What happens in Philly......

Scene at the Cammarrano household before Cori leaves for the BC conference in Philly:

Cori is in the shower at home, finishing up her ablutions, which have included a thorough shaving of all body parts, including what we will euphemistically refer to as “down there.” Just because she prefers it that way. As she’s getting out of the shower, she calls to her husband, Dan.

Cori: Hey Dan - could you get me a towel please? I forgot to grab one.

Dan: Sure honey. Hey, you know, it’s a good thing you shaved all over, especially, you know, down there. So that way the other girls won’t wonder and think you don’t care about stuff like that.

We pause here for a moment of incredulous silence.

Cori: I…..Dan……Dan! What exactly do you think goes ON at these conferences? That we all run around our hotel rooms naked or in flimsy nighties having pillow fights or something?

Dan: Well, I guess……I didn’t know…….but…….maybe?

The girls and I, we all giggled and laughed at this when we were hanging out in the Philly hotel. But you know, as it turns out, Dan was right:

Next up: Cori’s quest for slutty outfits, and oh yeah, the conference, and useful tips for dealing with cancer-drug-induced hot flashes…..

The TSA and me

I have to interrupt my Philadelphia Stories travelogue and the accompanying tales of Cori and the stripper store, the pillow fights, etc., to share with my public this timely saga of what I went through yesterday as I had to navigate the juggernaut that is security at O’Hare airport. Because really, The People need to know. Here is my tale.

So of course I wind up at the airport over 2 hours early – figuring, why take chances that I’ll get stuck in security? Especially since my stated goal is to start a new rallying cry among the Cancerous yet Newly-Cleavaged among us. In other words, me and my fellow CancerChicks with our surgeries and implants and such. I imagine my phrase “Hands Off the Boobages!” sweeping the nation, taking hold in airports across America, even among those who don’t actually have Boobages. But simply because that encapsulates what this sturm und drang with flying and the TSA is really all about. The Boobages. It always comes down to the Boobages.

I’m also excited about the prospect of the new scanners. You see, ever since Dr. MerkHottie put that 7-inch-long titanium plate on my shattered collarbone 2 years ago to hold it together, I’ve been waiting for airport security somewhere to notice it and give it the attention and wariness it so rightfully deserves. But even though I’ve traveled everywhere, such as (ahem) the French Alps for my grand cycling adventure this past summer, I’ve wound up with….bupkus. Nada. Nothing. The disappointment has been crushing.

Now though, it would not be an understatement to say that my hopes are sky-high. This is my chance at fame, at glory, as I get manhandled by TSA and dragged away not only because of the Boobages, but also what appears to be a shiv on my collarbone. How could they NOT cause a fuss? I’m about to find out.

Station 1:

This is the person who checks your boarding pass against your driver’s license. I try to look sufficiently surly – maybe she’ll radio ahead and warn them there’s “someone to watch” coming through. A girl can dream.

TSA Agent 1: Good morning, how are you doing?

Hmm, she’s suspiciously chipper and friendly. I wonder what THAT’S all about? It’s clearly a trap.

Me: Great, and how are you?

TSA1: Oh, just wonderful. Let’s see, okay, you’re good to go.

Me: Thank you!

TSA1: Wait, what’s your hat say….oh my gosh, I LOVE that! That’s perfect!

She laughs uproariously at the Fuck Cancer hat. Okay, so ONE friendly TSA agent does not an agency make. I’m sure things will change soon. Oh yes.

Station 2:

I’m headed into the security line, where one has to disrobe, hand over liquids and computers, etc. I note with dismay that only some people are going through the scanner, while others just go through the regular metal detector. Noooo! This can’t be happening! I focus on looking menacing yet hopeful, threatening yet nervous, suspicious yet pleading. I must go through that scanner!

The guy 2 people before me gets the scanner – that is, after he spends 5 minutes taking everything out of his pockets. Guy before me does too. I try to crowd myself so that I’m closer to the scanner, so that it seems logical to send me through it as well, as opposed to the far-off metal detector. Surely they have a quota, right? I’m about as close to TSA Agent 2 as I can get without tripping over her.

TSA Agent 2: Are you wearing a belt?

Me, enthusiastically: No!

(I’m trying to make the decision to send me through the scanner an easy one.)

TSA2: Anything in your pockets?

Me: Absolutely not! Never! Pockets, bah!

TSA2: Okay, please walk into the scanner an….

