Are You Fucking Kidding Me

Fuck you cancer.
Eight more days cancer and your ass [my boobs] are herstory.

While I know my cancer isn’t terminal, at least not this go round, I do have friends that are living with terminal cancer. The fuck? They are living with terminal cancer. I am living with cancer. And who the fuck knows what you [reading this] are living with.

But we live with & go on with shit that is thrown our way. With life. Fucking dodging shit at every turn until we find that tree to hide behind and catch our breath.

We as humans are a miraculous lot of bastards. If you don’t keep going you’ll fall down. Who the fuck wants that in life? We may stumble a bit but fuck that’s some of the good times. Those life stumbles….ya know?

So you’re hit and boom….11 days till Christmas–stocking stuffers & shit still needs to be santa’ed–cause I know I’ll be recovering on Christmas-cancer free. Shit I’m not even sure I’m sending cards this year.  {Then there are oil changes, tire rotations and all that shit. Yeah, that’ll probably delayed till after the New Year. Those that have just hit with that fucking monkey wrench, I can relate….totally} Things. Bullshit. We all have it. Mine is no different or important than yours.

I looked in the mirror today….really looked the first time in 21 days….erm, cancer….the fuck you do to me? I notice my eyebrows are getting a little shifty….hell my eyebrows are sparse enough now….curious to see how the treatments will make them. The hell will I to pluck then?….wrinkles like a mofo….need to replenish my water supply due to the uncontrollable stream of tears that….why the fuck does my shoulder hurt so?….why does it feel like I have an earache, but not really?….Oh cancer, you scamp….is that how your’re affecting me making me feel like I’ve got palsy…..eight days bitch….damn you bad boob….affecting every other aspect in my life too….fuck off cancer.

I am more than aware it’s not the tits that make the woman….this I know….it’s the heart, spirit, and soul; all of which I know I am rich in. I will continue to grow and cultivate love for myself, family & life with my cancer free and toxin free boobs in eight days.




Simmer Down Now Boob

Before the breast cancer diagnosis, 20 days ago, I simply had a problem with breathing & being in the moment. In more ways than one. I was always preoccupied with getting the next task done–mom’s you can relate. no?–and I have chronic bronchitis. So I legit can’t breathe properly most of the time. But I’ve adapted to that shit & the asthmatic wheeze that has been with me since childhood.

But this #badboob. I tell you what. For me, taking a moment to breathe is increasingly more difficult cause I’m a nervous fucking wreck.

I’d like to envision myself as calm as Katherine Heigl’s character in Knocked Up when she surrounds herself with candles and shit in bathroom in an attempt to zenout…. But never reach that zen.

While I do try to breathe, it’s usually unsuccessful.

Love/hate my boobs depending on the day and shit. But fuck (I know, I know) they are mine goddammit. Cancer you are a whore.

Cancer is claiming my boobs on December 22nd….this is a fact in my life at the mo….that bitch called dibs & shit….no fucking take backs….goddammit….a rule is a rule…Aaaaand here we are in life & shit….

Your choice is your own
My choice is my own
We all have different choices to make with cancer, fucking cancer! I say.
My cancer. Your Cancer. Our Cancer. Fuck you cancer.

I’m choosing reconstruction immediately post mastectomy.

Granted a breast reduction has been a dream since my teens. I’ve had the most fanfuckingtastic volatile relationship with my boobs. Being well endowed for quite sometime time comes with many problems such as chronic neck/back pain, grooves on my shoulders from bra and not being able to buy bras here in the states for years [I’d have to order those bitches overseas]….

While I am beyond relieved I’ll be getting a reduction, it comes at the cost of cancer and a mastectomy. I had fully resigned myself to the thought with further exercise and toning of my body that would be the extent of my reduction.[Using my NatGeo’s as a catchall, scarf, bird perch]

While I’m at a comfortable enough size now-my back still kills me and the U.S. still carries no bras my size- but these are my boobs, damn you cancer.


