Oh, San Francisco, how I love thee. Let me count the ways; your delicious ethnic food at every corner, dirty bars in which stirs crazy fun times, the multitudes of parades and riots...the list never ends. I left my heart with you to root a lifetime ago and with you it has settled. Your bridges lay as open arms who welcome those from every walk of life and from every corner of the world. No matter who you are, which race you are, who you choose to love, or what you choose to wear, there is a place for you in San Francisco.
I was first introduced to the city by the bay at fifteen while taking a trip with my childhood friend, Geneva, and her family. While smashed in the family wagon, we crossed the Bay Bridge and I was instantaneously mesmerized by its beautiful fragility. The tall, sparkling buildings of the Financial District seemed like they were balancing on a wafer-sized island and the long rows of identical homes looked like winding, snake-like conglomerates that reached beyond the surrounding horizons. Upon entering the city, the energetic buzz of the streets and the diverse ethnicity that flows throughout lit a flame within me that has kept me coming back for years.
I must admit though...I had help with this love affair. The beautiful memories I have of San Francisco are always punctuated by the presence of one awesome guy. I met my best man-friend Megumi when I was a Senior in High School. I was eighteen and he was twenty-four. We met through an old work colleague and a mutual friend. One word to describe our energy together was instantaneous. It's been one of those special friendships where our chemistry was tumultuous and our conversations and underlying inside jokes totally alienated anyone else who wanted to hang out with us.
We have had the most amazing times just hanging out and doing otherwise mundane things together. Running errands like going to the grocery store or to the bank became a flagrant throw-down of sarcasm and bullshit, which is, of course, always fun. Games we played together while publicly observing others never became old. But, as time passed, the observation games that we developed were the most colorful and fun parts of our city escapades together. One of our favorite hangout habits was driving around the city (usually after an amazing meal of any Asian persuasion) for what seemed like hours on end. The habit began as a fun time-waster and became a never-ending game of gut-busting vagina jokes.
As you can imagine, the city has a wonderful array of very colorful houses that stretch as far as the eye can see. As Megumi and I would drive around the city streets, we would find the most amazing homes painted in different shades of purple, salmon, and peach. These homes are what became sought after...and deemed the "Vagina Pink Houses." Each house had a different tone to it, which meant a different "vagina." The homes with a brown undertone to the pink paint were known as "Latin Girl Vagina Pink." The ones with a slight purple tint were known as "Jamaican Jerk Vagina Pink" or "Black Girl Vagina Pink." My personal favorite were the homes that looked they had been doused in Pepto-Bismol or liquid Bazooka Gum...those gems were known as "Catholic Girl Vagina Pink" or "Barbie Vagina Pink." But, it didn't stop there; every shade of home was different which of course flared our hungry imaginations with visions of different colors of vaginas. Megumi, of course, had more personal experience in this arena since I only know one vagina and it's colors well. However, if the pink was not of obvious persuasion, we would usually come up with an agreement on which color goes with what region of vagina's origin. This game has dwindled off with the years but is still ongoing and is still too funny and hilarious to stop. It's one of those things that you either get and want to play, or you're grossed out and shoot a nasty lip curl/stink-eye. Either way, I totally understand.
Although my time in the wonderful city of San Francisco has not been recently spent, my memories are vivid and fantastically beautiful. Every moment I have spent there is fondly remembered and kept very close to my heart. Like a diamond ring, it sits upon me forever, glistening throughout; with each memory a different facet on the stone. Every memory unique; filled with dancing, singing, walking, watching, drinking/smoking, and general fun tomfoolery nonsense. My image of San Francisco can never change; the nostalgia lays upon me thick like the city fog. I will never forget my times within the city's bridges and next to my awesome friend, who is now nothing short of a brother to me. Here's to the good times, the present times, and the future times spent counting the endless rows of Vagina Pink Houses. Cheers!!!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Poster Child
I am many things in this life; loving wife, designer extraordinaire, survivor, movie fiend, and Poster Child. Poster Child of what you may ask? I am the Poster Child for the wonderful splendor of Medical Marijuana/Cannabis. Of course this subject remains a bit taboo for many people, not knowing of how it saves millions of people from being ravaged by pain from horrible diseases and the treatments that they require. Everyone has heard about the amazing amounts of relief that this plant brings to people, but it remains something that some folks have learned how to despise because of stupid stoner stereotypes and ridiculous lingo learned during the lovely days of prohibition. Not to mention that it really doesn't mean anything even potentially helpful unless you yourself is who needs the relief. Medical Marijuana literally saved me from expiring from chemotherapy. Without it, I honestly don't believe that I would have survived the amount of poison being pumped through my veins.