Me: YESSSSSSS!

My face breaks out into a deliriously happy grin, and I even clap a little. Okay, I might have even jumped up and down a bit in excitement. That’s all typical behavior here at TSA central, right? TSA 2 smiles at me, though maybe she’s just thinking I’m on heavy medication or something and she should proceed with caution.

I step into the scanner, and assume the perp stance. Wait 5 seconds. Walk out. On the other side, I’m told to stop and wait with my feet in a certain place that allows me to watch my stuff as it’s going through the baggage scanner. I wait patiently, for the moment when they’ll call me for further screening, and my titanium collarbone will get the moment of glory it deserves. It’s about time! All hail the titanium collarbone! Really, the injus….

My visions of triumph are interrupted by the person who passes along the scanner verdict.

“She’s fine.”

See! I knew it would happen! She’s……wait, what? “Fine”? How the hell can someone loaded up with titanium and implants be “fine”?

I briefly contemplate making a stand, but I decide that now, with legions of the traveling public trying to get to places for Thanksgiving, is not the time. Dejected, I wander over to the baggage scanner. Where I find that one of my boots has escaped its bin, and is lollygagging in the end part of the scanner. As I’m reaching for it, TSA Agent 3 makes her presence known.

TSA3: Hey, how did that happen? It escaped, huh?

Me: Yeah, looks like it made a break for it. Looking for adventure maybe?

TSA3: Or maybe it couldn’t find its way out? Ha, maybe it’s a blonde!

We laugh, and yet I’m thinking - okay, seriously people, now THIS is a bit much. Not only do I not get rudely felt up and talked to like I’m an entering freshman at Oberlin (“now I’m going to touch your thighs” etc.), but the TSA people are so nice and friendly that I want to invite them all over for bundt cake. The final insult to injury is when my laptop gets bunched up at the baggage corral because I’m still putting my boots on, and TSA4 carefully carries it and my laptop bag over to another table at the end, so it doesn’t get squished in the melee. I give up at this point. My dreams of stardom through my travails with the TSA are crushed beyond repair.

Of course, I do notice when I’m putting my laptop away that I was so focused on the scanner originally that I forgot to put my baggie o’liquids in a separate bin. Oops. That puts me on a watchlist or something for NEXT time, right? Right? Please?

Throwing the puppies under the bus

Oh sure, boycotting the Amish is easy enough if you live in, say, Illinois. It’s not as if you’re confronted with stern pie-wielding women in starched dresses and headscarves at every turn, with yummy pies that present the most difficult of ethical dilemmas right there before your eyes. You see, ever since I learned that the Amish are some of the absolute worst transgressors when it comes to running puppy mills, I’ve refused to have anything to do with them. I know, kind of shocking, isn’t it? I think we all have this image of the peaceful, serene, nature-loving Amish, and this certainly jolts that notion. But if you think about it, they’re also a practical people, to a fault, so they view dogs as just another form of livestock. Hence, why Lancaster County, PA, where the Amish live, is considered the puppy mill capital of the east coast.

And so I’ve been diligently and determinedly - some would even say with the fervor of a zealot – boycotting all things Amish ever since finding this out. Pies? Nay! Furniture? J’accuse! Sticky toffee pudding? Well, okay, but that’s because that’s British, and I’m not pissed off at them. Yet.

So that’s me living in Illinois, pretty much the non-Amish capital of the world. Going Amish, as I call it, aka shunning them, isn’t too tricky.

But then there’s Pennsylvania. Philadelphia, to be specific. And even more specifically, in a word: Reading Terminal Market. A veritable bonanza of all that is good and holy in FoodLand. When I lived in Philly during my time at Wharton, I discovered Reading Terminal and have maintained that love affair with that particular market ever since. For the uninitiated, RTM is an indoor market with an industrial, gritty feel to it, but not in a bad way. It’s just not all prettified and gussied up like most markets are, like say in Chicago. There are fruit and veggie operations, but it’s mostly prepared food of different kinds, from all these different vendors. Pork sandwiches, Italian food, bakeries, seafood, corned beef sandwiches as big as your head – it’s all there. And then of course there’s the Amish section. Or, as I like to call them, the Mennonites.

