Click to see this at full size. I saw this one day on my way back from lunch and had to go grab a camera to get a pic. The woman who owned the store caught me in the midst of snapping the pic and said, 'You need a picture of my door??'. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded and then fled. I figure either she'll figure out that her sign had a pretty funny mistake, or maybe she'll think I'm an evil villian of some sort. Either way - it's all good.

Kevyn and I went to see a movie Saturday night. We both love movies and get out to see them very often. This one was 'I Think I Love My Wife', with Chris Rock. It was all about Lesbian Bed Death, without the lesbians - which I guess makes it more about Heterosexual Bed Death. And all in all, I say let them have the bed death. We don't want it.

But that really isn't what I wanted to write about. I am here to tell you about the power - nay, the grandeur that is Interpretive Dance.

What does this have to do with the movie? I'll tell you. As the closing credits were rolling and people were filing out of the theater, a piece of music came on which compelled my sweet girlfriend to begin dancing. It was subtle at first - some shoulder rolling, a little hip shaking. Then the arm movements began - at first beckoning, then shooing away, then wildly waving.

Then - there she went...down the aisle, towards the screen - gyrating and twisting and undulating rhythmically - thrusting her arms up in front of the screen, fingers spread wide open. Then she's facing me again, hip jutting out to one side, one leg bent and standing on her toe, the other out in front - her arms rigid, swinging in wide circles from her shoulders.

It was something to behold. Beautiful and yet, oddly funny. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that it was funny, yet oddly beautiful. Either way, it was one of the most entertaining things I've ever seen - far better overall than the movie.

I've decided that what I'm going to do is start renting her out for parties. If you're interested in livening up your next dinner party, shoot me an email and we'll set something up.

MAMMOGRAM -- Doesn't that sound a little like a telegram that you'd send to a woman of a certain age? Like 'Ma'am-O-Gram'. I like that idea better than the actual process.

Of course there are many, many things I like better than the actual process, since the actual process involves having my breasts mashed so flat that I'm convinced they're going to explode. I found myself wondering if that's ever happened. One minute you have a decent pair of knockers; the next, something that resembles a deflated balloon.

It's been five years since my last mammogram (forgive me, radiologist, for I have sinned...it's been five years since my last mammogram...)

Let me start again. In the five years since my last mammogram, they've apparently introduced a note of whimsy into what is generally not a whimsical process. Before you get started, you get stickers to put on your nipples. I'm assuming this is so that when the radiologist reads your mammogram and sees a little knob of dense tissue protruding from your breast, he or she will know that it's just a nipple, not a tumor. Anyway, these stickers look a little bit like a 'snap' - like on baby clothes - there's a little nub of metal sticking up in the center of the sticker. Presumably this is the part that shows up on the film.

The whimsical part is that the sticker itself has flowers printed on it. They are positively decorative. I wanted to wear mine home. I think this is an amazing idea, and I'd like to shake the hand of the man or woman who not only came up with it, but pitched it to some medical supplier who thought it was worth paying to have these nipple stickers printed. I doubt it's cheap. I'm sure it jacks up the overall price of the things. I've decided to believe that this is a case of someone realizing that a little whimsy can go a long way towards relaxing a person in a stressful situation. The alternative, of course, is that someone in the medical supply business has a brother-in-law in the printing business.

So...here's the upshot: I have a smooth, oval-shaped, benign-looking MASS in my right breast. They will look for it on my films from five years ago, and if they see it there, then god bless and godspeed and they'll see me in a year for my next annual mammogram. If it wasn't there five years ago, then they'll see me in six months for another 'ma'am-o-gram' to see if anything has changed.

Either way - not too scary overall.

It's my birthday. I'm 43 today, so I decided to stop by my blog and update my heading so that my age is correct.

I said a couple of years ago that I thought my forties were going to be my best decade, and so far; so good -- so no real angst around this birthday. And I've decided that when I'm 48 or 49, I'm going to resolve that my fifties are going to be my best decade so far. In this way, I hope to avoid any and all anxiety around getting older.

Another thing that helps is being happy with where my life is. I'm in a relationship that I feel great about, I'm happy with my job, and I seem to be healthy. It's all good.

I don't typically make New Year's resolutions, or birthday resolutions, but I'm going to make one this year. I'm going to paint. A lot. I'm not sure yet how to fit that into my already fairly busy life, but I'm going to make an effort. It feels wasteful not to.

The last thing I painted was a portrait of Kevyn that I brought on our first date. She'd sent me (via email) a picture of her cuddled up with her beagle, and I thought it was a really interesting shot and wanted to do a painting of it as soon as I saw it. We'd been talking on the phone every night and I already felt a connection, so I wanted to give her something special. I was also aware that she was dating a couple of other women and thought it might be a good idea to come out of the gate strong so as to thin the field a bit.