As a child, I grew up in a home where my parents sometimes drank but never smoked cigarettes. Drugs were considered "bad" and my sister and I both attended D.A.R.E. classes in school to teach us how to say "no" to drugs...or as Nancy Reagan liked to say, "Hugs not Drugs." However, my parents were both beach hippies and every night they would retreat into the garage to listen to music and have "grown-up time." My father used to repair surfboards on his spare time so I would always be smelling different odors coming from the resins and junk he used to fix them. At night, the smell was different. It was a warm, musty, skunky smell that they told me was just another resin that dad was using to fix surfboards. It took quite awhile for me to figure this one out...but when I did, I was floored.
As a sophomore in high school, I went to my first party. My friend, Rachel, accompanied me as we made our way over to this huge hippie rager party complete with a bongo drum medley and stinky dread locks galore. Upon entering the drum circle, I started to smell that same, familiar smell that I smelled so many times before...in my garage at night. So, I turned to one of the guys sitting next to me and asked, "Who's fixing surfboards at this party?" Because it was such a random and silly question, being asked by a (sober) young girl, the guy laughed at me until he fell backwards off his stump. After re-balancing back onto his seat, his reply to me was "Uh, I dunno little girl. Why don't you go cheggitout?" My friend eventually told me that the smell was nothing more than some weed and of course I was embarrassed and forced to leave that hell of a shindig. Real Bummer, Dude.
Anyway, I went on with high school still very against doing drugs; no drinking, no smoking, and not much fun. D.A.R.E. did a very good job at turning me completely off to ever wanting to get near drugs let alone do them. Of course, my friends dabbled here and there with a few things...nothing serious. But, I stayed away and gave them the stink eye every time I would catch them coming back to class stoned.
During the last part of my junior year in high school, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Cancer of the lymphatic tract. I immediately had surgery to remove the large mass in my neck and then started chemotherapy shortly thereafter. I became so violently ill from the poison that I was a regular in the E.R. and although I was sicker than I had ever been in my young life, I still refused to smoke marijuana. The drugs to aid the nausea never helped because I could never hold them down. Then, they would try to give me suppositories and just thinking of them would make me vomit. Chemotherapy was the most horrible violent sickness I have ever endured and I would never wish it upon even my worst enemy. However, I pulled through the chemotherapy and radiation and started my senior year as eager as ever.
During my senior year in high school, things began to change. I felt more free than I ever had before...a new lease on life at 18 years old. This was the time when I let a little loose and tried smoking (and drinking) for the first time. It was New Years Eve going into 1999 when I first tried it. I never went overboard; just a sip, a toke and a hell of a lot of laughing!!! No damage done and a lot of fun had. Just another experience to log in my long book of journeys.