Because Cori and I get to Philly last weekend for the Living Beyond Breast Cancer Conference – also known as an excuse to get together and hang out with our CancerChick friends – and lo and behold, our hotel is basically RIGHT ACROSS the street from the RTM. Well! As you can imagine, since we got into Philly a day early, we dump our stuff at the hotel and head right over there, since I’ve been regaling Cori with the wonders of the Market for hours.

We walk in, and you’d think that I’d at least wander around the entire market, to see what’s new and what’s not, and then maybe possibly eventually make my way to the Amish section, where I’d look at them condescendingly, make disparaging remarks about puppy abusers under my breath, before walking away in disgust, right? Well, that’s almost exactly what happened. To wit:

Cori: Oh my god, this place is amazing! I want to….hey, where are you going?

Me, beelining towards a certain section: This way! The Amish are this way! I want to see them make the pretzels!

Cori: But I thought you were boycotting the Amish?

Me, practically running: Oh, I am, I AM. I just want to watch. In mocking fashion, of course.

We make it to the Amish section in record time.

Me: See how they make them? It’s like magic. They just flip the strand of dough into the air, and presto, a pretzel!

Cori: That IS pretty neat, I wonder how the…..hey, what are you buying?

Me: Umm…..you know, I’ve decided they must be Mennonite after all, clearly, because otherwise how would they make it to the market every day to run their pretzel emporium, or operate the pretzel-making equipment? The Amish can’t do any of that stuff. And I’ve never heard of Mennonites and puppy mills.

Cori: Maybe you should google it fir…...mmphphpmphph…..

Whatever Cori was going to say is lost forever, as somehow she winds up with a pretzel stuffed in her mouth. Inexplicable.

So that, my dear friends, is apparently the cost of Miss Tasha’s soul: a freshly made, delicious pretzel, buttery and warm and yummy.

I am so going to burn in hell…..

A beautiful world of Pinkishness

Okay, so Miss Tasha needs to take a break from a) her migraine, b) her work, and c) her clusterfuck of a life in general, and so we've decided it's time to post the Hall of Fame final entrants, and the WINNER in this category! And no, Miss Tasha has no idea why she's suddenly speaking in the third person, but let's blame it on The Cancer, shall we? And why not? It's fucked up her life in every other way, so it might as well take the mea culpa on this as well.

Anyway! Here we go. And let's note here that I am not against all Pinkishness, though it probably seems that way. I like the pink stuff friends give me, because it shows that they're trying. Some of the Pinkishness like little Harmoneeeeeee, well, they're just too cute for words. And I like The Pink as kind of an identifier, that helps me find my sisters at a glance. Yes, we're in the club no one wants to join, but as long as here, we might as well make it a bit more of a par-tay, shall we? We shall.

It's just the ridiculous Pink stuff that pisses me off, and organizations like Komen that had their purpose at one point, but seem to have since jumped the shark. In part because they only donate 23% of their winnings...I mean donations, to research. No wonder there's no fucking cure yet.

But here, to sooth our souls today, the beauty of Pink, and I dedicate this to the Sisterhood. You're a strong, crazy, amazing bunch of women, and I'm proud to know you.

1. Jerusalem


Kind of makes you feel like the Big Guy is watching out for us, huh?

2. The Chicago Wolves


Compared to the Chicago Blackhawks, the Wolves went all out for their Pinktober games - note use of the word gameS, not just one game. All sorts of Pinkishness going on there, from selling this cool t-shirt and pink pucks, to having the players wear some kind of pink. I think I have a new favorite hockey team.

3. Pink ribbon adhesive dispenser


I like this because I can think of SO many uses for it. To begin, taping the mouths shut of the Komen people when they start their asinine "I am the Cure!" chant? Yeah, let's start there.

4. Tripler Hospital, by GhiaGirl


This is cool looking in general, but the history of the building is also really neat:

"The origins of Tripler date back to 1907 when several wooden structures at Fort Shafter were used as a hospital. The facility was named in honor of Brevet Brigadier General Charles Stuart Tripler in 1920 as a reminder of his contributions to Army medicine during the Civil War......Plans for the new Tripler were drawn in 1942 and construction was completed in 1948. The architecturally distinctive coral pink structure atop Moanalua Ridge was dedicated on September 10, 1948 and has been a familiar landmark on the south shore of Oahu ever since."

5. Wheel stickers, by Original PV

PV is definitely The Man when it comes to finding the unusual. Now, of course I wouldn't actually think of buying these:


..but not because I'm too cool. Nope, it's because they're so damn expensive. Oh well. And it's too bad they don't say "F*ck Cancer" instead of "Cancer Sucks", but they're still kind of neat.

