Wednesday, June 29, 2011

TMFFS: Cancer/Adventures in Hypochondria

I learned a long time ago that WebMD & I are not friends & that, in fact, when it comes to self diagnosing, the interwebs are not to be trusted. Self diagnosing, in general, should be discouraged (unless you are or were once a doctor).

The following excerpt from one of my facebook friend's pages is precisely why:

OMFG my right breast has been itchy, so I asked that on Yahoo! & by the sounds of it I might have breast cancer....OH LORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I seriously thought it meat like someone is thinking of you!!!!!!!!! DOES ANY GIRLS KNOW????

I was quick to dismiss my lonely FB friend's status as nothing more than another ploy to get attention since every 3 days or so, she insists that some inane occurrence is really the cosmos' way of informing her that she is being thought of. She once asserted that the hair on her big toe was growing longer because the object of her affection was thinking of her. (& also, I tried to find that post for TMFFS but couldn't).

In general, I've always been kind of skeptic of cancer: it seems like everything causes or is a symptom of cancer.

This post has potential to get really lengthy so I'm just going to skip ahead to the part where while performing a self breast exam in the shower, I encountered a dime-sized lump on my right head light.
So yes, I felt a my breast.

This was a couple of weeks ago & having just found out that I was not kicked out of law school, I was determined not to spoil my 24th birthday with any bad news. I did not schedule to see a doctor but instead forced female friends and relatives to cop a feel & let me know what they thought. Without missing a beat, each reluctantly prodded around and then would come to the lump.

"Please go see a doctor." I must have heard that one phrase twenty times before I actually followed that advice.

My doctor was nice enough; a young guy employed by my school who maintained eye contact and ensured that my smock covered my nipples during the exam. I had mixed feelings; I definitely didn't want my doctor to find the lump but also didn't want to seem like a hypochondriac.
"There is definitely something there. I'm going to write you a referral to see an ultra sound technician."
& I guess maybe I went pale. The doctor continued, "It could just be a cyst or a part of your breast that's just naturally more fibrous or dense. Try not to worry about it too much until after we see the scan. I want to see you back here once your results come in; let's say two weeks?"

I spent all my time  a little bit of time over the next several days freaking out on the inside.
I wasn't really sure how big of a deal to make over the whole thing; it's not like I was dying. Nothing was even confirmed. But that couldn't stop me from worrying about it.
Later that week, while having drinks with Fatty, the topic came up.

Fatty: So, have you heard anything yet?
Me: No but my third appointment is Tuesday so I'll let you know.
Fatty: Listen, I just want to tell you that if you do have cancer, I'll shave my head for you.
Me: What?
Fatty: You know, because chemo makes you lose your hair. & we're best friends so I'll shave off all my hair too.
Me: Ha, it would be kind of exciting not to have hair. I could wear a different wig to class everyday. As a matter of fact, if I do have cancer, I'm spending my entire refund check at a Korean wig shop & going bananas with the colors and styles.
Fatty: Hey, no, shut up. You're missing my point. & my point is that I'm a good friend, you bitch.
Me: I know you are.
Fatty: Thank you.
Me: I'm really lucky to have people like you in my life, Fats.
Fatty: That's better.
Me: But hey, let's not start planning so far ahead. I'm sure it's going to be okay. I'm still young, I hardly ever eat microwaveable popcorn and  I've never even been to a tanning bed.
Fatty: ...What are you talking about?

& then we were interrupted by a homeless guy who bummed a cigarette from Fatty and spit on my arm while telling us how pretty we were. He also gave me fifteen cents which Fatty smacked out of hands before proclaiming, "That probably has feces all over it!"
To which I responded, "Fatty, that guy can hear you! He's impoverished not deaf!"

& two days later, my ultra sound results came back with no sign of any significant masses, malign or otherwise.


