I woke up with a blank mind and unfortunately, Wally shit in the kitchen. I don't have too much on my mind at the moment aside from Cancer and career, my twinset Achilles. Started the Tykerb last night. So now it's 11 Cancer pills a day. Five (!) Tykerb in the a.m. on an empty tummy; three Xeloda twice a day with food. Adding in my mental health meds, that's a lucky 13 pills a day! So far, so good on the side-effects.

I must say that the frightening thing about this 'cocktail' is that I myself will know whether it's working by feeling the protruding node on my neck. If it's working, the node will shrink. If it's not, it won't. As you can imagine I'm practically sitting on my hands to prevent me from feeling the fucker several times a day. I've also stopped wearing my every day necklaces—they get in the way when I do decide to obsessively feel the lump. I'm also trying to avoid carrying heavy bags on the right side. So I need a new light-weight, black, every day bag. Until this shrinks at least.

Some—well, most of you—probably are unaware that, yes, I do have some regular freelance gigs. I've been writing the Miami fashion, beauty, events and luxury goods pieces for Juli B practically since Juli started it, and have been impressed by their growth. Especially since they've become affiliated with a global corporation but have retained editorial control. Meaning, the writing style hasn't changed. And contributors like me still get to be creative. (This month's fashion + beauty picks.)

Sometimes it's difficult for me to select my fashion picks, as I'm not a trendy shopper, which you know, but as a fashion writer It's my job to keep on top of the trends. One of which this season is the motorcycle jacket, which I'm completely on board with if it's done the right way.

I was perusing the usual sites—Bergdorf, Neiman's, Barneys etc. when I found the Holy Grail of biker jackets.

I'm completely, utterly obsessed with this one from Alexander McQueen:


Ob-fucking-sessed.

Luckily, at nearly $6,000, it's not an obsession I can even entertain the idea of indulging in. But behold the goodness of this work of art by looking at all the photos at Bergdorf. And if you want to receive my two monthly columns directly from Juli B to your inbox—plus editions in other cities—sign up here.

Aside from this blog, Juli is the only place where I can really exercise my high-fashion muscles. When I'm not shopping with mom, that is.

On a nipple note, I've got the second tattooing of the color Oct. 26. So even though my insides are still a mess, I'll be whole on the outside. A whole helluva lot of good that's doing me though. The men aren't exactly lining up and I almost feel sorry for my mom and her yenta friends who actually still hold out hopes—and vocalize them quite fucking frequently—that I'm going to meet a man and marry.

No pity party here people, just my usual, fact-based realism: A 34 y/o single woman with Breast Cancer—probably lifelong—, bad genes and an inability and lack of desire to procreate. (Did I mention that now that this fucking Cancer's recurred that removing my ovaries is even more time-sensitive?) Like, I could potentially have the surgery next year as a 35th birthday present to myself. Imagine the retail therapy that would entail! Yippeeee!

Okay, so it's October 15th. Which of my readers aside from Kim (and I believe Donna) has scheduled their mammograms?

PS Get this shit—I just called my hospital to ask if there was any sort of "free mammogram" day; there's not. But there is a SPA DAY for all of us CPs treated at Sinai! Woot woot.