6. A submission from Alaska representing both Alaska and mother nature, by Dee Huebner (no relation, but she feels like a sister to me)

A pink fungus!



Or as Dee puts it:

"Clavaria rosea, a rare wild edible fungus which is found in Europe and North America. For some reason it has appeared in the Anchorage area lately but has been known to "disappear" for 30 years! There is some debate whether it's a true Alaskan fungus, but we definitely have a large selection of some of the weirdest looking mushrooms up here. And it looks like a pink ribbon (at least to me!)"

Beautiful.

7. The Pink Ribbon Tulip garden, by tigerchik








Tigerchik's been doing an amazing job of taking pics all over her campus, of Pinkishness at every turn. Here! There! More there! And in her wily way, she stumbled upon one of the ways to Miss Tasha's heart - well, in addition to the obvious one, of sending free stuff. And that is to focus on something near and dear to my heart, like gardening.

We're not quite sure what the pink bra is doing hanging in a nearby tree, but it's a nice touch. I'm hoping that pictures of the pink tulips in spring will also be forthcoming.

8. Pitties For The cure, by Robyn


These are just too cute for words. And pitties are my favorite dog after Dobes, so here we go.

* * * * * * * *

Which brings us to our winner in the Hall of Fame category........one that handily encompasses almost everything that I'm about: triathlon, dogs, BC, and I'm thinking she probably gardens as well.

This one is also submitted by Dee:


"Dee Dee Jonrowe, musher, BC survivor, Iditarod racer and triathlete (she did IM Kona in 2006). Check out those stylish pink accessories on the dogs."

Stylish indeed - I love this picture. Dee H., congrats, and let me know what color hat you want!

So to sum up our hat awards thus far:

Hall of Fame: Dee H.
Hall of Shame: Original PV
Hall of WTF: Cori
Best surreptitious photos of WTF stuff: T-Odd
Best understanding of the concept that I like free stuff: Jennifer P.
Best gardening-related Pinkishness: tigerchik

Grand Prize Winner: ??? (coming soon)

For shame...

Whee, it's true, we're almost at the end! All will be revealed! Alert the media! Stop the presses!

Okay, obviously the Pinkishness has infected my brain - but you'd feel the same way if you'd been inundated with an endless supply of Pinkola for an entire month. Not that I'm complaining, no sirree - this has certainly been an illuminating endeavor, in so many ways. And the thought of all these Faithful Readers across the U.S. taking pictures of Pinkishness left and right, why, it just warms my heart. You could even say I'm tickled pink.

So, our final two Hall of Shame entrants - and the winner in this category is announced! But first:

1. The Chicago Blackhawks

Yes, the Blackhawks. Why? Well, we all know that The Girls and I (and Don, but he's an Honorary Girl) went to the Hockey Fights Cancer Awareness game recently. And that'll get a separate post all its own, just to show how we owned that rink, oh yes we did. It was a beautiful thing. We had the most awesome time, really and truly.

But that was no thanks to the Blackhawks and their total lack of effort on behalf of, oh, say, CANCER? Especially compared to what other teams did.

The Blackhawks:

- Had a guy battling neuroblastoma drop the puck - this was cool

- Had pretty much nothing else going on. No pink tape. No pink anywhere. It was apparently a BYOP night.

But what really bothers me is that they lied about what they were going to do. To wit:

(according to their website)

"The Stanley Cup Champion Chicago Blackhawks, in conjunction with the National Hockey League’s month-long initiative, will host “Hockey Fights Cancer Awareness Night” at the United Center on Wednesday, October 20, when the team takes on the Vancouver Canucks. ....during the game, the Blackhawks Better Halves will be selling pucks signed by a mystery player with proceeds going to the Vera Bradley Foundation, while cancer patients and survivors will be riding the Zamboni and participating in the second intermission shoot the puck contest...."

Yes, they claimed that for The Kid, The Geek, The Bimbo, they'd have cancer survivivors. They did not. How do I know? Because this is marketing for them, after all, and I'm sure that if they did, they would have made mention of it on the Jumbotron, or in the announcing, like they did with the guy who dropped the puck. Nope.

Now, this is insulting because seriously, if me or my busty CancerChick friends wouldn't make the best of flowing-haired big-bosomed bimbos like what they had that night, then you tell me who would! Hmph.

