Bowling For Aurora

Today, after 12 people have been shot to death eight miles from the house I grew up in, my mind immediately goes back to the first time a massacre happened six miles from home, Columbine High School.

For the sake of making a point, I dug up a photo from what could be entitled “The Awkward Years-High School, 1999”. Yes, I still have my Irish eyebrows and an immense amount of bangs and no, Harry, Martina Navratilova was not actually my fashion adviser. Yet, I urge you to look a little bit closer at my 15 year old face. My teeth reveal (besides a mouth full of braces) a smile full of “would-could-be”. My only piece of jewelry I’m rocking is a Virgin Mary pendant, showing to the world my faith in God and humanity. Wow! Young people are shockingly and perhaps, painfully hopeful. Then on April 20, 1999, streams of ambulances, fire trucks, police cars screamed down University Blvd headed to Columbine High School where two disgruntled students had killed one teacher and 12 students. For me, the illusion of safety was immediately gone. Yes, horrific stuff can and probably will happen in any venue. However, in my opinion, children are too ill-equipped to deal with trauma. So my humble question is, besides the useless (and predictable) prayer vigils, condemnations from politicians and hoards of Facebook updates on the subject, what have we done to make Colorado and the rest of the world a safer place for the next generation? For more information on someone who has made the world a bit safer, visit www.danielmauser.com, the website of a family of a fellow nerd who perished at Columbine.

Best T-Shirt of the Week

As anyone with decent eye-sight can see, I have the map of Ireland on my face. So every year, I say no to melanoma and hobble out to the not-so disability friendly Colorado Irish Festival. Despite the nice lookin' Irish Footballers, flowing adult beverages and free food, the best part of the day was watching a chubby kid gobble down several turkey legs, proudly donning the following t-shirt:

Bear with me friends! The new mega level of chemo has brought my adventures to a halt for just a short time. The methotrexate and perhaps the Remicade have me worshiping at the porcelain god. Meanwhile, I am excited to present a new series on the Mexican president campaign from the people who know it best, Mexican campaign workers. Stay tuned mi gente!

In praise of good men (and a bit of funny about the other kind)

In light of the recent gravity of the last post, I think a piece of my dating museum should be finally opened and shown to the public, admission free!! Lola, Ginger, and really any of you kids who can remember any stand-outs that should be put an exhibit, please notify me. Carlo, an acquaintance from college, who called me on the 4th of July 2011 and asked to marry me. For the record, the whole thing lasted less than Kim Kardashian and that guy from Minnesota. Barney, a wonderful (or atleast by appearance) Catholic man who went to mass daily. We went on a dinner date until he showed me his favor things to wear at Victoria’s Secret. Vince, a seemingly decent guy who bought me flowers right after my hip surgery. The night after we went to dinner, his cousin called me frantic because he was nowhere to be found--that is until we found him in the Aurora City drunk tank. And saving the best for last, Eddie, whom I met one fateful night out with Lola and the girls at the infamous Church. Eddie and I hit it off, had several dinners together and even attended Easter Mass together. Why I thought I might have found my media naranja. I was dancing on air the Saturday he invited me for brunch at Le Peeps, as we ate Denver omelets and kissed over orange juice. Yet, right before he passed the toast, he announced in a matter-of-a-fact way he had a bank to rob that afternoon. Check please! The point of this rather pointless article is that there are all kinds, male and female and that yes, it happens to everyone. Please feel free to share your misadventures with me, La Coja.

¿Que pasó a La Coja? Or where did she go?

Let me start by saying that how sad it makes me to have abandoned my poor little blog all by itself in bloglandia, flaying against spam and fighting against the internet evils without the help of its creator. I let my readers down, I let the blogito down and yes, I let myself down. That being said, a few things have happened in the interim. Voyeurs—you just hit the jackpot. 1. May 2010- I developed a new nickname (rhymes with Typhoid Mafia) a contracted a month-long period of typhoid in San Fidel. On the upside girls, I fit back in my skinny jeans. 2. Nov 2010- I developed a case of walking pneumonia and strep so severe it took a month of antibiotics to see my throat. After getting my share of communicable diseases, I made the wrenching decision to return to the United States, a very painful choice I still lament today. 3. Nov 2010-April 2011- Even though I was back in the United States, I continued to get sick with upper respiratory infections bimonthly while I continued with Orencia, an anti-Rheumatoid Arthritis drug. 4. May 2011- By the time May rolls around, my former rheumatologist finally gets off his bum and decides to test me for Primary Immune Deficiency Disease (PIDD), a condition in which one is missing one or more antibodies. 5. July 2011- I am in fact diagnosed with PIDD and am taken off Orencia and all other anti-Rheumatic drugs. My only treatment: a unique combination of Vicodin and steroids with the result being moments of excruciating pain, crying jags, raging over lack of Diet Coke availability and being absolutely fascinated by Scooby Doo episodes. 6. August 2011- I start IVIG or as it’s known around here, Hobo Juice. I take it at home, infusion-style once-month and it works like all drugs are advertised. 6. March 2012- I am finally allowed to start Remicade, a so-far excellent anti-rheumatic drug after more than half of a year with NO treatment. On a lark, I decide to apply to for a Master’s of Interpretation at a prestigious school in California. 7. April 2012- I am accepted into school with scholarship, surprisingly the hell out of me and decide to move to Mexico for the summer to increase my grammatical skills in May. 8. June 2012- Well, after three glorious weeks back in the home country with friends and family, my health took a turn for the worst. After a hospital stay and an ultimatum from my former rheumatologist, I had no choice but to return to the US once again. (Collective sigh) The point of this blog is not to feel pity for me (to quote a great friend and disability advocate, “Piss on Pity”), nor wonder what in the world I’m doing with my life (although trust me, I wonder that daily too. I don’t know quite what will happen after this, but all I ask is you just take my crooked hand and see how high we can fly. After all, Superman too had a disability.

I don't have your disease but......

I have decided to add a new feature called "I don't have your disease/disability but.."
As anyone who has a disability/disease (or loves someone with one) knows, there is no end of advice from dummies and well meaning idiots on how to improve your life.

So let me start off this inaugural post with a recent experience of mine.


One of my doctor friends informed me in the midst of a beer that if I gain more weight, my joints will effectively crumble.
As most people know, telling a woman she has gained weight or really just mentioning the word fat is akin to a death wish. But you know, what would the disabled/sick do without the guiding light of people who know better?

Japi Verday to me

I celebrated a wonderful birthday with La Osa, Doctor Kansas City, El Cunao, La Sabia and others. The video is of Doctor Kansas City at his best



More to Come