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  • Kathryn Wright

Sex Metal Barbie.

Here's the thing about me.


I really, REALLY don't like being told what to do.


Like....


To the point that I should be committed. AKA tell me I'm NOT allowed to do something, and even if I don't want to do it...I'll do it. STICK IT TO THE MAN.


And by "The Man"...I don't mean Becky Lynch. Because she would and could TOTALLY kick my ass.


Even if she "can't wrestle for shit." ...as my roommate likes to say.


(She's still my favorite, tho.)


Although, TBH I think anyone could kick my ass...I mean, I am seriously lacking in athletic ability.


HOWEVER. There is a caveat nowadays...I'm even more feisty and pissed off than normal, so maybe that would help my lack of athleticism.


Andddddd once again, I'm getting distracted.


Back to my point. I'm feisty. Unless you're the mother fucking constitution...don't tell me what to do or you can bet your ass I'm going to do the opposite.


For example. I hate mayonnaise. Like, I HATE it hate it.


But tell me not to eat it? Or more specifically I'm not ALLOWED to eat it? Well shit. I'll smear that crap all over my fucking body and eat it by the friggin' spoonful.


It's just who I am.


...But please don't @ me that I'm not allowed to eat mayo, because it's seriously so gross and I think the body smearing would ruin my latest spray tan.


Or would it be moisturizing like coconut oil?


...


....


.....


Hmmm.


Apparently this is my life now. I spent years blocking every emotion I felt, and now I blog to the entire inter-web about my periods, my tits...and NOW...smearing mayo over my entire body. This is getting seriously weird.


And once again...sorry, mom and dad.


Ok. Getting back on track.


I just really don't like being told what to do.


I mean, I think general suggestions are good...and needed. And fuck it, let's face it. After certain decisions I've made throughout the years, being told what to do wouldn't exactly be the worst thing in the world. In the words of Captain Barbossa...just make them "more like guidelines, than actual rules."


...Because I'm stubborn.


And I'm also definitely taking the whole "I am woman hear me roar" shtick a little too seriously these days.


Okay, that's not a schtick. But you get what I mean. I suppose that has something to do with the upcoming surgeries. What I lose physically, "I'LL MAKE UP IN ATTITUDE." Also the fact that I'm listening to WAY too much Lizzo and Beyonce doesn't help. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I IS...I SMELL THAT FRAGRANCE ON YOUR LOUIS KNIT BOY...JUST GIVE MY FAT ASS A BIG KISS BOY...TONIGHT I'M FUCKING UP ALL YOUR SHIT BOYYYYYY.


TOOK A DNA TEST...


It's a mood. If you know, you know. #donthurtyourself #100%thatbitch


Funny enough, I literally have no ass anymore. Like I said...what I'm losing/lost...I'm replacing in attitude. In spirit. In "the world is fucking me, so I'm going to say FUCK YOU right back."


Fiona Gallagher style. If you haven't read my latest blog post, read it now.


...Wait.


This blog post is the latest blog post. I'm an idiot. Okay. NOT the latest. The LAST blog post. The FORMER blog post. fml.


Gah. MY MOTHER FUCKING POINT IS THAT FROM NOW ON I'M GOING TO REFER TO THAT MOTHER FUCKING INCIDENT AS "FUCK-GATE."


I find this highly appropriate since my use of the word FUCK is getting me sent to the gates of hell, apparently.


So yeah. FUCK-GATE.


I realize I sound like an overly sensitive bitch that I'm bringing up...bringing up being offended in two posts now. BUT. There's a point.


I also realize that putting your innermost thoughts and feelings on the internet for the whole world to access means that you're going to get your share of commentary and feedback.


I accept that.


HOWEVER.


If you're reviewing me, that means I can review you...right?


I know, I know...the Shameless references are getting old.


SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT THAT SHAMELESS IS THE GREATEST FUCKING SHOW OF ALL TIME.


Anyways.


I realize you have a life, and things to do, and the whole "watch this" thing can get annoying.


But seriously, watch this.


Yes, yes I'm reposting this video clip. But it sets the tone.


Just humor me for a moment. WATCH IT.


So this is the level of sarcasm and badass-ery I aspire this post to contain. Or most of it at least.


And to the kumquat(TWAT) that decided to tell me my use of the F-bomb is getting me sent to hell...or actually, not tell me...tell the internet. "Because really, she's too much of a coward to bring the issues to the owner, and she's gotta tell the FUCKing internet"...I hope you're reading this.


I'm dedicating this post to you. Oh. And also...my new tattoo.


Yes. The right side of the middle finger on my left hand now contains the word cancer.


There was a moment of contemplation involving getting "fuck cancer" tattooed on my hand. I didn't.


I mean, I love the f word, obviously. But even I have my limits.


Also...my mother would kill me faster than the cancer currently is. So I figured I would let the euphemism speak for itself.


Now that she knows I got a tattoo...well...two tattoos, I suppose it's just a waiting game on who/what will kill me first. Hi mom. Love you.


...Let me backtrack a bit.


I was given a gift card for my friend's tattoo artist for my birthday.


I knew exactly what I wanted and where I wanted it, but I didn't get it. Because...you know, you don't want to "ruin your future."


...


....


..........................




Irony.


So, I made a deal with myself that I would try and find something to get tattooed on a spot that I could hide.


And, as always...cancer has a way of putting things in perspective...AGAIN.


So one day...(mind you, this was like 3 days after my birthday, because that gift card was burning a hole in my pocket) I made a deal with myself. I said...FUCK IT. The day I get good news, I'm getting a tattoo.


And it was that day, that the universe started laughing even harder at me.


Because since that day...there was no good news. Just more tests and more cancer spreading and more just wanting to give up. NOT giving up...but sometimes there's only so much bad news one can take.