Sunday, June 26, 2011

I didn't write this


Love, how often I loved you without seeing--
without remembering you--
not recognizing your glance, not knowing you, a gentian
in the wrong place, scorching in the hot noon,
but I loved only the smell of the wheat.

Or maybe I saw you, imagined you lifting a wineglass
in Angol, by the light of the summer's moon;
or were you the waist of that guitar I strummed
in the shadows, the one that rang like an impetuous sea?

I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you.
I broke into houses to steal your likeness,
though I already knew what you were like. And, suddenly,

when you were there with me I touched you, and my life
stopped: you stood before me, you took dominion like a queen:
like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion.
                              --Pablo Neruda

I always set down my Pablo Neruda books and forget to pick them up for months at a time.
But every time I open them up, I devour every word--sometimes I feel like I'm literally tasting each line.
His work is so succulent and honest and spot on.
What I especially like about this sonnet are lines 10-13;

"I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you.
I broke into houses to steal your likeness,
though I already knew what you were like."

That line for me is exactly what it's like to instantly click with someone.
Despite the brevity of your acquaintance, it's like all along there was something inside you meant to connect with that other person--and that is NOT an innuendo.
The best possible way of describing what I'm trying to say without sounding dirty is this:

It's like your leaving your home. You step onto the door mat and reach for the door knob and get static shock. You've known your whole life that this could and does happen. But you don't feel yourself picking up extra electrons from the door mat. You're not conscious of the fact that you've got a negative static charge. And you don't expect the door knob to act as a conductor. All you know is that you feel a little spark as electrons move from you to the knob.

I'm no scientist, but I know that a little spark between two people can be entirely pleasant.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Parody of a Tragedy

Sometimes I feel like a salmon swimming up stream.

I have all the best intentions. All these hopes and dreams just waiting if I can manage to swim against the current.

And then this happens:
Or something similar.

It doesn't have to be bears. It could be fisherman.

But anyway.

Next thing you know I'm bear poop, or a crappy fillet at lobster house, or an active ingredient in under-eye cream.


But before that very last moment, my whole life will flash before my eyes & I'll ask myself:
Does this post even make sense to anyone else? Was it all a joke?

No, I was right the first time; even  I don't know what I'm talking about.

But I do know that it's 10:47 & my hatred for studying is unparalleled by anyone else's and also, I need to be coming up with better posts.

Maybe 2 mediocre posts in one day is really an average post. I'm going to pretend like that's true.

Monday, June 20th of 2011, you are my bitch lover!

Studying, A Log

How different would that title be without the comma; it would be as though I was implying that I was actually studying a log.
So, I imagine this happening to you:
& that was probably disappointing. For the record, I'm studying logs in both pictures only in the second picture, I was looking for a picture of a log for this post before I decided to paint a picture for you.

So anyway, what I'm saying is that studying is not going well for me.
& I decided to illustrate this point by making a time log of actual events that took place today while I was trying to study:

9:15 am alarm sounded. I turned it off & had an incredibly believable dream about waking up and studying.
11 am realized I was dreaming when a storm trooper reminded me to call my dad.
11:15 am called my dad, made dinner plans
11:45 am took a shower
12 pm walked Shakespeare
12:20 pm opened my text book
1 pm ensued text banter with Solo and attempted studying
2 pm realized I'd read one page.
2:30 pm decided to move my study attempts to the dining room table.
3 pm my mom called, I told her she could NOT come with me to Marfa
3:15 pm heated up a bar of chocolate; decided to dip marshmallows into it
3:20 pm two marshmallows in, realized this was disgusting.
3:45 pm decided to eat a fruit cup. licked bowl of chocolate clean
4 pm put chicken into oven for dinner with dad.
4:20 pm sat back down to study
4:40 pm found brown stain on hand, licked it under assumption that it was chocolate. It was not.
5 pm decided to write pathetic blog post about how much I hate studying.
5:15 pm painted picture of myself studying logs.
5:45 pm my brother got home, put in his true blood dvds in an effort to convince me to buy hbo for him.

gosh. where has today gone?