The final insult is reading what the Hated Detroit Red Wings did. Here we go, and I warn you ahead of time, it's long (and I've bolded certain key parts):

* * * * * * *

Think Pink

Thursday is Breast Cancer Awareness night at JLA

DETROIT -- The Red Wings will host their fourth annual Breast Cancer Awareness Night this Thursday, October 21, when the Wings take on the Calgary Flames at 7:30 p.m. EDT as part of the National Hockey League’s Hockey Fights Cancer month. When the doors open at 6:30 p.m., the Joe Louis Arena concourse will be home to a variety of activities, including a silent auction, goal puck draw, 50/50 raffle and a special sale of pink winter knit hats with all proceeds benefitting the Liggett Breast Center in Grosse Pointe Woods, Mich. The funds raised will help alleviate the costs of breast cancer treatment for uninsured and underinsured women in the Metro Detroit area.

Fans who wear pink to the game will be entered to win a 2010-11 team-signed jersey by picking up a raffle ticket on the concourse behind Section 126. There fans can also participate in the goal puck draw or bid on one of 29 unique Red Wings autographed items. For $40, fans will have a chance to draw from an assortment of 100 goal pucks from the past few seasons, including pucks from the 2008 and 2009 Stanley Cup Finals. Each puck will be signed by a Red Wings player and wrapped to conceal the autograph. The fan who unwraps the puck signed in gold by Johan Franzen will meet a select Red Wings player after the game.

Players will wrap their sticks with pink hockey tape and Jimmy Howard’s glove and blocker will even be pink where it’s usually red for use during the pregame warm-ups. These items will then be autographed and auctioned off in the concourse in addition to purple Hockey Fights Cancer ties worn and autographed by Red Wings broadcasters, coaching staff and management. Other exclusive auction items include a 2010-11 team-signed pink and white Wings jersey, a one-of-a-kind Steve Yzerman jersey retirement ceremony package and game-used and autographed Tomas Holmstrom gloves and helmet. Other BCA Night activities include:

• Fans can also help the Red Wings provide encouragement to breast cancer patients currently receiving treatment by signing a banner and writing a message of support for breast cancer patients. The team-signed banner will be presented at the Liggett Breast Center on Monday, Oct. 25, and hung in their chemotherapy treatment room.
• Fans can purchase pink winter knit hats with the Winged Wheel logo embroidered on the front for $20 at both the West and East Gate entrances on the concourse level. Breast Cancer Awareness pins will be available at merchandise stands throughout the concourse for $5.
• The Red Wings will honor those affected by breast cancer by hosting 40 survivors in a suite, 20 military veterans who are also breast cancer survivors in the Quicken Loans Budd Lynch Military Suite and around 100 breast cancer survivors and patients in the stands."

* * * * * * *
The shame of it all, trumped by the Hated Red Wings. *Sob.*

* * * * * * *

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for - the winner of the Hall of Shame, who will be getting his very own Fuck Cancer hat!

The Pink Ribbon Vibrator, submitted by Original PV


Yep, a vibrator. A motherfucking vibrator. With an idiotic pink ribbon. In case you have any doubts as to why this is so damn wrong and insulting, it's because of this - the fact that younger women who have BC find themselves having to deal with a whole host of sexual problems. Not that older women don't, but we're supposed to be in some kind of sexual prime years here, and instead? We're dealing with scars and surgeries and looking and feeling like crap from both of those - especially when they're lopping off our boobs, as in, a key sexual organ.

But that's not all! Because many of these treatments have the added benefit of making sex tough to bear, not just emotionally but physically. Yep, side effects from Tamoxifen and other drugs include all sorts of things that make sex unpleasant, from disappearing libido to vaginal dryness - which is why not a day goes by that someone on YSC doesn't post something along the lines of "Help, what do I do, I don't want to have sex anymore!" Leading to all kinds of relationship problems, as I'm sure you can imagine.

So this little gizmo, to me, it's as if it's saying "Here you go! Let Cancer fuck you all over again!" With the underlying note of, "because you sure aint' gettin' it anywhere else."

Fuck you, you stupid little sex toy with your insulting pink ribbon. Some of us would be more than happy to tell you exactly where you can shove that thing.

It’s not about the Ta-Tas

Save the Ta-Tas. Save 2^nd base. Save the boobies. All phrases I’m sure we’ve heard a million times within the context of breast cancer, yet whenever I hear them, my first thought is always this.