Then the shit hit the fan. At 19, I was diagnosed again with 4th Stage Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. The cancer was seriously aggressive and had taken root in the outer tissues of my lungs, liver and kidneys. This part of my life is a bit cloudy, but for obvious reasons. Being in immense shock can make the details of something as horrible as this very hazy. I do remember telling the Stanford doctors to shove their statistics; I was young and "had way too many things to do." At the time, I was given less than a 20% chance of survival...and that was if the chemotherapy worked. Although my chances of kicking this were slim, and my prognosis was equally as horrifying, my mind kicked over into "Survival Mode" and I did anything and everything I could think of to aid me in this battle. I went to multiple church services and prayed with people around the world, I smudged my home (the Native American act of burning sage around the home to clear of negative energy) and meditated daily with my own mantra. Since I already knew how horrible chemotherapy was, I also decided to do anything I could to help myself from getting so violently ill. I knew about marijuana being used by cancer patients to ease sickness and my oncologists told me that if I could get some, to use it. My doctors actually told me that they were afraid to put anything in writing (about using medical marijuana) only because they didn't want to be scrutinized but that it would help ease many of my issues that would arise during chemotherapy. It didn't take a second thought; a glass smoking apparatus was purchased, along with some nice, sticky chronic.
The difference was amazing. During my second battle with cancer, I underwent two different types of chemotherapy at the same time. I used marijuana in very small amounts and never vomited from chemotherapy again. Although I was undergoing treatment in much higher amounts for a disease much more aggressive, my physical abilities were stabilized only because I was able to be comfortable. My comfort was achieved with one simple thing; medical marijuana. Unlike a manufactured medication/pill, the marijuana provided me instant relief with little side effects and no withdrawl. With any pill you're prescribed, there is always a side effect and usually withdrawl symptoms if taken for longer than a week. Not with the magical medical marijuana! Weighing the pros and cons of taking medications and smoking marijuana to ease pain symptoms was and continues to be astonishing to me. The obviousness of it all is in the facts; how many people die per year from manufactured medications versus people who die from smoking pot? This does not take a rocket scientist to figure out.
So, where does that leave me now? After undergoing a maintenance chemotherapy program for an additional two years after my second diagnosis, I put myself through college and got married to my awesome husband, Brian. I continue to be a proud survivor (11 years cancer free, baby!!!) and I still use medical marijuana to ease my physical pain. In 2009 I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia (a long-term pain condition) as a result to the amount of chemotherapy I endured. As much as this sucks, it is controllable for the most part and medical marijuana helps so much that it is known around my house as my "medicine."
Everyone has a right to their own opinions. I understand that most people out there won't have to face life-threatening and painful diseases in their lives and won't comprehend the importance of comfort during illness. Life in no way is comfortable all of the time but when pain affects quality of life, natural intervention is usually best. I will always choose a bowl before a pill. But, hey, who am I to judge? :-)
As a child, I grew up in a home where my parents sometimes drank but never smoked cigarettes. Drugs were considered "bad" and my sister and I both attended D.A.R.E. classes in school to teach us how to say "no" to drugs...or as Nancy Reagan liked to say, "Hugs not Drugs." However, my parents were both beach hippies and every night they would retreat into the garage to listen to music and have "grown-up time." My father used to repair surfboards on his spare time so I would always be smelling different odors coming from the resins and junk he used to fix them. At night, the smell was different. It was a warm, musty, skunky smell that they told me was just another resin that dad was using to fix surfboards. It took quite awhile for me to figure this one out...but when I did, I was floored.
As a sophomore in high school, I went to my first party. My friend, Rachel, accompanied me as we made our way over to this huge hippie rager party complete with a bongo drum medley and stinky dread locks galore. Upon entering the drum circle, I started to smell that same, familiar smell that I smelled so many times before...in my garage at night. So, I turned to one of the guys sitting next to me and asked, "Who's fixing surfboards at this party?" Because it was such a random and silly question, being asked by a (sober) young girl, the guy laughed at me until he fell backwards off his stump. After re-balancing back onto his seat, his reply to me was "Uh, I dunno little girl. Why don't you go cheggitout?" My friend eventually told me that the smell was nothing more than some weed and of course I was embarrassed and forced to leave that hell of a shindig. Real Bummer, Dude.
Anyway, I went on with high school still very against doing drugs; no drinking, no smoking, and not much fun. D.A.R.E. did a very good job at turning me completely off to ever wanting to get near drugs let alone do them. Of course, my friends dabbled here and there with a few things...nothing serious. But, I stayed away and gave them the stink eye every time I would catch them coming back to class stoned.