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Wild Wild West

Friends, I am proud to say that one of my dreams is coming true:
 I am going to Marfa.

My very good friend, Solo (which may seem like another Starwars reference but is ACTUALLY referring to his ONE chest hair that he's really proud of)  & I decided to road trip there & it's probably one of the most exciting things that hasn't happened to me yet. Today, we discussed the details:

Solo: So I'm thinking I'll drive out your way Thursday & we'll leave Friday.
Me: You sure can skip class Friday, though?
Solo: I've been doing it all semester. It'll be okay. Plus if not, we'll end up driving west in the dark. I'm not familiar with what's out there.
Me: Me either. But I do know that if we see a historic landmark for the world's largest ball of yarn or world's largest safety pin, I WILL make you pull over. Anyway, I think you've touched on a solid point: Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a REAL fictional story about people driving through Texas...who die.

Solo: Yeah, & the Black guy always dies first. (Don't worry, he's Black, not racist)
Me: I hadn't even thought of that. I feel much safer.
Me: Well!
Solo: I just didn't want you to have unrealistic expectations. If I die, you die.
Me: Your estimation of my survival skills is seriously lacking.


Which is true: because I am the person who wrote the scary movie survival guide. I'm already mentally prepped. Eye of the Tiger.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Sometimes, people just need someone to rant to.
They aren't looking for advice, they are barely even looking for comfort,
they just want someone to lend them an ear to bark into so that they don't seem insane talking to themselves in the produce section at the grocer.

What I'm getting at is that today I realized that these people may not even care that you, their captive audience, are listening.

Today, my socially awkward friend from school was having a bad day.
It's easy to tell when the socially inept are at their wit's end because when you acknowledge the fact that they are grinding their teeth rather loudly in class, they glare at you with the death stare of a hungry shark.
Knowing that my friend, let's call her Agatha (I'm giving her an ugly name because she wounded me & I consider it pay back), most likely needed to talk, I invited her to sit with me in the courtyard after class.
So Agatha starts going on and on about how her boyfriend's parents are conspiring to break them up by keeping him from speaking to each other (mind you, they are both college graduates in their twenties), presumably because she is Black and he is White.
So later in the conversation, I brought up how he should stand up to his parents and acknowledge that they are racists. Here is how the conversation played out:

Me: Your boyfriend should stand up to his parents and acknowledge that they are racists!
Agatha: I didn't say they are racist.
Me: ...You said they didn't like you because you're Black. That's racist.
Agatha: Being racist and being prejudiced against people of a different race are entirely different!
Me: That... makes no sense?
Agatha: It actually does if you just think about it. And besides, I never categorize people as anything until after I've met them. Let alone categorize my potential future in-laws as racist.
Me: I don't understand how you can categorize any one who doesn't want their son to date you and refuses to meet you solely because you're Black as anything but racist.
Agatha: Because I haven't met them. Take you, for example: people who don't know you probably see you and think, "Look at that girl's clothes and her make up. She's definitely a bimbo." & if I had done that, we wouldn't be friends...

I smiled and continued listening to Agatha rant and rave about her boyfriend, never once stopping her to point out that I didn't really care about her boyfriend or his parents, and that I was doing her a favor by offering to listen, while she however was a mean ingrate who had insulted me.
Instead, I just smiled politely and listened.
My heart, however, silently fired back that bimbos make friends and that if she elected to be a little bit more bimbo and a little less neglectful of her personal hygiene, she could have been telling this story to someone who actually cared. (Which is mean AND precisely why I didn't say anything.)
An hour later, Agatha had finally had her fill of ranting and walking to my car, I wondered if there were any way to give Agatha the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe she meant this Bimbo:
The tasty and affordable snacks that are sold beside the tortillas in Walmart.

Or this Bimbo, Betty Boop's mid-drift bearing dog boyfriend. & yes that's true: Betty Boop was originally drawn as a dog.

