Fifty Shades of Pink: WTF edition

Not sure why it took me half of the month, but it occurred to me yesterday morning.

All of these people all over the place are wearing pink to promote “breast cancer awareness” this month.

For all of the days of this same month, our government has been shut down, meaning the National Institutes of Health has been shut down.  Wearing pink does not cure cancer.  The researchers at the NIH are working to CURE CANCER, or make it so the treatment isn’t worse than the disease.

And not just of the boobies, like I had, but the cervix or colon like my mom.  Or skin like my grandpa, lung like my grandma, or leukemia like my grandpa on the other side.

Here’s a great article that Scientific American reposted from the journal Nature on what’s happening there while the government remains shut down.  “NIH Campus Endures Slow Decay Due to Shutdown

So unless you really NEED that pink tie, or skis, or TACO SHELLS, don’t bother to get them to make the ninja happy.

Contact your congressional delegates instead, and remind them that they work for YOU.  And you’d like them to fund the NIH NOW.

Fifty Shades of Pink

For as long as I can remember, my favorite color has been a shade of red. In first grade, it was officially light pink, then evolved to a deeper magenta, or the ruby red of my car, a handbag, water bottle, and often my nails.  From a purplish wine color, to salmon or coral, I love shades of red and pink.

Therefore, even before breast cancer touched my boobs so I kicked it’s ass, I have a fair amount of pink in my wardrobe.  Colleagues were funny, a couple mentioning “OH, and you’re even wearing a pink dress” on the day I told them about the big C.  It wasn’t a new dress, just a favorite. Something that made me feel comfortable and feminine and pretty as I told them about the upcoming fight of my life.

So since I’m a fan of things that are pink, I’ve often picked up stuff for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  But my rule has always been, it’s either something I wanted anyway like my Specialized Ruby in Komen, no matter the “cause,” or it gives significantly to a charity I support.  Some of those charities are about awareness, early detection and action, like Bright Pink, others focus more on supporting survivors, like the Young Survival Coalition, and my favorites are those that do research towards ending the disease, or even the effects of the “cure” like the  Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation and her Health of Women study, or even the Fred Hutch, which has full access to more of my tissue than they bargained for, thanks to my treatment at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.

But there’s a lot of “pink-washing” out there. And although I appreciate that the NFL has gotten a couple of extra women to check their ta-tas and realize they’ve got something to show their doctor, I actually kind of hate the whole thing.  I truly and honestly believe that the NFL should spend November focused on Domestic Violence Awareness Month instead.  That’s something that awareness CAN help to cure… and each and every one of us can be a part of stopping.  Anyone can report something that looks wrong, or offer a helping hand. Not everyone can find a better cure for cancer, no matter which part of the body it chooses to attack. {{stepping off soapbox}}

So that brings me to my little dilemma. A friend asked if my son’s football team is wearing pink socks, as her nephew’s team is doing, for BCAM.  First off, my son’s team wears head to toe red. They’d go from being the Mt. Si Wildcats to the Mt. Si Valentines. But second- why are we getting 8-10 year old boys to wear pink? Does it give me a tiny warm fuzzy, sure, but do the boys really need new socks, sweatbands, gloves… etc.? Probably not.

Last year, some of the other moms got some stickers, hats, and a few other pink things for the team during the last game of the season. A couple of the boys are still sporting the stickers, because they were kind of hard to get off.  I really appreciated it. It made me feel loved, and I’d think made my boys feel supported at a very hard time for us. I was 1/2 way through chemo. I was all the way bald.

But this year, I’m the team mom.  So even if I bought 17 pairs of pink socks, what good would that do anyone?  And wouldn’t that make things, again, about me?

But a couple of weeks ago, they started doing recognition/reward stickers on the boy’s helmets. And after searching high and low, I found a set that are little pink ribbons.  Not any bigger than the stars or footballs, and theoretically as easy to remove.  They’re supposed to arrive in the mail today or tomorrow.

My plan is to hand the sheet of stickers over to the coaches… and if they want me to explain anything to the boys, of course I would. But I still feel like it’s a little self serving.

After all, I’m the one whose favorite color is pink. 🙂

Reflections on Becoming a Ninja

I’ve always found the lead of a story (or a blog) one of the hardest things to write, likely because I know how important a good hook is. Right now I’m feeling more pressure than usual because I’m expecting a little spike in traffic.

