Posted By startswithanx on March 9, 2010

As Jake shared with you a month ago, his best friend was diagnosed with cancer recently. On Friday BMuttz found out that it’s in stage IV development. Not surprisingly, he hasn’t quite been himself since that day.

I can’t imagine for a second what he and his wife LMuttz (remember, they got married this past August) are going through, but I do know that Jake and I can’t stop thinking about them. It’s hard to know they’re battling this and even harder feeling like there’s nothing we can do to help — even in some minute little way.

That’s where THE POWER OF THE INTERNETS comes in. It’s one thing for his friends and family to say “You can beat this.” It’s an entirely different thing for people who’ve been touched by cancer to say “Here’s WHY you can beat this.” If you have a friend or family member — even if it’s a friend of a niece of a mailman of a co-worker — who has beat cancer, please take two minutes to go to his blog, www.bmuttz.blogspot.com, and share the story in the comments.

If he can see the hope in this then maybe he’ll regain that “we got this!” attitude and fight this thing like the champ he is.

Please treat this like it’s the Lindsay Lohan lawsuit against E*Trade link that saturated the Web Tuesday (except take solace in the fact it’s actually meaningful) and send it along to your own peeps via Facebook, Twitter, email and the rest of it. The more positive stories he can read about, the better.

THANK YOU in advance.

Side note: Just so you know, some extra work has been loading me down and keeping me away from you guys for a couple weeks now. I hate not being able to blog, but I want you to know all your comments on my last post just warmed my heart right up. Really, it meant A LOT to Jake and I. I love my blogosphere friends and can’t wait to get back in the blogging swing of things!

Category: this happened | 1 Comment »

Posted By startswithanx on February 22, 2010

My suspicions started kicking in when Jake said my birthday dinner would be something I would “never forget.” I know, subtle. But yeah, that’s about the point I renewed my membership with TheKnot.com and began practicing my pretty cry. You know, the kind of cry soap opera stars have mastered where their chins tremble slightly while a sole, yet behemoth tear falls slowly down their Estee Laudered cheek? I had it all figured out.

When we arrived at Rosemary’s aka HOME OF THE BOMB ASS FOOD, and Jake gave the hostess his name, I started setting up the scene in my head. It went something like this: Oh, I’m sure this lady behind the front desk is the same woman he made all his special arrangements with. Odd that she’s not giving either of us a big knowing smile. Oh, and I’m sure this is the spot where he’ll take a knee. Note to self: That’s a good time to start the chin-trembling. And, just listen to our waiter, all ACTING like he’s paying more attention to the table next to us so I don’t suspect anything. Uh-huh, not buying it for a second, Mister.

So, that’s pretty much what went through my head through cocktails, appetizers, entrees and dessert. As we drove home, though, I remembered Jake saying that we’d go looking at rings again when he returned from Florida. The statement I had convinced myself was just a decoy turned out to be true, I thought.

I was disappointed. Not because of all the wasted pretty cry practices (two-a-days killed me!), but because I was ready. I was tired of calling the man I’ve been with for 3.5 years and have shared a mortgage with for 1.5 years my BOYFRIEND. I know married couples who don’t have what Jake and I have. I was ready. There were times when I wasn’t ready. There were times when he wasn’t ready. Those times were behind us. I was ready because WE WERE READY.

Or so I thought. Even up to the coat check when I searched the pockets for my big moment. Nada.

When we pulled up to the casa and I imagined us sitting in front of the TV watching the DVR’d finale of the Kardashians, I really felt like kicking a rock down the street with my head hung low. Then Jake put the car in park and told me to wait there for five minutes. SAY WHAT?!

Five minutes later he’s escorting me through our beautiful candlelit home in which a path or roses from the garage door, up the stairs to the bedroom has been laid. THIS IS IT. THIS IS IT. THIS IS IT. Penny is jumping up and down, wagging her tail and whimpering for some attention, which normally we give her as soon as we walk in. Not this time. Shoo, dog, I gotta see where these petals lead! I’m looking at our flight of stairs and what’s that I hear? KC and Jo Jo’s “All My Life”? Oh my God am I walking up these steps or floating because I can’t feel anything right now.

The double doors to our bedroom open and I’m convinced the people who set the scenes for “The Bachelor” broke into our house. Our bed is covered with a heart made of rose petals, a small box with a ribbon on it is in the center. KC and Jo Jo are singing something about cherishing all my hugs, I’m squeezing Jake’s hand really tight and he’s beaming. If he blinks, those tears in his eyes are going to — there they go.