But more likely, she meant Bimbo, as defined by wikipedia-dictionary:


Noun: An attractive but empty-headed young woman, esp. one perceived as a willing sex object.
& that is just not fair.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

TMFFS: Facebook is not my Friend

I've had my suspicions.
Suspicions that facebook was not really my friend but just playing along; secretly out to get me ever since Tommy asked me to dance at homecoming.

Like two tween girls, I confided to facebook.
& like the back-stabbing 14 year old bitch she is, facebook is constantly trying to instigate shit.
The sidebar of "People [I] may know" is always filled with people I've fervently and tenaciously tried to avoid since high school. And yet, there they are everyday.
Facebook nudges me in the ribs each time it comes across one of their profiles:
hey, isn't that the girl who keyed your car?
hey! you used to date that guy when you were 16! remember? you dumped him because he got arrested for trying to develop nude pictures of the 12 year old he was cheating on you with! ha...good times. called that guy the wrong name while you were making out with him. Do you remember? I remember!
Yes, facebook, though I've dedicated much time holding my breath under water, trying to kill off the brain cells harboring those memories, I remember. & why the f*ck do you have to keep bringing it up? Facebook, stop suggesting friends for me, dammit! I didn't like them back then & I'm pretty much still cowering from the memories of when I wanted to the be their friends.

& as if that wasn't bad enough. Facebook had to go & do this:

Facebook has now gone from that regrettful tween years friendship to that horrible bitch I knew at undergrad who pretended to be my friend while secretly out to get me because she saw Andy & I having dinner together at Sizzler: ugh, I HATE your boyfriend! You deserve better! You know what? I have the perfect friend for you--his name's Dominick; he works at the gas n' gulp, has three daughters, and is probably addicted to crack. Definitely a step up for you! You deserve a nice guy.

Facebook, if these kind of exchanges continue, I'm not going to be your friend anymore AND I'll be sending a very nasty email to Mark Zuckerberg.

Those Who Wait

Whenever I encounter writer's block, it has always been a favorite of mine to say instead that "my creative teet has been sucked dry." I am probably the only person who finds this funny.
& so began the post I am currently writing because I have no intention of NOT writing;
writer's block be damned.
(I've never really known for certain whether it's writer's or writers'. I have the same problem with holidays like Mother's(s') day , Father's(s') day, and Valentine's(s') day. I think the card companies use 's. I am sucking the joy out of this blog just like some unknown force has sucked my teet clean of creativity.)

I've been contemplating posts for nearly 2 weeks. My last post took me over a week to write. I blame laziness.
But seriously, I've been actively searching for something, anything remotely amusing to write about. A couple of days ago, I decided this was my problem and decided that good things come to those who wait. Maybe like an unobservant bird flying out infront of a car winshield, something funny would smack me in the face and completely bewilder me. (I'm the bird.)

No. Not really.
Creativity is a stubborn little jerk.

I've even been on the prowl for a new TMFFS. But I think my friends have become hip to the fact that I exploit them on my blog because everyone stopped being crazy. Even the usual crazies have calmed down. & I RELY ON THEM.
The closest I've come to a new TMFFS is the fact that Pruscilla has been neurotically updating her statuses about how she is in love with only one *pacific* guy & everyone who disapproves can eat a bag of dicks. <--seriously, her language, not mine. I didn't think pacific was all that funny & kind of am beginning to feel bad for making her a recurring  character.
Also: both of my mom's ex-husbands wrote on my facebook wall to tell me happy birthday this past Sunday. My birthday is not until Sunday the twelfth. One of these ex-husbands was my dad.