I’ve written a Breast Cancer Awareness Month blog for the public site at my PR agency, Waggener Edstrom Worldwide, so I’d guess there will be a few new people who will find my little ramblings.  Welcome!

The coolest thing about writing this particular post is that it gave me a chance to reflect on the past year.  It seems so hard to believe I was already undergoing chemo a year ago.  I was starting to lose my hair.

But the thing that I feel like I’ve forgotten a little bit in the last few months, as I’ve struggled with what’s next for me.

I talked recently about somehow not feeling worthy.  But I’ve forgotten the simple fact, that it means I’m lucky.  I found it early.  I’m going to be fine.

The other thing I wrote the post for was to submit to LeanIn,org, which meant I had a word limit… and don’t feel like I got to make my real point.  Yes, oversharing in ways that are way outside my comfort zone is my way of “leaning in.” But my truth, the thing that I’ve learned time and time again this year, has been left out.

Life is for living.

It’s that simple.  Sure, when you’re having a lousy day, it would be easy to wallow. When you, say, find a lump, it would be easy to curl up.

But if you face it head on, fight, but keep living your every day life, it’s worth it.  Show up for work, for your kid’s sports, for a night out with the girls.

For me, everywhere I’ve been, I’ve been met with love and people cheering me on.

Not what I was ever asking for, but it sure does help!

Nipple Stitches, N.E.D, and Pink Ladies

So yeah, I said I would post after my surgery… but I didn’t say WHEN I would post, right?

Still can’t think of a better word than surreal for having two doctors create nipple nubs on my faux-boobies while we chat about things like the fact that my plastic surgeon is wearing a white dress and black heels, things to think of when naming children, and whatever else came to mind during the 90 min procedure.

When I left, I was given a set of foam “protector” pads, which I was to wear at all times, except in the shower. They also gave me a second set, as I had to wear until I came back two weeks later when I  was to get my stitches out.  It looked to me like I had on nursing pads… although I did a pretty good job of keeping something loose or patterned on top so that no one else would notice.

Two weeks later, nylon stitches out, and I still needed to wear the pads for 2 more weeks. Sigh. This went fine, and I finally got to dump them this week  but I’m now having a little surgical complication… the scar under my right arm doesn’t seem to want to heal up.  Last weekend it started to hurt, and it is now re-opened about 1/2 inch.  Luckily, I was able to e-mail my doc a picture & she says it’s fine, just “normal wound care.” (aka, not infected, but kind of hurts)

So there’s my month in a nutshell.  I also have the tattoo session scheduled, Dec 3.

The other excitement this week was my quarterly visit with Dr. Gadi.  He reassured me that all is still going well, although there’s still no testing to do to make sure that really is still the case.  I’ve had a couple of people ask me if I’m “in remission” now, and as I thought, that’s not the proper term for Breast Cancer — it’s more of a term for something more systemic like Leukemia or Lymphoma. For Breast Cancer, we say I am N.E.D. No evidence of disease.

So that’s where I’m at. NED. Dr. Gadi wants me to keep track of the headaches that I’ve been having, which are most likely either a side effect of VagiFem, or a side effect of LIFE, and not something more sinister.

The final thing he had me do at this visit was a blood test for FSH or Follicle-Stimulating Hormone. Evidently this spikes when you go into menopause… and since it’s been a year since I’ve had a period, I could officially be there. I got the test results Saturday, but without any context I don’t really know what they mean.  If I am all the way in menopause, then he will likely switch me from Tamoxifen to something else, but I don’t think that would take away the hot flashes, special memory moments, or atrophy down south.  I’m a little scared of the extra time in menopause and the toll it can take on my body to not have estrogen, but I’m in this for the long haul.  I need to not borrow trouble.

Finally- I’ve picked out my Halloween costume this year, in large part based on my lack of need for a wig to pull it off.

There are worse things I could do

rizzo There are worse things I could do

I feel guilty sometimes for not writing more often.  After all, if I don’t write, my parents and the 3 or so other people who follow me regularly don’t have the latest.

But more often, I feel like maybe I should quit.  There’s not so much that’s interesting to say these days. And my reflex to belittle my own experience kicks in.  Shouldn’t someone who had it harder than I be the one people are hearing from?  I was only stage IA. People keep telling me I’m brave or awesome or whatever.  And that isn’t why I’ve been sharing.