The moment he did the pant leg tug, I gave the pretty cry her coat and hat and shoved her out the door. Oh, hello ugly cry, I wasn’t expecting you, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I couldn’t process a single word that came out of Jake’s mouth while he stared at me from bended knee. All I could do was nod my head and say yes, yes, YES!!!

As soon as I heard the words “Open the box” I went at that pristine little package like I was Ralphie on Christmas morning. Apparently the bow was just for show, which Jake pointed out when he lifted the lid. I took the cushioned smaller box out and listened to it creak as I opened it. There she was: my ring. Not just any engagement ring. My ring. The one that has me written all over it. In pavé diamonds.

Wow. I still can’t believe how well it all went down. Nicholas Sparks couldn’t have written it better. In fact, it started pouring rain after we popped open the bubbly. Just to stay true to the whole sappy romantic love story thing, I changed into a white shirt and we went outside to make love while the heavens showered down on us.

But just before that, we snapped this pic. Introducing the newly engaged Jake and X:

Category: family, house, relationships, this happened, tribute | 41 Comments »

Posted By startswithanx on February 11, 2010

Sleep talkers are my favorite. The stuff that’s said during a good sleep-talking session is always so random-tastic and often the kind of stuff that, said in the middle of the night while wearing your pajamas, might seem odd, but if the oracle on The Matrix or Yoda were to say it, it would totally make sense. Like, “Purple stars, seize the laptop!”

It’s like you’re listening to someone who’s drunk off their ass as they spew glorious, sometimes blackmail-worthy nonsense, which is why I totally respect why this woman finally started recording her husband’s late night musings and blogging them. Chickety check it.

But, back to MY appreciation for sleep talkers. See, it all stems from the fact I grew up with one of the best. Serena can see your sleep talking and raise you some sleep walking. At least she could when she was a kid. When it first started happening, she was about 8-years-old and I was 12. I had no idea that jumping out of a deep slumber on a Saturday afternoon and patting yourself down while screaming “Oh my God” on repeat was a good indication someone was sleep walking. I just thought she was being her bratty annoying little sister self again so, of course, I looked up from my Tiger Beat magazine and yelled “SHUT UP” as loudly as possible only to watch her go into her room and throw every article of Rainbow Brite clothing out of her dresser drawers. Always thinking ahead, I turned to tell my mom in the middle of that size 8 rainstorm that there was no way in H-E-double hockeysticks that I was helping to clean it up. The madre stopped that thought short, though, when she informed me my little sister was sleep walking. And her arms weren’t even extended in front of her.

I went from annoyed to fascinated in two seconds flat.

And that fascination never ceases when Serena’s got a new sleep-talking story. Like the time she slept over at a friend’s house at 15 years old and started shouting “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” from a twin bed at, oh, 3 a.m. Or a couple years ago when she scared the crap out of our big brother, Chet, who was up at 5 a.m. getting ready for work and couldn’t figure out why Serena was awake or, more importantly, who she was telling to “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” in a shotgun-toting voice.

Love those tales.

But, when it’s in your face as an adult and it takes you a while to figure out it’s sleep-talking, it hits you a little differently. Two nights ago, Jake conked out in our bed next to me as I became engrossed with the movie “Network” on TCM. At one point he rolled over and said, “I love you, X” with his eyes still shut. “What a sweetie,” I thought as I cuddled up to my Romeo. He gave me a deep, wet kiss, albeit with his eyes closed and then went right back to Snoreville. Five minutes later he had a new message: “Hug me.” That’s a favorite of Jake’s so I didn’t think anything of it and gave him a warm squeeze. Hello, deep, wet kiss with eyes still closed number two. And, cue the snoring.

Another five minutes pass and my Latin Lover is whispering his sweetest sweet nothing of all: “I love you X. … GIVE ME YOUR VAGINA!” What the? Vagina, huh? How ’bout some labia, too? Since when are proper names for the nether regions used in bed? But I couldn’t let it distract me cuz, um, something else was distracting me.  No deep, wet kiss followed that final message, but boob honks? Yes, he’ll take three, please.

For about 30 seconds I thought it was about to get freaky-deaky up in that master bedroom. I was waiting for my Karen Neuberger PJ’s to get torn off and envisioning Cirque du Soleil positions. That’s when I found myself tapping Jake’s shoulder, “Baby? … Baby? Honey, what were you saying about my vulva?”

That’s when I realized the same thing I didn’t realize with my 8-year-old little sister all those years ago. That fascination I talked about earlier? Yeah, I wasn’t really feelin’ it this time around.

