed and satisfied.

It was love at first taste.

Honey Lemon Sake

Amen.

I Think I Hate Winter...

I used to be such a fan.

This year she has totaled my car. Made me seem like the whiney wimp in the office since I won't drive in the ice (or snow, truth be told). And she just held my crappy rental car captive in my parking space, perched atop a mound of ice as if it were playing King of the Mountain.

I'm moving to a warmer climate. Look for me in Dallas, or thereabouts!!!!

I know I'm a dinosaur, but...

text messaging is for~

• making sure there' s nothing else you need to pick up at the grocery store
• letting you know I made it in safely
• calling someone's attention to the funny thing in the room you can't otherwise point out
• GPS in a crowd
• just saying "hi", once in a while
• cheating on a test
• "writing" down a phone number or directions when you're driving
• news updates
  

text messaging is not for~

• serious conversations
• bringing up a topic that is difficult to discuss
• propositioning for sex
• or anything else you don't have the balls to say out loud

Oh and Happy Valentine's Day.

Snow Days

the essentials~

• 1 dozen 3 flavored cake-like donuts. Hostess are the best, but grab whichever ones are left after the crazies ransack the grocery store. One year I walked 1.5 miles in 2 feet of snow to get them. They're that essential. The plain ones are mine. You guys can fight over the powdered and cinnamon ones.
• Good hot chocolate fixings: good cocoa powder, good vanilla extract, good chocolate chips.
  
• Blankie
• Remote
• Cereal and milk
• Cheese and bread for grilled cheese sandwiches
  
• Soup/stew/chili ingredients

That's what I need to make a snow day perfect. What about you?

Some Whining for You

Buying another car has taken over my life. I am exhausted, frustrated, humiliated and well informed about every make and model of car on the road today. Car dealers, salesman and finance managers are evil, nosy, self-righteous demon spawn. I am resolved to pay cash for a car from a private seller. It's the only way for me to preserve any modicum of self-respect and dignity.

I won't go into all of the details here, but suffice it to say that my unresolved marital problem leaves me dangling by the balls at Ex's mercy. I want this to be over and behind me but no matter how separated I am, this week has proven, it ain't over 'til it's over. I want it to be over. I am so sick of being judged by this one little number that, in so many, many, many ways is out of my control for the moment. If one more person looks at me like I'm stupid (or insinuates that I am) for gaining my freedom at the cost of my credit I will scream. If I have to explain to one more person why I would move out of the martial home instead of kicking his ass out, I will gauge out their eyeballs and hawk spit on their pea-sized brain. I picked my battles. I couldn't control remaining separated for the requisite period of time if he moved out (assuming that somehow I could have forced that). He could always move back any time he wanted to. There is not a law in my state to prevent him. I moved so that I could control how separated we remained. That left him in our house with a mortgage in my name. I could only hope that keeping a roof over his own head would motivate him to pay the mortgage. He hasn't been as motivated as I'd hoped. But then again, he has nothing to lose. He's not on the loan. So much for not going into the details.

I try to remind myself that this will all be over soon. I have a hell of a hole to dig myself out of, but at least I will be at a place where no more damage can be done. It feels like it's taking an eternity to get to that place. I long for that place.

This week has been a miserable reminder of my past misery. It's more than ripping off a scab. The scab was healed. It was re-opening a scar. I don't particularly fancy apathy, I think it's counter productive, but I feel like I'm very close. I'm numb in many ways. I'm exhausted of wishing I knew then what I know now. I want 1993-2005 to be a distant memory. But it keeps resurfacing in the most insidious ways. This week, in the form of loan officers. Fuck loan officers. It's a matter of principle. I will not spend my money to bring the mortgage current on a house he's living in. I'm not going to put a roof over my head and his too. If I do it once, I'll be doing it until the house is sold (or however we resolve this shit in the divorce). Call me stubborn, but this is where I draw the line. Would it make things easier on me to just pay it? Probably in the short run. But it will be more of the same "saving his ass" shit I did for 12 years. I stopped doing that in April 2005. I'm not going back to it now.

I know there's a car out there I can afford to buy outright. It may take a while to find it, but I'll keep looking. Car dealers are evil, crafty, bait and switch pariah. I've never known another industry to be so deceptive and predatory. I hate it with an unspeakable passion. I hate being bounced around from one person to another. I hate the crabs in the barrel who are each protecting their own interests (at the customer's expense). Thank God for craigslist. Oh, wait, that's a filthy beast all its own too, huh? I'll take my chances.

A final appeal. Anybody's granny too sick to drive her 3 year old Honda? Does she wanna sell it for $1500 below KBB??? Anybody???? Hello????

I'll be watching my Sex and the City DVDs if you find a seller. Don't worry about interrupting me.

English, please.