And then, the universe added the cherry on top of the sundae that is my fucked up life.


Breast cancer.


Which ironically isn't even the worst cancer I've been diagnosed with.


And it's not even the "getting my tits chopped off" thing that bothers me (never say no to an upgrade, am i rite?).


I am not going into details out of respect and I probably shouldn't even be writing this...but what I will say is that there was something that happened recently that just made breast cancer my biggest fear, and has sent my panic attacks into complete overdrive. TBH, at this point, anyone around me deserves a medal of honor.


But, finally...someone upstairs knew I needed a win because I finally got a bit of good news.


Yes, the girls are still getting chopped.


...So maybe the good news is I still get to upgrade? JK.


Kind of.


No, the good news is that my body seems to actually be responding to the tit radiation.




I know...right?


Yes, I know. I need to cool it with the Shameless thing. #SORRYIMNOTSORRY


But yeah.


So while they are still getting chopped, my doctor wants to get more radiation and chemo in before surgery...which (hope and pray thoughts and prayers and good juju and good vibes or whatever) that if my body keeps responding the way it has so far, this will greatly help me in surgery and help reduce complications.




I don't know why I keep posting gifs. I can't help it today, apparently.


I mean I can...I guess I just don't want to?


I also mean...if my body stops allowing radiation to work, I'm fucked. But life is all about risk, right?


Aka...I GOT THE TATTOO. No...I got TWO.


So yeah, I got the word cancer on my middle finger.


And...I started my sleeve. I FINALLY got my J.R.R. Tolkien tattoo on my arm.


WHAT UP BITCHES...I'M A LORD OF THE RINGS NERD AND FUCKING PROUD.


And you can bet your ass I'm getting a Harry Potter tattoo next. And a Nancy Drew tattoo. And a Great Gatsby tattoo. And a whole sleeve. (I have a whole literary thing planned. It will be cool.)


(Sorry Dad, there will be no Ernest Hemingway on my arm. On my arm, there will be no Earnest Hemingway. No Ernest Hemingway on my arm. There will be no Ernest Hemingway, on what is my arm. No Steinbeck either.)


No, I'm not stroking out...it's an inside joke.


But yeah. I GOT THE TATTOOS. Because every time I get good news, I'm getting a tattoo.


So that means either I'm going to have a whole sleeve...or I'm dead.


Getting this tattoo was the most liberating thing I have ever done. It was like the time I dyed my hair purple...just more permanent.


I think the permanence is what MADE it so liberating.


Because look out world...


This is who I am.


I love Lord of the Rings with a passion I can't describe.


Or I guess I can...because it's inked on my arm.


LOTR brings me back to getting in trouble in 7th grade because I would stay up and read under the covers (Nancy Drew as well).


LOTR brings me back to homemade pizza and movie nights with my family as a kid.


LOTR brings me back to my first love...reading.


LOTR brings me back to my second love...Orlando Bloom.


LOTR brings me back to friendship and laughter and loyalty.


LOTR brings me back to rainy days and hot chocolate and the sound rain makes on a tin roof.


LOTR brings me back to that time I got in mega trouble, because I went over to my friends house on Sunday after church and was supposed to be practicing for volleyball tryouts, but instead, we watched LOTR. (Let's be honest, no amount of practice was going to change my lack of athletic ability.)


LOTR brings me back to the soundtrack I listened to after I was violated, to remind me that there is good in the world and that I have something to live for.


LOTR brings me back to the soundtrack I listened to after I got "the call" about the accident, on one of the worst days of my life.


LOTR brings me back to the day I was finally diagnosed...because it was the most comforting thing I could turn to.


LOTR brings me back to the scene and quote I keep on an infinite loop in my head.



"I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had ever happened."


"So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."



So yeah. I got the tattoo.


Life is about choice. Things you can choose, things you can't choose.


I have made good choices, I have made some not such good choices.


But in that moment, on that day, I made another choice. I got the mother fucking tattoo.


I can't choose that I got cancer.


I can't choose that I'm dying.


I can't choose to rewrite my past, and change things I regret.


Sometimes, there are things in life that are just out of our control.


But here are things I CAN choose.


I CAN choose who I am, and I can choose who I will be.


I CAN choose to drink too many PSL's...and document them on insta.


I CAN choose to watch too much Bravo, read too many books (HA! Like there's such a thing), and eat too much chocolate.


I CAN choose to count the things I have been blessed with, which are MANY, many things.


I CAN choose to play with my cats and love my dogs and talk about them WAY too much.


I can choose to fight.


I can choose to win.


And that is what I choose.


...I also choose to make people around me uncomfortable. I wear lipstick and lots of makeup. I rock my head scarf. And sometimes, I rock no headscarf. I have too many piercings (JK...not enough). I dress fucking loud and proud. And now...I have more tattoos.


"In This Moment" is one of my favorite bands. I'm choosing to live in this moment.


They have a song called "Sex Metal Barbie."


Aside from the whole "not having sex" thing (one of the more unfortunate twists my life has currently taken)...that's who I choose to be.


I am Sex Metal Barbie.


And I'm a fighter. And I'm hoping to be a winner.


So guess what expired coupon cutting Karen?


FUCK OFF.


My tattoos are now battle scars. Every time I look at a new one, it means something good happened.


If you don't see my battle scars, that means I lost the war.


...Which is going to make me SO pissed...because making judgemental people feel extremely uncomfortable when I'm channelling my inner Bret Michaels is something I seriously enjoy (sorry Shannon Beador...Storms? I wore it better.)

Also if you don't see my battle scars, that means I don't get to watch anymore Bravo. Which, let's be honest...is the real tragedy here.


Happy Sunday.

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