Are we all still in 2^nd grade here, people??

I mean seriously, “boobies”? 2^nd base? Do actual adults ever use these words in conversation? “So I was doing my breast exam the other day, and I found a lump in one of my boobies.”

Let’s just acknowledge that the correct terms are along the lines of breasts, boobs, or best of all, Boobages.™

Next, we get to the real problem. The fact that any and all of these slogans, campaigns, what have you , are totally missing the fucking point. Do the prostate cancer folks worry about saving the balls? Are there little bracelets all over the place with “Save the Balls!” printed on them? No. That would be a no.

Because it’s not about the balls, or boobies, or what have you. It’s about our lives at stake here, and I think most of us would tell you that that’s a hell of a lot more important than the aesthetics of the thing.

As in, if I were told tomorrow that the only chance of saving my life would be to have both of my boobs gone, yes, I’d be pissed off, but I wouldn’t actually have to think about it, weigh the pros and cons, what I should do. It’s not much of a decision to make, now is it.

So why is the emphasis on just the outward appearance part of things? On the sex object aspect of it? Isn’t “2^nd base” the term guys in high school use? So why are people using that term as if all that matters is to preserve for the guys something that gives them pleasure? What the hell is that all about?

Don’t get me wrong – when I was first told my only choice for dealing with The Cancer was a mastectomy, I was devastated. Crushed. Gnashed my teeth and wailed. And found better doctors who were a bit more cutting edge in their thinking, no pun intended. And I’m disgusted that here we are so many years into all this money being poured into breast cancer research and treatment – supposedly – and yet the treatments are essentially still the same: slash and burn. That’s bullshit. Losing your breasts is a huge deal.

But it’s not the biggest deal.

Our lives matter more.

All of this is to explain my new slogan that my friend and artist Jennifer Pick has helped me put on a t-shirt. One that sums up my sentiments perfectly:

No, this isn’t one of my many famous get-rich schemes. Would that it were – but these t-shirt designer websites, while wonderfully awesome and convenient – do not give you the designer much of an actual cut of anything. Which is fine. I really just wanted to get the word out, about where I think our priorities should be.

Which is here: saving our lives.

Because in case anyone didn't realize it......we’re dying out here.

The Pinkapalooza Project

So my little blog that’s sweeping the nation has been inundated with pictures of Pinkishness from every corner of the globe. Pinktober literally has it all. Cheerleaders! Snack foods! Sugary beverages! Office supplies! Did I mention the cheerleaders??? Oh yeah, I think I did.

But that’s not what today is about. Nope. Today, we start putting forth images of some of the billions of items of pink crap – I mean, Inspiring Messages of Hope – that are out there in Pinktober, and hopefully not at any other time of year. Well, except for some of them, which are too cute for words, and which I want, desperately (have I mentioned that I’m so not above being bribed? I think I have.). So to sum it up, we have three categories for the Pinkapalooza contest.

The Hall of Fame: the cute Pinkishness stuff that any sane person would want to add to their collection

The Hall of Shame: the stuff that’s so insulting that it calls for an outraged letter or two, or just a blog-based smear campaign

The Hall of WTF: the stuff that’s so bizarre and inexplicable that the people who came up with it must have been on very heavy psychotropic medication, for years

We’ve already had some of the entrants on here – who can forget the Glowsticks, generously doled out by Dr. Fine’s office, aka the Plastic Surgeons to the Stars? And then there was the Delta Flight Attendant Horror, burpling elbow flesh and all. So those won’t be repeated here, but certainly, they’re still in the running. Right now we’re focusing on new entrants.

And so, without further ado, and in no particular order, we start with the latest Hall of Fame entrants:

1. Turtles for the Cure, by Jennifer P.

Imagine my delight and surprise when I received the following in the mail one day:

Yes, chocolatey-caramely-nutty goodness, also known as Turtles! And even better, festooned with those cheerful pink ribbons. Hell, I don’t care what they festoon it with – it’s chocolate. Sent by my dear friend Jennifer Pick, a college roommate who paints the most amazing artwork that will get its own blog post soon. But in the meantime, it can be said about Jennifer that she understands the concept of “Tasha likes free stuff.”