Never Enough Time

Just leave me the fuck alone!—Not actual words spoken. Only what my brain is saying to my little monkey fucker~~now, now, I know he has not actually fucked a monkey. Nor will he as an adult–it’s just a saying guys. [However, if he shows tendencies of wanting to fuck a monkey, I’ll get him evaluated right away.] 

I just need space child.

To pee.
To cry.
To be.
To not have to answer your questions for a few minutes.
Just allow mommy a few minutes of space and get outta my face.

Parents, we all know our little beastlies are automatically alerted when we close the bathroom door, attempt to answer to the phone, or dare share an embrace with your spouse–their fucking spidey senses are on fleek.

But fucking (insert juvenile snicker here) as a SAHM it’s challenging enough. Add to the the knowledge you’ll be undergoing a major breast removal surgery to eradicate poisonous tumors from your body….I know he just wants me to play with him….I do…..There’s that guilt again…..All the while I have 6000 things to do before I go in for a double mastectomy in 11 days.

He doesn’t understand I’m buried underneath a fuckton of paperwork trying to secure insurance, grants and the like for prescriptions, treatments and who the fuck know what else I’ll be needing in the very near future. I know I should be fortunate he’s not glued to an electronic device like most five year old children. And I do engage him educationally. He for the most part is an only child–older bros are 21 & 19 and there’s the angel baby, Jackson, who was to be his lifelong playmate.

But goddammit hunny go play, watch a show….give me 15 minutes…….Go swing, ride your scooter….there are so many things you can be doing instead of bugging the shit out of me.

If you need me in the meantime….. we’ll be playing tag or monsters or trains or cars or snoopy’s or burp contests……

After I finish typing this from behind the closed door in the bathroom under the guise of the flushing toilet. Obv. I’ll get dinner from the oven.

We’ll tickle and giggle for a few minutes before we eat and decorate the tree. And hug that sweet child tonight. He’s not sure the entire scope of the situation but is smart enough to pick up a lot of shit.

The cancer will be gone soon. Recovery will begin.


House Of Peen

If I didn’t know I had cancer

I wouldn’t know I had cancer

That bears repeating.

If I didn’t know I had cancer

I wouldn’t know I had cancer

I came the this realization last night as loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, doing normal shit. Thinking how the hell can people not know they have cancer growing in them till they discover a baseball sized tumor? A fucking baseball size tumor?? And some of you are thinking how the hell could I find my cancer when it was only slightly larger than a pea? I realize I found my cancer, five fucking tumors full of cancer, very very early early. Hell, that lil ole cancer was probably just a day or two old when I found that sneaky bastard.

Astonishing! I mentioned it earlier this week, had I not known of the cancer, I would think I’m just bulking up after all the holiday fun [insert sarcastic eye-roll here]. It’s been 31 days since I first felt that lump, not searching for it either, just happened to be caught up in a moment. bam….what the fuck is that tiny lump in my boob? Coincidentally, it’s been 31 days since I’ve had carefree relations with my husband (carefree in the sense that when I found the lump I knew, just knew it was cancer) my mind/brain/thoughts/actions have completely changed in so many ways the past 31 days. I’ve only officially known I’ve have cancer 18 days. 18 long motherfucking days of trying to normal shit all while knowing my boobs, whom are trying to destroy me, will be sliced and diced in 11 days. I can tell you the tumors feel slightly larger than a quarter now–to give you indication of growth etc.

Many of you don’t believe me when I say I’ve never had many girlfriends.

Sure, I’ve got one or two close ones and you chicks know who you are. But when It comes to girlie shit, I live in a house of peen. I am out-peened in the house [unless 19 or 21 need to change their plug when they get pissy–then their vag levels are on par with mine. Parents, you know boys can be moody fucks just as well as girls] My sons are learning a lot about breast cancer, treatments, and my boobs; of which they don’t want to hear, but they are adults and my sons. They need to be educated too.

To all you girls who have reached out to me, thank you.