But I guess I could give an update while I'm here & hope that you don't leave me but instead have confidence that my funny will come back.
--I turn 24 Sunday. My plans are thus: gay pride parade downtown Saturday with Gaga. Dancing with the Fab4 (minus Krusts) that evening. Sunday: pool party and tequila. I will be serving smores, sausage, & bean dip. I will be providing only tequila and mixing agents and water to drink. It will be hot outside.
--I finished reading Tina Fey's autobiography, BossyPants today. I am more inspired by her than ever before. It was approximately 270 pages. I am approximately 270 pages behind in the reading for my Professional Responsibility course.
--I did not get kicked out of law school. And this is really a moment of pride for me so let me have it.
--I will start working on an immigration case this week for my internship. It's dorky but I am really excited each time I recieve a new assignment from my boss and just feel very fortunate that someone so influential believes in me.
--I am not sad about Mr. Flintstone & I breaking up. This is more upsetting to me than the actual break up, itself. Sometimes I force myself to think about him so I can convince myself that I am not a masochist and was actually in our relationship because I loved him.
--I want to write a romcom. I secretely plan to start work on this immediately and still manage to catch up with the reading prior to the final exam.
--My apartment is a mess. This is a problem because I plan to have people over in the coming weeks. I will need to shampoo the carpets, put the sheets back on my bed (I washed them a month ago & never replaced them), & clean crystalized dog urine off of my bathroom floor (damn Shakespeare marks his territory on my shower curtain everyday. I just leave it there knowing he'll only do it again), get rid of the garlic-y smell in our living area.
--Fran Drescher is getting a new show on TVLand in which she will play a middle aged woman who finds out her long time husband is actually gay. & ya'll KNOW I love me some Fran Drescher.  This news, combined with my excitement for the new season of Pretty Little Liars & FX's new show, Wilfred (ALL STARTING THIS MONTH) have me really enthusiastic for summer television. My very good friend today told me that if I liked BossyPants, I should watch 30 Rock. It's totally on netflix. Yes my dear friends, whilst other young ladies my age will be working on their beach bodies this summer, I will be rocking my couch body and watching excessive amounts of cable. & I'm not ashamed. I told this joke to my friend, who happens to be a handsome boy. His response? "haha, you can def do both." Which I think is boy talk for: "PLEASE take your lazy ass to the gym!" I told him I like to commit to one task at a time. Eye of the Tiger. True story.

Please Forgive Me.
Better things are coming soon, I swear.

& on that note, I'd like to quote my brother (except, the sentence I'm quoting is actually about Friday and not about creativity as I will use it; also, the spelling of certain words is changed to be less vulgar. Note my use of brackets to denote changes I've made):

[Creativity!] You elusive whore! [Come] to me!

Friday, June 3, 2011

How to Survive a Scary Movie

I watch A LOT of creepy stuff & today while watching Human Centipede (SERIOUSLY: DO NOT WATCH IT & DO NOT click that link if you're of weak constitution--it's disgusting) & knowing at the beginning of the movie what was going to happen, I just felt super bad for the protagonists.

In hoping that none of my beautiful readers (or myself) ever become part of a human centipede project, I've thought of just a few key pieces of advice to ensure this catastrophe never happens to you (or me).

1. To borrow a couple from Zombieland: (a) Cardio is important; & (b) Always know your way out.
Being able to outrun your homicidal assailant is directly related to any hope of successful escape. Equally important, & possibly MORE important, is the ability to put analytical skills to use and know where the exits are. It seems as though sociopathic serial killers only ever have doors that can only be unlocked from the inside with a key. Or you know, some have wells in their house where they keep you so they can make sure you're properly moisturized and fattened.
You needn't be a MacGyver, per se, though following his rule & having a roll of duct tape and a swiss army knife on hand at all times IS a good idea, but continuing to brainstorm plans for escape is much better than spending your days in captivity crying and waiting for your imminent and violent death.
& while we're all still staring at the wet, crying girl clutching her bottle of lotion, I think it's important to note that bartering with a sociopath may very well be a phenomenal exit strategy. That girl caught his poodle while she was trapped in a well, okay? Brilliant.

