My dear friend, Angela, is hosting a Younique party in honor of my #badboob.

Feel free to browse their beautiful collection of quality cosmetics –

She is generously donating 50% of any commission to the fundraiser your friend set up! Also, anyone who booking a party from mine- I will have 50% of those proceeds donated as well.

Younique sells waterproof mascara? No?

Time to get pretty girls in time for the holidays.

peace and love



Cancer, Seriously Boob What In the Actual Fuck

It’s been 20 days since I found the lump in my left breast.

That lumped turned out to be not just one but five tumors-five of those motherfuckers, hanging out in my body weaving their sickness in my breast and mind–Five. Of. Those. Motherfuckers.

We all react to cancer differently. I know this. I know I’m in good hands, my surgical doctor is topnotch, no doubt I’ll be fine. See, that’s my logical brain is thinking processing, reacting & working properly. Now my emotional brain on the other hand is pretty much still paralyzed with fear and running dangerously close to a classical meltdown of epic fucking proportions.

It’s been 11 days since my core needle biopsy.

It’s been 11 days since they left titanium clip in my boob, for surgical removal I am told. [fuck they haven’t even performed the biopsy & already they tell me they are leaving markers in me to remove my boobs.]

It’s been 7 days since I learned I have breast cancer

It’s been 6 days since I learned I’d be having a mastectomy. 

I will be informed of my surgery date this week, whether I will lose one or both boobs. I know tits do not make the woman, but goddammit I’m kinda attached to these guys ya know? They’ve nourished and sustained my children their first few months of life, for this I am grateful.

That’s all for now kids.

Thanks for reading my bloggy and shit. Thanks for the messages. Thanks for the goofy ass memes. Thanks for the raunchy jokes. Thanks for the tears and well wishes.

And thank to all those who’ve refrained from telling it’s ‘part of God’s plan’, –That’s another post.

peace and love

#badboob #fuckyoucancer


Mommy, Are You Going To Die?

This is breast cancer.

It’s real.
It’s raw.
It sucks.

Life. Fun shit. Death. That’s what it’s all about ‘eh?

We snuggle in his bed surrounding by Snoopy’s of all sizes, his body fits in mine perfectly as we lay there. Explaining to him yes, mommy is sick. But I will get better!

We are assembling my team of doctors and the madness that goes into removing invasive cancer. I tell him that I’ll be in hospital and I will be sad at times. I also tell him the best medicine he can give me is love and snuggles and not to be a little shit (in my best mommy voice.) To listen when I ask him to do something once and not 8000 times. Fuck, who of you have kids? How many times must you repeat yourself at times……hmmm. So, my sweet child, if you could try to be a really good boy and listen, that’ll be swell.

The sun is shining today. This is what matters right now.

peace & love

#badbood #fuckcancer

Cancer, Day Six

If you have a five year old in home you know you’ll be awoken before the ass of dawn. You also know that monkey is the best damn snuggler. Weighing in at 53 pounds, arms wrapped tight around around your neck; guaranteed to knock your ass back out. But see, they are sneaky, sneaky lil bastards. Cute as the may be, lulling you back into that false sleep, only to roll over and knock your forehead or some other torturous way of waking you up. Upon sitting up, I squeeze my monkey, whisper good morning to my husband and begin weeping.

See, cancer is a motherfucker. I know it is there. I feel it mocking me, trying to take my spirit and zest.

Bad, bad boob! Damn you. What a stupid stunt you pulled. Cancer? Fucking cancer? Couldn’t you have given my a gnarly ingrown nipple hair instead of cancer? Seriously?

I will go through my Sunday much as many of you will today. Prepping your home for the holidays. Getting your Elf on the Shelf dusted and dapper. I will share laughs with my boys. Will probably haggle with the Christmas tree guy. I will be hugged when I need it and cry, a lot.

This holiday season I will be preparing my mind for my loss of breasts. Not gonna lie, it’s s total mindfuck.

Cancer be gone, damn you!

Reading Material

2:00 pm appointment.

1:40 pm, Mrs. and Mr. Sparks you may come back now.

Enter: Doctor’s and Nurse’s downcast eye upon us. trying best to discern how they will inform this husband & wife of 23 years…to the day…that she has she in fact developed breast cancer. Nonetheless, Treatable, Curable, Cancer.What. A Fucking. Beast, that has attacked my body & compromised my health. 

Let’s be real: Doctors remove cancers thousands of times daily. Fact, it’s a normalcy for them.  [I’ve always felt that compassion.  I applaud you health care field workers everywhere. Really I do. I worked in the front office of an Elementary School and did my share to ensure students quality of life was never compromised due to their health conditions.]

This is where I love people, the spirit, and love in the finding the connection I know is there physically or virtually.  

Let’s be realer, most women (lest not forget the men) only have a breast cancer removed once.

This fact is scary. As. Fuck. 

A total mindfuck for my beauty/lack of words,  depending upon the side of the fence you stand.

So 38 minutes later, Christopher and I are released, armed with our reading material that is to educate us on this fucking carcinoma that decided to present itself in my left boob…. and inform our support system in the lobby. Fucking reading material. How to deal with diagnosis on though recovery.

Hello Cancer. Fuck You.



Boob, You Are Grounded!

The moment I found the lump in my breast, I just knew….I knew the lump was cancer, that fucking sneaky ass bastard, stepped right in and began weaving it’s cancerous cells throughout my breast.

Bitch, you are grounded! Get in that fucking corner and don’t get out. 

     I learned I have cancer diagnosis five days ago. 
     I learned I would be losing my breasts four days ago.

This is what I’ve learned in the past five days :

My cancer has a name. It’s Stupid Fucking Asshole, or in medical terms it’s Invasive Ductile Cancer.

  • I know breast cancer is the most common of the cancers.
  • I know it’s treatable, with little to no occurrence.
  • I know I will kick those five tumors asses so hard.
  • I know my husband and family are holding my hand the entire journey.
  • I know my breasts will be removed before Christmas as the tumors are growing rapidly.
  • Radiation will follow as well as 5-10 years of tamoxifen & possible chemo.

Not only am I concerned for the very near future, I am concerned for the bills that will begin to mount. Bad boob be gone. Cancer boob, get the fuck outta here. Medically and scientifically, I’m sure I’ll recover to live a relative normal life. Though those who know me, know I am not normal.

Because, guess what kids? This chick has no insurance. Ludicrous you say. Unbelievable you may say. Truth I say. I am fortunate in the fact that I found a phenomenal breast disease surgeon, Dr. Lisa Tolnitch, MD, FACS. She has agreed to perform my cancer removal, free of charge. A charity case if you will. I hate the term, I do, but fuckit.  The relief that flooded my heart was overwhelming. I will literally owe my healthy life to Dr. Tolnitch. At a harrowing time such as this, it’s a great relief to know there are kind souls, willing and able souls to help those.

Obligatory funding link insertion here.

Bad boob be gone. Cancer boob, get the fuck outta here.