To all you girls who have reached out to yourself, thank you. When you find cancer, most likely at least one you reading this will develop breast cancer, rest assured I will be right here to support you as you’ve supported me while living in my house of peen.

lets get back to our boobs….feel them….know them….enjoy the fuck outta them….I am going to try my best to enjoy my boobs, bad or not for the next 11. –This will be futile attempt. I need to psych myself some how ‘eh?

*sidenote:  I will never capitalize that bitch cancer, lower case in my book, it doesn’t deserve capitalization. 



When I Get Nervous……

I stick my hands under my armpits and then I smell them like this…. 

Ha! How I love Molly Shannon’s character Mary Katherine Gallagher!

Ya wanna know what cancer smells like kids?

It smells like fear, armpit and ass. Well the pit and ass may be me–It’s been days since I showered. No need to shave in the winter right ladies? Makeup is a moot point as anything applied to my face is instantly rinsed away with tears. And with this short hair who the fuck cares or knows if I’ve combed it today? A little dry shampoo goes a long way…..

Ya wanna know what cancer feels like kids? It feels like I’m going to puke.

That sick feeling has not left me since 11/19-when the biopsy was being performed. I feel those tumors weaving their menacing veins all while weighing my breast down. There is no telling what sort of evil has been done to the inside of my body. Fuck me. That’s a lot of time with my brain and boobs to think…..

Here I am 12 days away from Operation Tit Removal….How does one say goodbye to their #badboob?  This I will to need research a  bit more and report back to you guys.~~Rest assured folks, I will tell you all about it!

……Let alone recovery from breast removal–Currently there is an unfamiliar pain in my shoulder and neck….naturally emotional me thinks cancer has spread and I won’t be even be mobile by the evening~~not true~ I know it’s not attacked me that severely  yet….I’m hoping anyway. There’s no telling the damage done already. Fucking cancer, goddammit.

Here I am walking around smelling like fucking Pigpen in my cancer funk leaving the lovely scent fear and bile in my wake…..

Every step that damned cancer boob throbs, seriously December 22nd can not get here soon enough. Fuck off cancer.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Cleaning the walls, the bathrooms, the closets, the corners in the house. Those corners that haven’t been touched since we accidentally spilled milk back there three years ago. I know people will be visiting and shit. I don’t want you guys to be scared off by the ginormous dust fuckers that’ll great you at the door.

12 more days of trying to be normal. Trying to smile and have fun with five. 12 more days of walking the dog. 12 more days of playing outside, laughing, smiling, making sweet memories so five can think back and hopefully have fond memories of this Christmas.

And if I can get my shit together, hopefully I’ll pull myself together long enough and take a fucking shower.



Argo Fuck Yourself Cancer

Ah fuck me….

You’re so strong they say. …Tara 
You’re a fighter…. Tara
You’ll get through this…. Tara
We’ll love you Tara….{ with or without tits [real or fakies]}

I know…I know….I’ll be the same chick with the fanfuckintastical penchant of the word fuck–used in any variant–going against the grain. Because that is who I am.


But goddammit, I’m tired of being strong
Or am I
Ya know, truth be told
I really don’t think about the shit in life

The intent of this post is highlighting our abilities as humans to bounce back with such remarkable resiliency we almost always bounce back, stronger than before, speaking our minds more and telling those that need to get fucked, to go fuck themselves.

I am strong because of who I am.

My walks singularly & together with family, friends and enemies

You are strong because of your walk.

We are strong.

My  husband may be the only one that will have my hand this entire journey [that is fucking cancer] . He knows me, my cycles, my moods better than I–no shit. He knows before I know. I should know, but I don’t. Ya know?–We will start the day with an embrace, kiss and one last hand hold…….We may walk side by side, ahead or behind each other, depending upon current mood. [*I secretly may wish for aliens to probe his ass when he pisses me off. He may wish the same fate upon me; fortunately for him, we don’t live in Florida (ha, had too) or trailer park (yup)]….occasionally there may be times when we’ll stand on opposite sides of the same room during the day but at the end of the night, we are in cahoots with each other. That knowledge allows me to calm my chaotic brain and take a semi-deep breath.