I reassure myself, that even if people are friends on Facebook where I tend to post links, they have every choice not to click if they don’t want to listen to me babble. But to me, babbling is like breathing.  It’s just something that I do. And I still feel like if there’s one person, survivor, family member, whatever, who I can help, then I’m babbling for a cause.

So then I get all twisted up in a vicious, guilty-if-I-don’t-write, but guilty-if-I-take-time-away-from-anything-else-to-write, cycle.  Because if I write, I’m taking time that’s all about me. Since this blog is, in fact, all about me.

So I’m officially telling my self to suck it up, and let go of guilt either way.  If anyone wants an update & I haven’t posted, I’m pretty easy to get ahold of. And if anyone doesn’t want to read, it’s pretty damn easy to not open the link.

Because to lie to all of you, that’s the thing I’d never do.

Nipple Day!

I promise I’ll write more after the procedure tomorrow since I feel like I have more questions than info about tomorrow’s surgery where I get the bumpy part of my new nipples.  Tattoos will come later to get the color of the areola.

Here’s a site where you can learn more about such procedures… they used to do what sounds like some unpleasant skin grafts. I’ll leave it at that.

Other updates, since it’s been more than a month…

The vagi-fem seems to be helping the dryness and I’m pretty sure I don’t have a yeast infection, but it also may be causing headaches. Woo hoo.

I tried hot yoga for the first time. The breathing was the hardest part… and I am not very good a shutting down my brain. I am planning to try it again once I heal, although there were gross moments, like when I changed positions and sweat that was running down my face went up my nose.

I really don’t like sweating.

My other big first of the last month is that I wore a strapless dress for the first time.  It was odd, but a little freeing.

I haven’t been writing much, because there still isn’t much to say.  I go through the occasional manic moment, but in general, I spend a lot of time in MEH.

I’m hoping that getting through this milestone will help.


One Down, 49+ To Go

It’s hard to believe it, but a year ago today I got the call from SCCA with the biopsy results confirming in my heart what I already knew.

I had breast cancer.

I told a friend yesterday, it’s much like being a mom, or the last 20+ years with my husband, in some ways it feels like it happened yesterday.  In others, it feels like that moment in the shower where I found the lump was a lifetime ago.

Sometimes, I looks back, and it doesn’t seem like any of what I read in my blog happened to me, but to someone else who I know. (Then I peek down my shirt, still big ass scars… guess that WAS me!)

I went to my first Face 2 Face meeting of a survivors support group from the YSC, and it was great although still a little surreal. One of the ladies there mentioned that in some ways it may have been a good thing. She has a better appreciation for life and it’s brevity. That we all have an expiration date.

I think that’s true for me too.

I don’t necessarily think I’m a better person. However, I do think I’m more.

I try even harder to make sure I tell people I love them.

I try to appreciate the little things like quiet moments (or, since I live with a 10 year old boy, loud and crazy moments) with my son and/or husband, or even the dog.

I make a point of reaching out, not just via Facebook likes, but I’m trying harder to show up in person.

I do the best that I can to not sweat the small stuff, let go of anger and focus on things that I can control.

When I miss someone, I reach out to say hi.

I still don’t believe in “living like you are dying,” because I think that can be an excuse to not plan for the future.  I am planning for the future every single day.  The difference for me is that I focus on making every single day count.  I plan on having a whole hell of a lot more days, but I want to make sure that I’m making the right impact on everyone that I touch in those days.

This does not, by any means, mean that I am in a perfect state of zen.

Yesterday while I was driving to work on I-90 in the far left lane going 70-ish just past Preston, a car cut across all three lanes, on to the shoulder, and started to go into the grassy hill of the median in front of me, before swerving back into the lane I was in. If I hadn’t swerved over into the center lane, I’m pretty sure that he would have hit me. My first thought was, “I can’t die from something stupid like this car accident! I’m barely through kicking breast cancer ass! I don’t even have my new nipples yet!”

But like that near crash, I’m focused on doing what I can. I smash through as many obstacles as I can to get where I want to go.  I try not to focus on the mess the boy is making, but what’s he’s learning by making it… reminding myself that we can always clean up later.

But if it’s a white Oldsmobile driven by someone likely drunk or high… I swerve.

Vacation, Underwires and Things better left in bread

So I’ve actually had a lot to say over the last couple of weeks, but I was working my rear off, getting ready for vacation, and then staying off of the computer out of respect for my boys while I was actually on the vacation.

