Fucking Chemo Can Kiss my Ass

I woke this a.m. (okay, this afternoon), and as I was on the phone with my gay boyfriend, who also happens to be my realtor, I decided to check the balcony for fresh rodent droppings. Lo and behold, there were a few new ones.

New readers may not know that I'm somewhat of an expert on rodents. Due, unfortunately, to my up-close-and-personal experiences with their kind. Yesterday, I got rid of all the old ones—there were a lot. Their droppings are toxic, and you shouldn't vacuum them up b/c then the toxic shit is in your vacuum or whatever. I'm even more germaphobic now than ever. Soo, I donned latex gloves and a face mask, and threw each individual dropping off my balcony.

My building manager, who bears a striking resemblance to Frankenstein, did not respond to my phone message Friday: "Hello, this is Stephanie in 604. A rat crawled into my apartment last night. I have cancer so this really isn't good for my germs."

My next step tomorrow will be alerting the neighbors and causing a ruckus.

"Only you," Dana said. "In my seven years of living here, I have never heard of anyone having a problem with rats."

I'm telling you, I'm going to get past life regression therapy to get to the bottom of this and other issues.

I'm feeling marginally better. Utterly fatigued though. Slept till 1 p.m. today, woke up nausea-free but exhausted. It's getting hot here. I haven't donned the wig since Monday. I'm really looking gross, let me tell you. My head is completely bald in the places where the wig tape is and stubbly in all the rest of the parts. My leg hair is growing back in more rapidly.

Anywho, my big adventure today, aside from a massive clean sweep, was a walk to Walgreens. The drugstores are even worse here than in NYC, b/c the cashiers often don't speak a lick of English. Not one word, seriously.

So I'm in line, sweating my ass off in my wig, wearing makeup and looking somewhat presentable for the first time in a week. The dude in front of me has a Chihuahua on a blanket in the front part of his buggy. A little girl got too close to the dog and it erupted like Cujo. I started laughing at the dog, then the power went out. It's almost 90 out. I just started laughing hysterically. This was my big outing; I needed what I was about to buy and there was only one person in front of me. The registers still were working, and I had no intention of leaving sans products. After about 30 secs, the manager starts telling everyone to go outside. Nobody moves. The cashier continues to ring up the items; the registers still worked. I don't think she was being defiant, I honestly think that she didn't understand what the manager was saying because he was speaking English.

Anyway, gay boyfriend is coming over to cook me dinner tonight. One of many reasons why gay men are so much better than most straight ones.

I thought Entourage was back again tonight? WTF? I need my dosage of Lloyd and Ari Gold. Seriously, don't network execs understand that there are bored cancer patients at home waiting for the good TV to start? Yeah, I know, pathetic, but what can I say? I have barely left the house in five days. . .

This chemo is fucking bullshit, lemme tell you. My 90210 shrink refers to it as "jet fuel." Somehow this doesn't comfort me. Let's hope it's at least fuel from a private jet.