Category: family, memories, this happened | 12 Comments »

Posted By startswithanx on February 10, 2010

So, Jake had the same idea I’m sure millions of others will have this weekend and suggested we go see the movie “Valentine’s Day” on Valentine’s Day. You’d think I would have been all over it considering this came from the same man who in past years has had me holding a dozen roses on the couch of our candlelit living room on the lovers’ holiday while he spends three hours eating my chocolates and watching the Michigan State basketball team either give him a headache or turn him into a champion. If you know what I mean.

But I declined. Not the invitation to see a movie, but the movie itself. And it’s not because I’m not into cheesy Ro-Co’s with ensemble casts, either. “He’s Just Not That Into You”? I was ’bout it ’bout it. It’s the fact that I knew I’d be sitting next to and in front of and behind a stranger. A stranger who HAD TO SEE this movie on opening weekend, which could make them one of Ashton Kutcher’s 4 million Twitter followers or someone who actually thinks Julia Roberts’ laugh is “infectious” or the one person in America defending Taylor Swift’s Album of the Year win. And, Mama can’t get down with that.

Why? Because PEOPLE. BUG. ME.

More than they bug most people. Ask Jake. Yeah, the big stuff gets to me. Like, saving seats for 10 people, tapping a foot on the back of my chair or debating whether Jessica Biel and Justin Timberlake are dunzo during the plot’s climax. But, it’s more the little things that bug me. And at a movie like that on a weekend like that, those little things are likely to add up.

What little things? A lot of times it comes down to common phrases that, to any other person would go unnoticed, but for me is no different than a classroom of homely kids scratching a chalkboard with their chipped nail polished fingernails to the tune of a Miley Cyrus song (pick one, any one).

For instance, what if someone accidentally bumped me and whispered “my bad”? I’d rather they dump their popcorn over my head. Or what if a guy yelled out what a “hottie” Jessica Alba is? I don’t care if he screams it in my ear, but please just say she’s hot. Or what if the guy’s friend shouted back to him, “I know, right!” and then high-five’d him? If the cast of “The Hills” ends every sentence with it then don’t use it. Just don’t. In fact, that’s a good rule to just always follow. That and this one: If it sounds like it should be dotted with a heart (i.e. “bestie”) step away from the phrase.  Put the Hello Kitty pencil down and step away.

As for high-five’s, I’ve recently given them a pass. Only because staring blankly at really enthusiastic people who had one hand mid-air and saying to them “Sorry, I don’t high-five” started to get awkward. Yes, I really used to do that. And then I started to worry that I’d be on an interview for my dream job one day or doing the ol’ meet and greet with the Queen of England or sitting across Oprah with the cameras rolling (and we all know she goes for the double high-five) and have to hurt their feelings. I know what you’re thinking. How humane of her.

I’m sure you can understand why I can’t see “Valentine’s Day” this weekend. Instead, we’re seeing “Avatar.” I just hope to God there isn’t anyone in the theater talking about the Oscar nominations. Actually, it’s OK if they talk about them, but only if they get them right. If I hear something like, “Sandra Bullock’s performance in ‘The Proposal’ is expected to win” I might lose it.

Am I bugging you yet?

(If this were a commercial for some new pill this would be the part where the fine print pops up and the voiceover starts talking really fast: For any of my loved ones who use these terms, please know that I love you no matter how ridiculous you sound when you say these things. It’s the people I don’t know and love who are forbidden from these phrases. … And, please consult a physician before hanging out with X.)

Category: pop culture, random thoughts | 14 Comments »

Posted By startswithanx on February 7, 2010

*** So, Jake and I got some news a couple weeks ago. The kind of news that prompted my man of few words to write this here tribute. Check out Jake’s second guest post.

I met BMuttz at the bus stop during my first day at a new elementary school in fourth grade. He didn’t hesitate to say hi to the “new kid” while all the other kids looked at me like I had a booger dangling from my face. He made that first ride to school less frightening and somewhat tolerable.

From that point on I knew him as the nice guy from the neighborhood.

We didn’t really start the BMuttz-Jake torrid love affair until sophomore year of high school. That’s when we started playing on the same sports teams. By senior year, our math teacher separated our desks. A few weeks later, we were kicked out of the class entirely and demoted to remedial math. We both got a kick out of our antics. Our parents, eh, not so much …

BMuttz was accepted into Michigan State University and started rocking MSU gear in the hallways. I was mulling over my college options and nervous about rooming blind. But then it came, the acceptance letter I was waiting for. BMuttz would be my roommate freshman year.