Our trip was wonderful. It was the first vacation I’d had since the trip to the Oregon coast last July, and we went to Boston, where we showed the kid where the sidekick and I met, and took him to dip his toes in the Atlantic for the first time in the sidekick’s hometown. We saw tons of history, which is a passion of mine, and went to both Fenway Park and Gillette Stadium, which is a passion for my boys.

Boys on the Beach

Boys on the Beach


I love, love, love Boston, but I hate, hate, hate the weather. For 9 days, other than the emotions, relaxation, all of that, there was one constant word for the way I felt. Moist.

Moist is an icky word if you really think about it. I know several people who have a visceral reaction to the word. But I have never sweat so much in my entire life. I’d been in Boston in the summer before, but this was just way worse. Not sure if it’s my current weight, hot flashes, or just the humidity that New England was experiencing, but it was nasty.

So although I LOVED the vacation, I got to unplug, I was really glad to get home to Seattle.  Work, maybe not as much, but we have to pay for the trip somehow, right?  And my husband got to see friends who we haven’t seen since before my monkey (who turns TEN today) was born… I don’t think we want to go that long with out a visit again.

Yesterday, I did something else that I haven’t done since last August.  I purchased, and wore, and underwire bra.  After wearing said bra for several hours, I’m a little lost on why I was so excited for that torture again, it was stiff and itchy compared to the stretchy ones I’ve been wearing, but it made the lumps on my chest resemble boobs again, at least under a shirt.

I’m not sure how I feel about the bra. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with them for so long, and my old bras were truly feats of engineering. Now I don’t HAVE to wear a bra… or at least I don’t think I will once my boobs are back in the shape I expect. I’m thinking of the underwire as more of a jello mold. Something to remind them where they’re supposed to go… since until now they’ve been going flat against my chest.

The morning before I left, I had another appointment with SCCA,  but this time with a Gyn. We’re getting to the TMI point here, so please feel free to stop reading or skip the next two paragraphs!

I was there to talk about a side effect of Tamoxifen. My best description of this side effect is that it’s felt like I’ve had a yeast infection for the last 6 months. Turns out, at the moment, I actually DO have a yeast infection (hence, the thing that would be better left in bread).  I’ve always gotten them rather easily… a couple of the different birth control pills I tried in college used to have me get them once a month before my period. But back then, I had a period at the end. Something that made it go away.

So I’ve got a prescription to deal with the actual yeast, but I’ve also got a second prescription that will provide local estrogen. If you’ll remember, I take Tamoxifen to get rid of the estrogen in my body, so I can’t do the estrogen replacement stuff that many women take to deal with menopause. It would kind of defeat the point. But evidently, if I PUT A PILL IN MY VAJAYJAY then it’s OK. I’m still not sure entirely how I feel about this, since part of what I wanted to avoid was having to put those ovule things in all of the time for yeast, but I’m tired of it burning every time I pee, and coming away with blood on the TP, even when I blot.

OK- It’s safe again.

The last thing to update, it was a year ago this week that I found the lump. July 5, 2012. I just re-upped my subscription for, so I hope you’re all still enjoying my vanity URL. I know, I’m so vain. 🙂

But when I really look back over the past year, I have to refer back to my constant refrain. I’m really pretty effing lucky. The worst things I’m dealing with, less than a year after my diagnosis, are figuring out how to deal with curly hair, that underwire bras are itchy (duh) and uncomfortable girl parts. No, not loving those (esp the last one) but when I’ve had friends who have had to deal with things like radiation, extended chemo, even losing loved ones, I just remind myself that it could be so, so much worse.  I’m here to celebrate my son’s 10th birthday, something that I was afraid might not happen just last year.

As some of the ads in the T stations in Boston said, I had cancer. Cancer doesn’t have me.

Hey, J-j-jaded

I’ve had a couple of people subtly (or not so subtly) point out that it’s been almost  a month since I last wrote.   The reasons for that seem good when I’m not writing. I’ve been working a lot, pushing myself in what I KNOW is an unnecessary but still very real need to prove that I’m back, or that I was never REALLY gone.

People ask all of the time how I’m feeling, and unless I try to lift too much stuff (since it’s been 10 months since I was allowed to lift more than 15 lbs) then I’m sore, but otherwise, physically, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

Except I now have this odd curly hair. And when I wear my formerly favorite dress, for the first time in my life, I was tempted to stuff my bra. It was too big on top.