During the last part of my junior year in high school, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Cancer of the lymphatic tract. I immediately had surgery to remove the large mass in my neck and then started chemotherapy shortly thereafter. I became so violently ill from the poison that I was a regular in the E.R. and although I was sicker than I had ever been in my young life, I still refused to smoke marijuana. The drugs to aid the nausea never helped because I could never hold them down. Then, they would try to give me suppositories and just thinking of them would make me vomit. Chemotherapy was the most horrible violent sickness I have ever endured and I would never wish it upon even my worst enemy. However, I pulled through the chemotherapy and radiation and started my senior year as eager as ever.
During my senior year in high school, things began to change. I felt more free than I ever had before...a new lease on life at 18 years old. This was the time when I let a little loose and tried smoking (and drinking) for the first time. It was New Years Eve going into 1999 when I first tried it. I never went overboard; just a sip, a toke and a hell of a lot of laughing!!! No damage done and a lot of fun had. Just another experience to log in my long book of journeys.
Then the shit hit the fan. At 19, I was diagnosed again with 4th Stage Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. The cancer was seriously aggressive and had taken root in the outer tissues of my lungs, liver and kidneys. This part of my life is a bit cloudy, but for obvious reasons. Being in immense shock can make the details of something as horrible as this very hazy. I do remember telling the Stanford doctors to shove their statistics; I was young and "had way too many things to do." At the time, I was given less than a 20% chance of survival...and that was if the chemotherapy worked. Although my chances of kicking this were slim, and my prognosis was equally as horrifying, my mind kicked over into "Survival Mode" and I did anything and everything I could think of to aid me in this battle. I went to multiple church services and prayed with people around the world, I smudged my home (the Native American act of burning sage around the home to clear of negative energy) and meditated daily with my own mantra. Since I already knew how horrible chemotherapy was, I also decided to do anything I could to help myself from getting so violently ill. I knew about marijuana being used by cancer patients to ease sickness and my oncologists told me that if I could get some, to use it. My doctors actually told me that they were afraid to put anything in writing (about using medical marijuana) only because they didn't want to be scrutinized but that it would help ease many of my issues that would arise during chemotherapy. It didn't take a second thought; a glass smoking apparatus was purchased, along with some nice, sticky chronic.
The difference was amazing. During my second battle with cancer, I underwent two different types of chemotherapy at the same time. I used marijuana in very small amounts and never vomited from chemotherapy again. Although I was undergoing treatment in much higher amounts for a disease much more aggressive, my physical abilities were stabilized only because I was able to be comfortable. My comfort was achieved with one simple thing; medical marijuana. Unlike a manufactured medication/pill, the marijuana provided me instant relief with little side effects and no withdrawl. With any pill you're prescribed, there is always a side effect and usually withdrawl symptoms if taken for longer than a week. Not with the magical medical marijuana! Weighing the pros and cons of taking medications and smoking marijuana to ease pain symptoms was and continues to be astonishing to me. The obviousness of it all is in the facts; how many people die per year from manufactured medications versus people who die from smoking pot? This does not take a rocket scientist to figure out.
So, where does that leave me now? After undergoing a maintenance chemotherapy program for an additional two years after my second diagnosis, I put myself through college and got married to my awesome husband, Brian. I continue to be a proud survivor (11 years cancer free, baby!!!) and I still use medical marijuana to ease my physical pain. In 2009 I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia (a long-term pain condition) as a result to the amount of chemotherapy I endured. As much as this sucks, it is controllable for the most part and medical marijuana helps so much that it is known around my house as my "medicine."
Everyone has a right to their own opinions. I understand that most people out there won't have to face life-threatening and painful diseases in their lives and won't comprehend the importance of comfort during illness. Life in no way is comfortable all of the time but when pain affects quality of life, natural intervention is usually best. I will always choose a bowl before a pill. But, hey, who am I to judge? :-)
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