I know I am stronger because of me.
we are holding hands
together in life.
the good the bad and the shitty
argo fuck yourself cancer

peace, love & root-beer floats




I’ve gotten oven the initial shock of cancer, I believe so anyway.

I’ve begun to look through my reading material with a discerning eye while plugging the emotional eye with Kleenex. It’s all very important shit I need to familiarize myself with. There really are some fantastic resources for cancer of all stages. If I can suck up my tears long enough, I’ll read more later.

14 days from now I’ll be in the hospital.

Hey, do you know you have to sign a consent for them to take your boobs? Sorry, but that’s kinda of funny. Erm, doc I want my boobs back. Sorry Mrs. So & So you signed them away right here, highlighted in yellow. Right before we gave you meds to knock your spazztic ass out. Damn, I signed them away all legit and shit. 

14 more days of knowing I’ve wanted a reduction since I can recall. Those who know me, know I’ve always be well endowed–sometimes, my boobs would enter the room before me, no lie [well maybe a bit exaggerated]. I do love my boobs! Crooked, hanging down to my knees, tripping on them at times if I go without a bra, wrapping those babies around my neck on cold chilly nights, oh I can go on…….Here comes my reduction! But at the cost of cancer-motherfucker. I know once the doctors are done working their magic I’ll have a beautiful set of boobs and hopefully free of cancer!

14 more days of sobbing, mourning part of myself, robbing my time with family, robbing myself of intimacy…..That’s a big mind fuck too. Maybe not for all women/men with breast cancer, but for me it’s a huge mind fuck. This cancer has robbed me of emotional intimacy with myself and husband for far too long. If you ladies fear intimacy with yourself, haven’t tried it, fear the stigma-I highly suggest you take time to enjoy yourself.

It’s no secret, I’ve enjoyed my body immensely. When I was 200 or 130 pounds, I knew all my spots, likes…etc…..Point is, my boobs will be gone in 14 fucking days, and while I’m still going to have fun with myself [so to speak], it’s going to be different. If I can cross this emotional hurdle that I keep stumbling on, I may be able to enjoy intimacy a few more times with my loving husband in the bodies we’ve known and shared with each other the past 23 years.

Explore yourselves ladies.
Enjoy yourselves ladies
It could all change the instant once you find a lump…..

14 more days of preparing the house with five.

13 more days of hiding the elf. This year I got smart, bought a package of blocks, creating a new word each day….SO much easier than trying to be creative with the fucker each night. 🙂

14 more days of smiles, walks, laughter and living life to the fullest and shit!

peace, love & root-beer floats




Mmmmm, Beer

It’s been 27 days since I found that unassuming lump in my breast, fuck you cancer, goddammit –hmm, can you tell I may be slightly bitter about losing my boobs. I realize the cancer is only in one boob and choice to remove both is completely mine~but seriously ladies if given the choice, to remove both boobs or just cancer tit? Let’s do both and squelch any surprise returns from cancer trying to steal that second boob.

Boom. In 15 days I’ll be prepped for surgery. Again, normal everyday shit for these superhuman people who’ve dedicated themselves to the betterment of their fellow human. Goddammit, yay on you guys! I love you, really! Here doctors are fighting cancer’s and and bad shit in our bodies and I’m trying to eradicate assholism. Their work may be a bit more important at the mo…

Why did I develop cancer?
Environmental Factors
Hereditary Factors
Self-Induced Human Actions




Bra under wires



I’ve been a beer drinking vegetarian for over 20 years. Most of my foods are non-gmo’s, healthy & full of grains and shit. And the beer, well that’s protein & fortified….considered to be a completely balanced meal by many of my drunken Scott/Irish ancestors….and it’s not my liver, it’s my breast.