From that point forward we were an inseparable duo, a Starsky and Hutch, so to speak. He was Hutch because he was the smooth, carefree, ladies man. I filled the role of Starsky, a nervous, fidgety, pragmatic dude who always thought about every little problem way too much. Neither of us wore leather jackets. But we could both grow afros like the best of them, mine with a distinct Latin flair, his, traditional-Jew style.

During the next five years Bmuttz and I shared hazy nights in the dorm listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication.” We sweated off the previous night’s hangover as we battled it out on basketball courts. We held each other’s legs doing keg stands while the other sucked on God’s sweet nectar. We celebrated a basketball national championship with about 15,000 of our closet friends at the off-campus party spot. Oh yeah, and there was some studying thrown in there, too.

There was even one time when we were hooping and happened to piss of a ripped Asian guy. He took exception to the ass-whooping our team gave his team and decided to ambush me with a full sprint and unexpected Bruce Lee kick to my mid-section. As I tried to gather my breath, I ducked punches in what seemed to be slow-mo, “The Matrix” style.  Next thing I know BMuttz was on the kid’s back before the guy could swing a fourth time. A two against one fight was not fair. The kid was better off accepting the loss and going home.

I couldn’t sleep that night because the pain in my ribs was unbearable. But I’ll never forget the first person who rushed to my defense. To this day, I’ve never taken a punch square on the face. I have BMuttz to thank for that.

Fast-forward 10 years and BMuttz has a law degree, a beautiful wife and cute dog named “Bear.” They live in Michigan. I’m in Las Vegas doing my thing in journalism and have two amazing ladies I come home to every night. We text like we’re still hanging out every night in college, but we only see each other two times a year at best.

That’s why the news X recently gave me was so unexpected and for a short while, devastating: BMuttz has cancer.

She said he didn’t want to tell me himself. It was probably too hard for him. I heard her words but didn’t process them. I even said, what? BMuttz? and then said his last name out loud —as if she didn’t know it — hoping she was mistaken. Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt like punching the wall. I texted him almost immediately afterwards and told him I would do anything I can to help him and his wife. He shrugged off the ordeal like it was no big deal. He didn’t really want to talk about it or make anyone worry. BMuttz has cancer, and he was more worried about others worrying about him. …

The next two weeks were difficult. I got a few e-mails from him and his wife updating me and others on his condition. I wondered how he was coping. I knew he was spending a lot of time seeing doctors. I texted him every few days with words of encouragement.

I broke down a few more times, especially after a mid-afternoon trip to a bar. Alcohol makes me sentimental. I texted my brother, and he told me I have to be strong for BMuttz. My 24-year-old brother couldn’t have given me better advice.

BMuttz has been more than strong throughout this ordeal. He’s been positive and almost stubborn about changing his life. I recently spoke with him on the phone, and he said he’s continuing to work, and continuing to stay active, even rolling in a bowling league. BMuttz is treating cancer like the government does terrorism, not changing a damn thing or else Al-Qaeda wins. And I couldn’t respect him more for that.

BMuttz still doesn’t know what type of cancer he has. Doctors are working to learn. But he has been greatly affected. He has a tumor near a nerve in his hip that is so painful he has to sleep sitting up. He struggles to walk at times. He is constipated a lot. His medicine cabinet looks like Eminem’s wet dream.

The good news is that he recently began radiation for the tumor in his hip. So, in less than two weeks it should be reduced in size and his pain should subside. He also has a tumor in his lung, and doctors haven’t figured out if it’s from smoking. He wants people to know that might be the cause of his health issues, and people who do smoke, should quit. But don’t take my word for it, get it straight from BMuttz on his new blog right here.

Well, BMuttz, I am taking your advice. And for the second time in consecutive weeks, I’m making a pledge in Cyberworld to better myself. Although I don’t smoke a lot, maybe three cigarettes a week, every time I light up I can’t help but think I’m disrespecting him. The annoyance of a craving can’t compare to anything he’s going through.

I hope my life is forever changed because of what BMuttz is going through. His life obviously is. While at first I struggled with his cancer, I now realized that I was being weak, the opposite of him. He’s a warrior and if anyone can beat this it’s BMuttz.

It’s that quality that has always impressed me about you. There’s a reason why you’re the only friend I kept in touch with after high school. There’s a reason why you’re my BEST friend. Keep on with that positive attitude. You’re well on your way to recovery. I will be there when you need me, but judging by your resolve, you won’t.

Category: memories, men, tribute | 20 Comments »