"But that is something else entirely."

English for: "But that's a whole 'nother issue."

English. Speak it.

Brrrrrrrrrr!!!!!

it is 20 degreees right now. it is -46546 with tht wind chill. i can't type becausw there's no heat in my office and I have gloves on!!! that's right--no heat. today. the coldest day of the year. i WANNA GO home!

My Stripper Name is Cherry

Disclaimer: If you are a prude or otherwise judgmental of fun, skip this post.

I have a new found respect for exotic dancers. Oooooooooouuuuch !!! My forearms hurt. My knees hurt. My muscles that pull your shoulders down and back hurt. I woke up a walking ball of pain this morning. My hat is off to the ladies who do this for a living. One hour of pole dancing has nearly killed me. I've taken months off from the gym and gone back like gangbusters. That produces soreness, but that soreness is not worthy to be compared to what I feel today. You go girls!!! They are athletes, for sure.

Girls' night was a riot, as usual. Six of us took a private pole dancing class at a pole dancing fitness center and came back to my place for drinks and dinner. Our instructor Lindsey, stripper name Frankie, wore 6 inch heels and worked the crap out of that pole. She flipped upside down, spun and flipped, and supported her body weight with one arm. It was amazing. My cousins were pretty amazing too. The youngest climbed that pole like a little monkey. A couple of them mastered that spin you see in the picture. I was sure that if I tried to take both of my feet off the ground at the same time it would surely spell disaster. Surprisingly I survived a few spins and things, but climbing that pole was out of the question. My hands still ache from the accident, so there was no attempting to try to support all of my weight with them. You have to have most of your skin exposed to stick to the pole. That's the trick. Lindsey said, "the big-boned dancers can do amazing things because they have more surface area to stick to the pole." [crickets]

No. I need you to pause and take that in. I had to. Was she offering that bit of information for the benefit of everyone in the room? Hmmm? Was that just FYI or was I being accused of being "big-boned"? Let me tell all of America something. This ain't BONE, ok??? I didn't take any super-duper calcium tablets to increase bone mass. I don't have a rare disorder that causes my bones to continue to grow though adulthood. I ate. A lot. And got FAT. This is fat, not big bones. Chubby, full-figured, plus-sized, voluptuous--those are euphemisms for fat. Big-boned is ridiculous. Don't call me big-boned, Frankie, ok? According to her, if I were naked I would have stuck to that pole like a ...

So, wanna know what I learned in How to Make More Money with what Yo' Mamma Gave You 101? We covered quite a bit in one hour: stripper stance, stripper walk, hip roll, snake, trace, booty clap, self-play, G-string play, peek-a-boo, the $10 shot, fireman spin and a couple other spins whose names escape me right now. I think I was most surprised to realize that all these individual moves had their very own specialized name. My favorite was how not to give yourself a wedgie with G-string play. Don't you already have a wedgie?

Once again I have concluded that I am in the wrong line of work. And I wasn't alone. First, let me tell you about this bunch. We are no slouches. We're all smart women. Of the 6 of us there are 2 M.A.s, 1 four classes away from an M.A., 1 MD candidate, 1 PsyD candidate, 1 J.D. candidate, 5 Bachelors in different disciplines (truth be told, I can't remember everyone's) and one in the making. The J.D. to be/B.S. Electrical Engineering says, after 3/4 of a pitcher of Pussy Poppers, "I just wanna be a video ho. I got to get out of my line of work. The stress just don't pay off. I need to be a video ho and work one day a week and then I can go home and be with my baby. That's where I need to be, with her. It's not a sin, right? It's the men that are sinning? Oh, is it a sin to tempt men?" Ah, it's always fun for at least one other person in the room to have had more to drink than you did. I can't even remember all of the laughs. But there were tons.

Let me just say this, every friend, if you're really a friend, will take her girlfriend for at least one lesson as a bachelorette party gift. It's a must. Have you ever done something, or been afraid to do something in the bedroom for fear that you will look stupid and be laughed at? Well, this class is for you. It's the best positive reinforcement that, no ,what you're doing is right, in fact, you can even afford to kick it up a notch. The booty clap was the most perfected skill of the evening. You can't get the full effect with clothes on, so most of us will practice bare in privacy. Most of us. Some preferred to share with the group.

Once again, girls night did not disappoint. There was minor concern for whose DNA we may have brought home from the poles. But that tiny detail aside it was fun. I have the class schedule if anybody wants it. I'm going back.

For Discussion: Where is "booty"? In the front or in the back? (Before you answer consider the phrases "booty clap" and "get some booty".)

Quacks, Crack and Booty (I guess)

Last post too much of a downer for you? No problem, I've got lighter issues to discuss as well. Where to begin? Where to begin?