2. Realize that everyday household items can be used as weapons.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. In a "I've been kidnapped by a family of ravenous murderers" sort of situation, your creativity should really be working overtime--your survival may depend on it. So be prepared to use just about anything capable of puncturing, bludgeoning, or whipping as a weapon of surprise attack in a time when your assailant is the most vulnerable.
Particularly useful: heavy lamps, matches/lighters/things capable of producing fire, plastic bags, heavy books, stilletto heels, cooking utensils, glass bottles, tools, rope.
Less useful: pillows, empty boxes, loose-leaf papers, vacuum cleaners.

3. Learn how to be quiet

Running away while screaming is just as effective as whimpering while you hide--neither work and will only ensure that you will be found and killed. & when you really think of it, serial killers move like ninjas. For example, you never hear Michael Myers announcing his presence or crying when he has a booboo. Whether you're trying to escape a pack of zombies or a homicidal freak, silence is a friend you should make.
THE ONLY EXCEPTION TO THIS RULE IS IF YOU'RE IN A PUBLIC SPACE WHERE IT'S LIKELY YOU'LL BE HEARD. & YOU NEVER SHOUT, "HELP! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!" <--because most people don't want to intervene if it's likely they'll also be murdered viciously. Instead, I suggest shouting things that will spark people's attention--for example: "TORNADO!, EARTHQUAKE!, FIRE!" Natural disasters, in general, have a way of peaking the public's interest--especially if their property or person is at risk of being demolished.

4. Respect Personal Space
I am notorious for sticking my hands as close to my friends' faces as possible without actually touching them and just leaving it there for a considerable amount of time, especially if I know they hate that. In scary movies, if you do this or anything similar, YOU WILL DIE.

It seems to me that in a majority of scary movies, the killer/ghost/demon has a sanctum that when violated or disturbed makes them go all ape shit. Or you, know, sometimes there's stuff you shouldn't do. For example, if we were characters in 2002's The Ring,  we wouldn't watch the tape UNLESS we wanted this to happen to us:

If we were in 1973's The Exorcist, we wouldn't play on the mysterious ouija board we found in the basement unless we wanted this to happen to us:
& if we were in The Human Centipede, we wouldn't go wandering through the German forests at night and accidently stumble upon a mad scientist's dwelling unless we wanted our  mouths sewn into eachother's butts. & yes, I'm being serious.

I could play this game all day but I think it's time to move on to the next rule.

Note: Contrary to what some may believe, this rule ALSO applies to: (1) Zombies--as seen on season 1 of Walking Dead, if you don't want to be eaten, seek refuge in the country; (2) Vampires-- avoid bats, castles, and Transylvania; and (3) Werewolves--avoid bipolar friends during full moons.

5. Make sure that effer is DEAD.
(I hope you guys are proud of me by trying to uphold that promise to curse less whenever it was that I made it by not dropping an f bomb there. Although, I've been working on this particular post over a number of days, so it's hard to remember whether I've already done so...

Do you guys know why sequels happen?
Because the protagonist gets lulled into a false sense of security and gets lazy and doesn't make sure the killer/monster/blood sucking plant from outer space is really dead.

No matter HOW cute Audrey II is, Rick Moranis, you still should have dug through the rubble to make sure she was seriously destroyed. If you'd done this, little baby Audrey IIs wouldn't be living in your front yard, now would they?

6. Don't be a hero.
The best type of hero in scary movies are the ones who call the cops. If not because this action results in an arrest, then because the killer is distracted from tearing you to pieces while he works on the police. This rule is pretty selfish, but it's true--being selfish in scary movies is necessary to survival. Once again referencing Human Centipede, one of the characters comes very close to escaping but goes back to save her friend who has been injected with anesthesia. So basically, the character is trying to escape by dragging her friend's dead weight. If we pause for a moment, we realize that the better solution would have been to escape and come back with a FUCKTON of police.
You know what happened to this girl? She got sewed into some Japanese guy's butt & had to eat his poop AND to top it off, her bestfriend got sewed into her and then the Japanese guy and her friend both died. So she was stuck sewn into two dead people.
Sucks, right?  AND the whole thing could have been avoided if she hadn't thought she was capable of quickly dragging a sleeping person through the forest.