So I did the painting over a weekend and brought it with me for our first date - which was also our first face to face meeting. Then I spent the entire drive over here (two and a half hours) vacillating as to whether or not to give it to her. And if I was going to give it to her, when should I give it to her? Should I bring it to the door with me? What if she thought I was a stalker or a weirdo? Should I wait until after I saw how things were going - then if it went badly, I could just leave it in the car and she'd never have to know about it?

What decided it for me more than anything else was probably my need for closure and my general desire for immediate gratification. I brought it to the door, turned backwards. After she opened the door and we managed to get the 'hellos' out of the way, I turned it around and said something about having promised her a one-woman show.

She loved it. She almost cried. She hugged me. It was great. I recommend this as an ice-breaker for anyone else who is looking for a way to stand out. I mean, lots of people bring flowers - but how many bring portraits? Not that I'm bragging.

Ok, maybe I'm bragging.

Anyway, that was well over a year ago, and aside from painting the kitchen, I haven't touched a paintbrush since. (And Kevyn hasn't touched any of those other women she was dating since either!) So it's time to get busy and start producing. Times have changed so much since I was in college and another student called me "a prolific little bugger."

So that's my goal for this 43rd year -- to be prolific. I'll let you know how it turns out.

I was reading over my recent post about the 'twinging pain' in my right breast and remembered a story from when I was in college - also involving breast pain.

I do love to talk about my breasts.

So anyway - I was about twenty, living by myself, and attending a bevy of art classes (drawing, painting, printmaking - the whole tamale). One day, shortly after spending a couple of hours in my printmaking class working on a wood block print, I started noticing this sharp pain in my right breast, shooting straight through my nipple. I felt it almost every time I moved and it was truly awful. It made me break out in a sweat.

Clearly, I had breast cancer. The kind that comes up on you all in one day with no warning and becomes excrutiating.

I called Planned Parenthood (I was indigent and used them for all my health care at the time) and made an appointment to go see them the next day. I went to Mom's house and languished on her couch for a while trying to be as still as possible.

I managed to worry Mom to the extent that she called Dad, which led to a very awkward phone conversation with my father during which he asked me what was wrong with my 'booby'. Honestly, I was just grateful he didn't use the term 'lung wart' as he had been prone to doing when I finally grew breasts. (I say 'finally' because I was fifteen and flat as a pancake, and then woke up one morning with a respectable set of C-cup breasts.)

After hours of worry and doom and intermittent piercing pain, as I was getting ready for bed, I finally bothered to take my shirt off and have a look at my breast. This had simply not occurred to me earlier in the day. Not only didn't I look at it, I didn't even touch the thing. I was avoiding all contact with it.

I took my shirt off and looked down, and there - sticking directly out of my nipple, through my bra, was a splinter of wood. It was protruding about a quarter inch outside my bra, so I grabbed it and carefully pulled it out. Altogether it was a good half inch long, and had no doubt been sticking straight out of my nipple since I'd been working on carving my wood block for printmaking class earlier in the day. Every time I moved, my shirt would move against my bra and jostle the splinter, causing the (literally) stabbing pain.

I didn't know whether to feel more relieved or embarassed.

It appears that there is another MASS in my life. This one is small and isn't as scary as the other MASS. It's in my right breast and my doctor says it feels exactly like a fiber adenoma. I'm off to get mammogrammed in the very near future to rule out anything scary, but for the most part, I'm not too worried.

This process has taught me something about my girlfriend, Kevyn (let me interject here that she chose her own psuedonym and it's not nearly as girly as she is). I learned that Kevyn will say anything.

Some background: I have been having an odd little 'twinge' sort of pain in my right breast for a couple of weeks - infrequent and not particularly bad. I wasn't too worried about it, but made a doctor's appointment just in case. The morning of the appointment, Kevyn mentioned to me that she'd felt 'something' when she'd touched my breast a few days ago. She hadn't mentioned it at the time because she's aware of my tendency to panic and obsess.

Fast forward to my appointment: We mention to the doctor that Kevyn had felt 'something' in my right breast. The doctor examines my breasts, then asks Kevyn to come over to the table and see if she can locate whatever it was she'd felt before. Kevyn comes to the table, lifts her hands towards my breast...hesitates...then says, "well, actually...I found it with my tongue."

Suffice to say that she used her hands to locate the problem area and that although I did not die of embarassment, I was criticially wounded. I'm feeling much better now.