OK, the chiropractor. Talk about the best gig in town to rake in the dough!! I can't go into the details of my personal experiences, as insurance companies still have checks to write and all, but let's speak hypothetically, shall we? Let's say someone gets into a car accident in the ice and should be dead, but actually lives to tell the story. I know it's a stretch, but stick with me. She feels a little shaken up, but not too bad, but is warned that the next couple of days can be awful. She decides to see a chiropractor. And the gig begins.

First visit: one hour lesson on dealing with insurance companies, complete with referrals to personal injury lawyers, explanation of your personal injury coverage (so you know when they'll stop paying him), a detailed explanation of when your health insurance can kick in and pay for treatment (when you complain of something new that wasn't part of the accident), with x-rays of how your neck is jacked the hell up and probably was before the accident and is likely to cause problems in the future (remembering to emphasize that health insurance only pays for treatment while in the symptomatic phase); and 10 minutes on the hydro-massage bed.

Second visit: explanation of exactly what is wrong with your jacked up neck and how to fix it (should it ever cause pain in the future [wink, wink]) , hydro-massage bed and first adjustment. First adjustment? Yes, lay on table face down. Table bends and flaps. Chiroquackter pulls something to make the lower part of the bed snap down (to adjust your hips that aren't level). Chiroquackter shows you his hand toys that make noise and buzz. He pokes the pokey one around your neck and shoulders and rubs the rubby one that vibrates around your neck and shoulders. Done. I'll see you 3 times next week.

So, said hypothetical patient feels great. It was a 15 minute procedure where she was massaged, rubbed, vibrated and poked....and no happy ending!!!! What gives??? She was compelled to ask the Quacksician's Assistant how much each session costs so that she can determine when to yell, "CURED!!" $105.00. OK, if hypothetical insurance covers $2500, that means 21 more sessions to go!

I believe in what chiropractors do...it's just got to be the easiest money in town. I am SO in the wrong field.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next, the rental car "pick-up". I rented a car on Tuesday. I took it back on Friday because I was flying out to Santa Monica Saturday morning. No need in wasting the insurance company's money with a car sitting in front of my house right? WRONG!

I went back this morning to get the car and despite my conversations the day before with the insurance adjuster, there was no record of the new claim ticket for the rental today. A couple of phone calls and there's assurance that the company will pick up the tab, but adjuster is in the meeting. Charge the client and we'll sort it out later. Well, um, no. I was just on business in L.A. for 5 days. I expend first and then I'm reimbursed. There was nothing left in the well for the Enterprise. Are you sure? Can't we "swipe your card for $50?" Um, no. I know when I'm broke thank you. I didn't cause this accident. I'm not paying for the rental. Somebody needs to fix this. Manager steps in. Says do the deal with no $ from me. Great. Right? Wrong.

Let me back up. The car rental guy is Thadeus. He's a very tall, very Southern, very thickly accented, Black, church-boy. Any guesses on which one, singular identifier is the pejorative here? He was there the first time I rented and he was there this morning. He flirted the first time. I was rude. He said something about the Lord and I rolled my eyes. He tried to sell me a car, since mine was totaled, and I said, "Do I look like I'm in the mood for a sales pitch?" He asked me if I go to church. WTH? I said no and that I'm divorcing the pastor. He asked me if I was married to him. [crickets] I told him that that's usually how divorces work. I was not in a good mood and certainly not in the mood to be picked up by T.D. Jakes' little brother. It was not a good encounter. Thadeus was not there when I returned the car and he wasn't there this morning. At first.

He came in and lit up like somebody had given him a word from the Lord that today was the day for his BREAK-through or something. I waved. The "I have no money" conversation ensued with Mr. Thadeus. Picking up where I left off, now we go to the car. He puts me in a dirty, salt and bird shit covered orange Kia Rio. What the hell is a Kia Rio? Of course I look at him like he's a nutcase and here's what he says to me, "See, my people. That's just like my people. Come to rent a car with no money to put down and you want to complain about what you get." OK, look M-Fer, YOUR people may have a reputation for ignorant shit. I don't know who YOUR people are. I am apparently not one of whoever you are referring to. I am a customer. It shouldn't matter who is paying the bill. I didn't wake up this morning and decide that I'd try to go pull one over on Enterprise. I got crashed into by another motorist. I have no car. I probably would have chosen for the facts to be different. Regardless of how you're being paid for my business, you are being paid for my business. Why do I get the shit car?