7. Don't go into stranger's homes or eat their snacks.
You know why? Because sometimes strangers are really dead old ladies who give you teacups full of blood in your childhood apartment (okay, I KNOW you saw IT, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about). Even in non-scary-movie situations, strangers are known for slipping rufies into people's drinks (okay, I KNOW you saw The Hangover, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about). In all the scary movie watching I've done, I've learned that when a stranger invites you into their home it's (a) a trap; (b) so they can eat you/skin you/sew your face into someone else's rectum; and (c) you will probably die. They will probably achieve b & c by feeding you snacks laced with anesthesia or date rape drugs or blow fish meat. IN THE BEST CASES, strangers who invite you into their homes are really people more concerned about your soul than you are (See Rule 3).
As a rule of thumb, if you're stranded & need a phone, simply ask to borrow a phone rather than go inside. If they say you HAVE to go inside to use their phone, something's probably wrong--RUN (Refer to Rule 1(a)). This rule of thumb also provides a nifty little nexus into my final rule:

8. Have GPS/ A reliable cell phone provider
Travelling period nowadays without either is a MISTAKE.
You'll probably die.
I'm just trying to keep it real, k?

& I think that about wraps it up.
So, now I send you out into the world more survival-capable than you were before you started reading this. Watching all of those scary movies has taken a toll on my delicate psyche, but I do it because I love you guys so much.


Thursday, June 2, 2011

Leaving BedRock

Cloaked in the darkness of a pre-historic night, Sheila Onyx packed her things quietly. She slipped out of her hammock and took a last glance at Fred. The moon light played across his strong jaw, heavy brow, and muscular arms. & she knew she'd forever miss looking at him.
A sleeping Dino snoozed by the front of the cave & though Sheila tried not to wake him, his ears perked as she walked by. She knelt down & pat him on the head, as he leaned forward and licked her face.
"Oh, Dino. I wish I could take you with me." Which was kind of a lie, because Dino was a pain in the ass. But she did like him in her own special way. As she stood up, Dino went back to sleep and Sheila left the cave.

Sheila hitched a ride on a wooly mammoth to the pterodactyl port. Waiting to board her flight, Sheila wondered whether she was really making the right decision. Fred had his moments; he never complained about hunting for dinner, he always kept the fire going, he was a master in the hammock. But deep down Sheila knew he was a neanderthal. Besides, she absolutely detested his friends and had a specific dislike for his best pal, Barney Rubble, who was PERPETUALLY hanging around. In all the moons they'd been together, she could only think of a couple of times when Fred ever made her feel loved or appreciated. No, this was for the best, Sheila consoled herself as she boarded the pterodactyl and took her seat.

Waiting for take off, Sheila wondered what the rest of her life were apt to be like without Fred. She knew she would miss him but allowed herself to imagine... maybe someday she'd meet a nice caveman with his shit together. He'd keep a tidy cave, enjoy looking at cave paintings, watching pterodactyls and shooting stars, and most of all, she would be able to make him happy. Sheila drew up pictures in her mind of her dream troglodyte and soon realized it was dawn and the pterodactyl had already taken off. She looked down over the pterodactyl's wing and saw the pinks and oranges of the morning's sky reflecting off of the stone roofs and structures of BedRock.

And then she had an idea; one that made her smile and reassured her that she was making the right decision.
Sheila realized that as much as she dreamed of her own happiness, she wanted Fred's too. Her smile widened as she imagined Fred and Dino snuggling up beside Fred's ideal mate next to the bonfire.

Yes, better things were in store for each of them and it was worth smiling about.