Filters, I Don’t Need No Stinking Filters

Unfiltered I am not. I offer no apologizes for what you may read.

My journey with cancer and all the bullshit that goes along with it. I realize my story differs from everyone else’s. How is that? Cancer, that fucker, presents itself differently with absofuckinlutely everyone~ Amazing!

I may share too much, quite possibly not at the most opportune times, but it is who I am. I am always saying shit, then thinking after the fact that may have not been the best course of action.

But cancer is a bitch. I want to talk. I want my Husband. My children. To know just how much I love them. I am treatable. I am not terminal. Still the mind has been blown.


Hey buddy, how was your day?


(you know…he knows eight gagilion-fuckingthings happened today that he’s not sure how to share with you)



Talk to your partner. Talk to your children. Tell them how you are, however insignificant your day was. Your world can change at any moment…

Again, logical me is cool. Emotional is meh….one step at a time

peace, love and root beer floats



Hey Cancer, Suck My Cock

Now, now kids before you get your britches in a bunch, I do not personally have my own cock. I did however sell Passion Parties and have an impressive inventory of the phallic nature in my closet~~girls if you want a cute lil toy for yourself, please let me know. I need to sell it all the dongs in my closet. 

Now onto my original thoughts…..

Ah yes, cancer sucking my cock.

What a relentless crafty bastard cancer is. Affecting kids, men & women, old and young~anyone and everyone. Double, triple fuck you cancer.




(marcia, marcia, marcia)

It’s funny I don’t feel sick. Well, I do feel sick. But not physically. Very much so in the emotional sense. Not depressed. Well slightly given the circumstances of holidays and all.

I feel sickened knowing the cancer will thrive in me for the next 19 days. Who knows how much damage those tumors will do inside my body? We won’t until the doctor performs my double mastectomy. She’ll then run some immediate tests (those who know names, please tell me, could not find on google search.) 

I feel sickened cancer is robbing of me of joyous smiles with my five year old. Oh we still laugh, fart on each other, out burp each other, but it’s a somber fun…..that guilt will leave. I know I’m allowed to feel this way or however the fuck I want. Trying not to let it affect the sweet pumpkin head snuggling in my arm at the mo.

19 days

Off to walk the dog kids and enjoy the sunshine.

Thank fuck Xanax.

peace, love and root beer floats



Girl, You Better Check Yo Self



Oh those glorious boobs!

If you’re like me, you have an intimate relationship your boobs.

  • likes
  •  dislikes
  • maybe it felt goods
  • might try agains- because even though it was kinda weird, it was also kinda good- and that is so cool. #explore_everyfuckingthing.

Uhm Tara, what the fuck?

We are drinking our coffee and shit and you’re talking about pleasuring yourself.

Yes I am kids. Had I not been comfortable with myself, my body, my desires, my wants and needs -those fucking cancerous tumors would still be mocking me. [Mocking me they may still be, but those bitches will be gone in 20 days.]

While I am distraught, I’m not despondent. 

Soon I will be declaring my cancer-free status!

Till then, here I am here; with this bad, bad, fucking boob. I wasn’t sure of purpose or point of this blog other than to document my thoughts on this goddamned cancer. Then, a beautiful thing began to happen. You girls started messaging me, telling me you have begun to check yourselves because ‘I’m so young’ and ‘you have such nice boobs’~ girl you don’t have to tell me. I know. 😉

Girls, if you take nothing else from my post today, please get familiar with yourself. Do it clinically in the shower, do it intimately with your partner. Feel your boobs. Know your tits, ladies. Check yo self before cancer wrecks yo ass. It seriously makes me smile knowing some of you are beginning to reach out and learn your bodies. xx For some, self-exploration is going to be a big process, others will enjoy the shit outta it. xx

Per the American Cancer Society:
  • Women ages 40 to 44 should have the choice to start annual breast cancer screening with mammograms (x-rays of the breast) if they wish to do so.
  • Women age 45 to 54 should get mammograms every year.
  • Women 55 and older should switch to mammograms every 2 years, or can continue yearly screening.
  • Screening should continue as long as a woman is in good health and is expected to live 10 more years or longer.
  • All women should be familiar with the known benefits, limitations, and potential harms linked to breast cancer screening. They also should know how their breasts normally look and feel and report any breast changes to a health care provider right away.

peace and love



I Don’t Know

I don’t know why Boston stinks Sul.

I don’t know why your ear is itchy Sul.

I don’t know what that squirrel is doing out there Sul. 

I don’t know why your butt itches Sul – [well I do boy, cause you need to wipe your ass. It’s your butt, your poop. I have my own to take care of. ]

I don’t know if all the elves came last night to your friends. 

I don’t know how many cars are on the road.

I don’t know how Santa delivers all those gifts Sul – [well I do, but we’ll tell you that sorted tale at a later date.]

I don’t know why you can’t stick your finger through your brain Sul

I don’t know why you can’t leave me alone for a few minutes Sully…..

Yes, I do.

I am his mommy. Mommies are to love, cuddle, nurture and all that happy shit that goes into shaping this little human I helped to make.

Well baby,  mommy has cancer at the mo, and I barely function baby.

Then the the guilt washes over me.


Fuck you guilt.

The fuck? Why? Because of Cancer? That whore! How dare I feel guilty for needing a moment in life to have a cry about shit, but I do because I’m a good mommy (or try to be).

Logical me knows this will be over soon.

Emotional me is still freaking the fuck out. Tissues balled. Tears wiped. xx

peace and love



21 Days

I will be in possession of my boobs for 21 more days. 

It’s been said once you do something for 21 days it becomes habit. Well, fuck me I say. 21 more days, living constant fear of those tumors getting agitated~If I fall down or life something heavy, will one of those tumor bitches reach out and try to grab me harder? –Idk…I’m sure it’s doubtful but doctor I am not.– 21 more days of feeling the tumors grow, slightly, but I do feel the pressure because there are five pansy ass tumors in there. 21 more days of undressing for the shower and feeling complete betrayal of my body. 21 more days of not being able to look at my body. 21 more days of not being able to look at myself.  21 more days of trying to put on the happy mommy face, while still (attempting) to be alert and attentive to my husband as he regales me with tales of his day~~though my mind is racing hard and I hear nothing he says~~sorry babe, that’s not that unusual actually. xx

Armed with the knowledge I will be losing my 30ff’s in 21 days is alarming and comforting at the same time. I now know the day my cancerous tit will be removed from my body. I will then be able to move forward with the physical and mental healing this imperative.

Usually I’m the kinda chick that let’s shit roll off her shoulder, cause I know life is not all fairy tales, snicker-doodles and happy bullshit. It should be and can be, some have experienced that joy, I have not. I personally know life is a motherfucker [not bitter, just stating facts as I know them to be mine, facts, thoughts, etc] and I’d like to cunt punch it.

To say cancer has thrown me for a loop and completely fucked me up is an understatement.  Who knows if I’m handling this properly? Meh~~ fuck you cancer.

21 Good-mornings

21 Good-nights

21,000,000,000,000,000 tears

I will share lots of smiles, laughs and surprises with my family. I will attempt to make the most of these next 21 days.





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!