  • Again, I’m not angry at the world or the big guy some of you are so fondly of, I understand shit happens in life. No woe is me shit. I have cancer am and coming to grips with it. I also have a miserable fucking case of utter-sads & shit. I’m still in the adjustment period of the cancer news 14 days ago. Shit happens. Life is good at times. Life can be cunt-punched at others.
  • So cancer, where did you come from? Why did you attack my boob? Thank you for attacking my boob and sparing a child- robbing their childhood because of cancer…..So, given that perspective, I’d much rather lose a couple of boobs if a little guy is spared his time and can enjoy being a child just a moment longer.
  • Once the tumors are analyzed, my family and I will have more answers-as the hows & why’s.
  • Thank you for reading this and shit. [And I know I need help with flow and cohesion and shit, I’m open to you editor/grammar-nazi’s to give me a few pointers.] *Also looking for one of my bril graphic designer friends help me with a badboob logo.
  • peace, love & root-beer floats
  • #badboob
  • #badbadfuckingboob

Normal Shit

When I say cancer has rocked my fucking world, I am not joking.  I wanna tit-punch those cells that decided they could not conform to my abnormalities and create their own super cell called-invasive ductile carcinoma….ah, but they beat me to the punch. fuckers

Boobs be gone.  Cancer’s a whore. 
tskfuckintsk on you cancer, ya bitch

What do you do?

You do normal shit.

All while knowing the cancer is there….seriously…. it’s at that forethought my of my brain at the mo and kinda hard to distract myself….

So here I am making dinner and shit. burning my veggie crumbles because I’m not paying attention and shit.

While I know this cancer will be out. I don’t & won’t know what my cancer treatment will entail, I know it’s going to be routine for the doctors….this puts me at ease….ever so slightly, but at ease nonetheless.

I will beat this bitch that is cancer, that will have taken my boobs and part of my logical sense, cause fuck you cancer.

But….Let’s not pat each others asses just yet kids, till I’m officially cleared and shit….ya know, as a precautionary measure and shit. Cancer treatments, whether they be hormone replacement, radiation, or chemotherapy–it’s going to be a hell of a drug.

When I tuck five into bed later this evening, he’ll touch my boob, asking ‘if this is this one’ and ‘have they gotten the sick out yet’…..No honey, is all I will be able to reply. He has only turned five weeks ago, what the hell does he know about cancer? In his mommy’s boobs, that he’s just now catching on used to feed and sustain him his first year of life?

I will weep on my husband’s shoulder tonight
I will wash my face. Brush my teeth
Fall asleep in the crook of my husband’s arm
Ya know normal shit

peace, love and root-beer floats



Ermahgerd, It’s Cancer Bitch

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was pregnant.

Seriously. My boobs feel like ass~ all swollen and shit, chalk it up to the period right?  Ermergerhd…it’s cancer bitch.

fuck you cancer.
triple fuck you

Fortunately Dr. Max of Wake Radiology acted with efficiency upon reading my mammogram results. His expertise and professionalism -given my no insurance situation-allowed him to act quickly. Connecting me to Dr. Tolnitch.

All too often some cancers can’t be removed, wreak havoc and totally destroy the lives of our loved ones. It’s brutal to watch. Don’t get me wrong~~~I am ever so grateful for my early cancer detection. fo sho. I know I’ll be getting off easy with this whole cancer situation. Logical me knows I’m going to ace this whole tit removal via double mastectomy. Emotional me wants to hibernate till the end of March.

I I have breast cancer. That’s why my body feels swole & off.  Had I not discovered that lump 26 days ago -I’d still be blissfully unaware of the fucker, that is cancer weaving it’s evil in me-I’d think that I put some of that 75 pounds back on. You are not getting skinny-fat Tara. This is fucking cancer Tara.

I will be walking around with the cancer eating my breast for another 16 days goddammit.

Eating my mind.

Robbing my thoughts.

Robbing memories that will never happen. 

peace, love & root-boot floats