I want to start working out more and lose some of the weight that I was working on losing when I found Lefty’s lump, but I just can’t seem to find it in me.

I put a lot of time in at work, and I do believe I’m still doing my job effectively, but some days I am not sure how much I CARE.  Which is really what worries me most of all.

Off and on since the late ’90s I’ve been on medication for stress headaches, anti-depressants. I used to get a near-migraine every single day between 2:30-3p. I went off to get pregnant, until I realized that I had post-partum depression and went back on them when the kid was about one. I’ve had to change my meds because of how they effect the metabolization of my Tamoxifen, and we’ve increased my dosage of the new one to get back in line with what I was taking before they switched me, but sometimes I start to wonder.

I THINK that it’s not like me to work hard, and take pride in my work, but not feel fully invested, but maybe it’s not.

There were a lot of reasons, very GOOD reasons, I left TV news. But despite all of the things that were completely thankless and hard, it was never really a job. It was as natural as breathing. I hear about something, think that people will want to know more, so I figure out the best way to find out more, and then to tell people.

PR for me is more like a puzzle. How do I take what my clients want people to know about, and get it to the people who want to know? Especially when those people don’t KNOW that they want to know it yet. 🙂

But if I have to be medicated to not have my job give me a headache every single day, then how much of my dedication is then chemical?

I don’t think it is. I’d like to think that the chemicals help with something that’s missing, but what is missing has never been my drive, or my work ethic. That’s something that was ingrained in me by my parents (Happy Father’s Day, Dad!) but is something that’s more than just in my DNA. It’s who I am, nature, nurture, and everything in between.

I know in a lot of ways, I can be jaded. I don’t think there should be “graduations” complete with cap & gown before high school. I don’t think that finishing Kindergarten should be considered the same as completing 12 years of schooling, or earning a college degree.  I think “Baby on Board” signs in cars are ridiculous. What, I’m supposed to think “OH, I was GOING to run you down, but since there’s a BABY, I won’t use my car to smash into you!”

And right now, between surgeries, I may be a little jaded about this whole cancer business. I just want to move on.

But when I was on KOMO, I told them it changes how you look at everything. But at the same time, it changes nothing.

And if that doesn’t make you jaded, I don’t know what will.

Today’s Normal

I’ll be quick because this way I update both of my parents on how my quarterly visit with my oncologist went with out calling either one, since they’ll both fuss over the fact that my voice still sounds like hell. I’m actually feeling much better from the cold that knocked me out late last week, but I’m still pretty tired.

I actually ended up having two appointments, one with the nutrition department at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, the other with my doc.  The former was significantly longer than the latter, and the main things we can away with was that I should cut back on milk (no more 24 ounce iced latte every morning) as there can be estrogen in milk (you know, since it’s MILK) and I need to try to eliminate “soy protein isolates.”  I can eat edamame, even tofu, but since my cancer was hormone positive, it’s better to stay away from processed soy.  Which doesn’t SEEM like such a hard thing to do, but it’s a cheap protein that gets added in to a lot of things like Cliff Bars and the like, which my boys love to have around the house.

This is not to say that they or even YOU need to cut back on these things.  Unless you also had ER+ PR+ cancer.

For my doc, I had a question from almost every member of the family.

From Mom- when will we do any CT or PET scans to make sure I’m clear.  The answer- we won’t unless I have symptoms that suggest that I should.

From the Sidekick- what can we do about sleep.  He’s tired of me waking him up at 3a every single day, or being up for hours after he falls asleep. When the doc asked, “are you having trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?” my answer was, “Yes.”  We’re going to try melatonin for a little while to see if it helps.  I wanted to get it cleared first, since I have to quit my AM latte because of hormones, I figure it’s best to check.  If melatonin doesn’t work, we’ll start to work on some of the less natural solutions. Since I haven’t had more than a few full nights of sleep since last summer, I’m ready to try whatever.

From my little man- did I get treated with monoclonal antibodies? The answer was no, because that’s not what was indicated by my cancer, but the story goes a little further.  My doctor was most interested in hearing what my son’s question would be, because he was one child who really stuck out in his mind. He said he can’t wait until he can get his hands on my kid as a researcher, since last summer, when I found the lump the same week he turned 9, he was planning to cure cancer some day.  When I told him what the doctor said, he was SO proud.