2. Harmoneeeeeeeeeeee, by Alert Reader Jen H-S

Of course, my first thought upon seeing this was to ask, WTH? Is this a cartoon character? What the heck exactly is a Harmonee?

Then I learned the following:

Every year since 2001, Chevron has presented a Special Edition Chevron Car to raise awareness about finding a cure for breast cancer. This year, Chevron is proud to introduce Harmonee, the 10th edition in a long line of Special Edition Chevron Car designed to raise awareness about finding a cure for breast cancer. Harmonee reminds us that a cheerful nature and willingness to help can go a long way to help support those fighting against breast cancer.

Chevron and your local dealer are proud to contribute all net proceeds from the sale of this special edition toy car to promote the early detection of breast cancer. The folks at Chevron thank you for your purchase of Harmonee.

And then the only thought in my head was this: WANT. Especially since the cheerfulness of little Harmoneeee will give me, the Cancerous, all kind of Hope in my fight against BC. Just like a shiny Mylar balloon, squeaking away, so too will Harmonee spur me to fight on. Courage.

3. Liverwurst for the Cure, also by Jen H-S

Fountain Hills, AZ is apparently ground zero for all sorts of Pinkishness, the kinds of things that those of us here in the Midwest aren’t privy to. I guess the stores here are anti-Cure or something, because *I* sure don’t see anything like this at MY deli:

What’s especially touching about this is the juxtaposition of the Boar’s Head For The Cure balloon, by the one for chicken breasts. Brilliant, just brilliant.

4. Real chips For The Cure, Jen H-S

Jen has been a one-woman Pinkishness-seeking-out machine! So we have her to thank for this:

Yes, finally some REAL fucking chips For The Cure! None of that baked crap that’s all healthy and shit. Hey, we have cancer, we’re not nuns here, okay? Give us the damn Fritos and no one will get hurt.

Oh, did I mention that the cancer drugs make us all surly, hence the name FatSurly for Tamoxifen? Just thought I’d mention that, in case anyone had forgotten.

5. Ativan dispenser, by Deanna Doohaluk

At least I *think* it’s Ativan, or some other kind of good drug. Otherwise, what’s the point?

6. Balloons everywhere, by Jen H-S

I really hope I wind up in the hospital for something very minor at some point, maybe an additional adjustment to the Boobages, just so that there’s the opportunity for someone to bring me one of these:

Shiny happy Mylar balloons, in the shape of a pink ribbon no less! What could be more cheerful and hopeful? Not much I tell you, not much….

7. The pink face huggie

I can only say one thing about this: WANT!

8. The White House

Apparently the Obamas are For The Cure – I’m sure that’s because they’re Democrats. I don’t recall the Bush White House doing anything like this, hmm….??

9. Lourdes

Hey, I'm no fool - you think I'm going to be making snarky comments about the People upstairs? When I already have cancer and stuff? Uh uh....

10. Pink Post-its

I LOVE these! In fact, I truly think the lack of Pinkishness Post-its in every household is one of the key reasons that we’re thus far not even the tiniest bit close to a cure. People forget about it! But if they had these, well, imagine the possibilities. “Note to self: Discover Cure Today!” See what a difference that could make?

11. Yoplait lids by TigerChik

You’ve gotta admire the dedication to licking those yucky little lids and throwing their sticky little selves into an envelope for some prison inmate on work release to open. Anything For The Cure though, right?

12. Kona for the Cure

Obviously I’ve been the one slacking off here. Off to buy a doggy coat AND a pink ribbon collar!

13. Pink food tray, by Arlyn

Again, want! How much more festive can one be than serving guests from a pink ribbon food tray?? I don’t know what the heck one would use these for, for what occasion, but maybe they’re all purpose, all the time. Christmas, Easter, post-mastectomy, you name it!

14. AndyBoy produce, by Randymar

I love this. Not only do we have the guys on Slowtwitch taking pictures of produce, but look at that logo! AndyBoy looks a little “special”, does he not? Like one of the Little Rascals, i.e. the one who got locked up in the attic and kept away from sharp objects? Most excellent….

15. Boobages tea cozies, by Mojozenmaster

Not sure if these are meant to keep the Boobages all snuggly and warm, or if they’re actually for tea. But in either case I say, tally ho!

* * * * * * * * *

There’s much much more, kids, but we’ll leave it here for now. Next up we’ll have the really interesting stuff, i.e. things that go into either the Hall of Shame or Hall of WTF category. Not to be missed……