I needed to go to work, but I told him that I'd call later to confirm that the insurance company had handled business and to let him know that I'd be back to get a clean, decent car when the do. I called this afternoon. Things weren't corrected yet. THEN Mr. Thadeus proceeds to ask me what I'm doing this weekend. I laughed because he couldn't possibly be thinking of asking me out. I said I had a Girl's Night on Saturday and that SuperBowl plans were up in the air. "So that means Sunday is free?" I 'bout died, but managed to say, "I can discuss my social calendar with you when you get me out of the shit car that shakes at 50mph." UM? HELLO????? Are you kidding me? What's worse is that he has all of my personal contact information on that dang application form. He will be one out of a job brotha' if I hear from him. Trust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lastly, Girl's Night. My cousins and I are taking a private group pole dancing lesson on Saturday and then coming back to my house for drinks and dinner, courtesy of C., the least likely of any of us to plan something like this...or so we thought. I can't wait. It's going to be a blast. Chiroquackter be damned! He might actually need to work for his money on Monday. I'm in charge of the drinks. Hmmmm??? We all share the same Irish sir name. We're going pole dancing. What should we drink? I decided on Red-Headed Sluts and Pussy Poppers. They all like those pansy, sweet, girly drinks. Plus, couldn't find better names for the occasion. Can't wait to tell that story.

That's it for tonight lovelies.

Besos!

Cancer and Other Awful Stuff

I've been at a loss for things to write about lately, but tonight a post on Fyrchk's blog inspired me. You need to go and read and support her efforts to support finding a cure for cancer. I admire her for what she's doing with her blog, and since I have yet to contribute to her cause (and thereby get to take over her blog for a day) I will say my cancer piece here. I'm working on the duckets.

In short, it scares the shit out of me. Cancers that effect only women scare me more, for the obvious reason--because I'm a woman, and because I know women's health research is not adequately funded. KBear told a story on Fyrchk's blog that is reminiscent of so many women's stories I've heard. There's something wrong in the G-Y-N realm and doctors have no clue what it is or how to fix it, so they put band-aids (read: hormones) on cancers (probably literally as well) and hope for the best. I know so much of medicine is trial and error, but I think women's health gets the short end of this stick. I know women who have been on oral contraceptives for 10 and 15 YEARS, not because they are wanting to prevent pregnancy, because they won't stop bleeding without them. I'm sorry. That doesn't sound like FIXED to me. I digress.

Cancer has wreaked havoc upon my family in the last couple of years. I lost my aunt S. (dad's sister) and my aunt D. (mom's sister-in-law) within a year of each other. Both were in their 50's. Both died of lung cancer. Both were life-long smokers. I've noticed that people tend to put disclaimer's on their loved one's cancers. They often point out when the sufferer's own choices weren't contributory to their cancer. I have mixed feelings about this. While I'm glad that the cancer wasn't the person's "fault", so what if it was. It's still horrible suffering and agonizing to watch. And whether people made unhealthy choices or not, no one deserves the horrors of dying from cancer. I don't know, maybe it's just me.

But, considering that my aunts died of cancer that quite likely was preventable, I'm a HUGE anti-smoking person. I don't mean to offend anyone who smokes, and I certainly don't judge smokers (both of my parents smoked for more than 40 years each and it took at least 10 for them to quit for good) I really, really, really urge them to consider giving it up. My auntie had a burn in her back in the shape of a lung from the radiation. It ain't pretty people.

I celebrate as my state, county by county, goes smoke-free in bars and restaurants. Yes, I've considered what it means to business, but I enjoy these establishments and I don't want to develop respiratory problems because of smoking within them. I grew up on second-hand smoke. Now I have a choice about it and I choose to avoid it whenever I can. DC just went smoke-free last month. Whooo-hoooo!!!

So, I'm not putting a disclaimer on my aunts' cancers. They were smokers. That likely killed them. I miss them terribly and on their behalf I join Fyrchk and her supporters: FUCK CANCER!

I know that I make choices everyday that contribute to my risk factors for all kinds of horrible stuff. I'm usually more mindful of this after I have swallowed, but I'm working on it. (OK, if you did a double take on that last sentence...that's not what I meant.) I know that my being over-weight sets me up for all kinds of problems. My health is my main motivation to make changes in this area. I just get so side-tracked when it tastes so good. Does that mean I deserve to die of diabetes related complications? I don't think so. And it would suck if I did, as much as it would suck for the person who ate healthily and exercised and died of the same illness. Right?

I know that many of you readers have lost loved ones to one of these illnesses I've mentioned. I have thought of you as I've typed each of these words. I shutter at the thought of my parents getting older and of the reality that we'll all die of something. I'd prefer to go peacefully in my sleep.

These are my loved ones and those of my friends who've died of awful illnesses and whose deaths have touched my life. There's one person here who I never met, but she's touched my life through her daughter time and time again.

Sharon E., Dene E.,Toby E., Arleva E., Mickey F., Sharon M., Mark M.

Please add to the list and, if you can, support the fight for cures.

American Cancer Society
American Heart Association
American Diabetes Association
American Foundation for AIDS Research
The Women's Health Foundation