(Total tangent- but if your kids like science at all, I totally recommend the Basher series.  This one on Extreme Biology is where he learned about monoclonal antibodies and then he was telling me about Pharming.)

All in all, medically I’m doing great.  Dr. Gadi ask how I’m feeling, and I told him that physically, I’m doing great.  There are a couple of side effects of Tamoxifen that I’m less than fond of,  but it’s doing its job.  Evidently we keep waiting, and if my period does not come back in one year (so Jan 2014) then I’m officially in menopause.

Emotionally, I admitted, it’s been harder. There’s nothing to fight anymore, so it’s a little anticlimactic. People keep asking if I like my new boobs.  I still hate them.  The swelling is going down, and they don’t hurt unless I over do it, but I have a hard time accepting them.

So he referred me to a young survivors group with a pretty active local chapter. So that I can talk to someone else, in person, who is also trying to work, and raise a kid, and keep moving forward. I’ll see where I can fit that in, but I think it may help.  I’m not willing to let today’s version of normal become my “new normal.”

I expect tomorrow’s normal to be even better, damn it.  And as always, the only one who can get me there is me.


Life or Something Like It (aka a Ninja’s take on Angelina Jolie)

I know I’ve been quiet again for a while, but with Angelina Jolie’s big announcement last night, I feel like for the first time in a while I have something to say.

See, I’ve been in a bit of a wallow.  And since the wallow has been more about self-loathing than anything else, it didn’t feel OK to dump here, when it feels like that’s all I’ve done lately.   You’d think that the hardest part for me was when I was undergoing chemo, or the weeks of getting my boobs pumped up, and physically, that’s true. But for some reason, emotionally, I’ve hit the hard part now.

Reading through her experience, she went through a LOT of what I did, although it sounds like they saved her nipples.  I don’t know that it could have been an option for me since we were doing such a serious size reduction.  She also didn’t have chemo, since she had not been diagnosed with cancer, and I’m sure won’t get to join me on Tamoxifen.

Anyhow the line that really struck me was, “On a personal note, I do not feel any less of a woman. I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity.”

See- I felt that way at first too.  I was not only kicking Righty (my cancer-free boob) to the curve because I didn’t want to have one K-cup and one nothing, but it also meant that there was no chance of more breast cancer.  You know, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure… or in my case, just over 4 lbs of healthy breast removal is worth the next 50 years of my life. 🙂

And it’s likely easier to feel strong when you’re considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, the type of woman whose leg can become a meme on its own.  And when you don’t have to have poison run through your veins that leave bruise-like scars 6 months later and makes your hair fall out. And come back curly.

But I’d still bet she’ll have days like I have. Where it’s hard to sleep because she’s uncomfortable. And unless they were able to match her size, it will be hard to put on a top she’s worn before surgery and not wonder, “what on earth have I done.”

Beyond the medial choice, she has just completely changed her narrative. Much as, for you my lovely readers, I’m that-chick-with-breast-cancer, she will become that-actress-who-got-a-preventative-mastectomy. That’s a hard mantle to don, but an important one.  I’m out here being open and honest because I want people to understand that breast cancer DOESN’T just happen to someone else. It happens to all of the “Me’s” out there.  And for being yet another face (and chest) for awareness, I applaud her decision.

She is incredibly brave, both for making such a hard choice, and for being so very public about it.  Again, living in the media spotlight the way that she does may help, but I’m still uncomfortable when I walk down the hall at work and I can tell people are checking out my hair to see how it has changed.  I can only imagine what the tabloids will do the first time she wears a tight top.

And what I really want to do is give her a big hug on one of those days when she’s curled up on the couch trying not to cry.  Again, maybe people-who-are-Angelina-Jolie don’t have those moments, but I’d be willing to bet it happens.



PS- So the title is a nod to my six-degrees-of-separation moment with Angie. She played a reporter in a so-so movie, Life or Something Like It about living life as if each moment could be your last.  It was filmed in the newsroom where I worked, and I never MET her, but I did literally, physically bump into her once, ironically, boobs first. It really is an amazingly small world.

So the doorway behind her head hides where I'm sitting, the lone Assignment Editor in an empty night time newsroom.

So the doorway behind her head hides where I’m sitting, the lone Assignment Editor in an empty night time newsroom.