A pain in the neck!

Good morning, friends!

Sorry I've been a bit MIA, but as some of you know I've had a challenging week, health-wise. I didn't mention anything before because I like to keep this a happy place, but now that this unpleasant business is behind me (again) I feel comfortable talking about it openly.

I'm a cancer survivor - again!



I was 24 ten years ago when I was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer. Because my disease had spread thoroughly throughout the lymph nodes of my neck, I had a bunch of very unpleasant surgeries and a huge dose of full body I-131 radiation which I refer to as "The Silkwood Experience." It was horrible, and none of it got rid of my illness 100%. Even though my type of cancer is considered one of the better ones to get because it is slow-growing, my particular cancer was aggressive.

Six or seven (I honestly stopped counting) painful surgeries (including two modified neck dissections - ew, right?) later, I was as done as I could be. My TG level never went to zero as it should have which meant that there were still some microscopic cells left in there that we couldn't find surgically or via imaging scans, and which were resistant to radiation. Good times.

So, I went on with my life and we waited for them to grow large enough to find. In those eight years I got married, bought a house, had two healthy babies, raised a dog, and changed jobs twice. And I had a good time doing it all! I went in for my blood work every six months and had my MRI/CT/PET scans every year as needed. I basically just went on living but knew that eventually the thyca would rear its ugly head and I'd have to have it taken care of when it did.

Last November, we found it! My blood level doubled and a routine ultrasound of my neck showed what the lab tech called a "non-worrisome cyst." Of course, I laughed when I got the report - there's no such thing as a non-worrisome cyst in MY neck! I went to see my new Endo, Dr. Long Duk Dong, and he sent me for a battery of imaging scans and did a fine needle biopsy. Lo' and behold, my "cyst" was actually a 2 cm lump o' cancer nestled up against my jugular vein on the left side of my neck.

I had it removed on Tuesday. The surgeon actually found two bad lumps when he went in, and because my blood level is still relatively low, we are all pretty sure (and hopeful!) that this was the LAST of the cancer that I've had for the past 12 years or so. Oddly enough, finding these tumors was a very good thing! I'm so relieved that they're out so I can go on living my life without a black cloud hanging over my head, waiting to rain on my parade.

I took this (fugly) before photo on Tuesday to remind myself that as long as I care for my skin as I always have (Neosporin, sunscreen, vitamin E, day and night lotion), my scars will fade again and eventually people will not even notice them. If you look closely you can see some of my scarring here, but many people who don't know that I had cancer don't even notice the scar that runs from ear to ear in a big "U" shape. This section of the scar has already been opened two times; this surgery makes three. Once the redness fades, I will resume my life as an under-cover cancer survivor.

I choose not to discuss it much. I've never been someone who wants or needs a lot of sympathy and I want to be known only as La Bev - goofy, funny, happy, kind, and smart. Ha ha, and modest too. ;)

So, there you have it - the scoop. I am feeling better every day, and not just because I took the whole week off from my crap job. My vocal cords are pretty pissed off about the monitor they placed on them during the surgery, so I don't have much of a voice at the moment but they tell me it will return. My excellent surgeon uses plastic surgery techniques and went in using an old scar, so I know my neck will heal up nicely. I've got an ample supply of vicodin and I'm not afraid to use it. I'm just staying home, staying quiet, watching (terrible) movies, and allowing myself to heal from the emotional and physical trauma I've been going through for these past few months.

Since November I admit that I've had moments of depression and I've felt kind of sorry for myself from time to time. I'm so grateful to all of my good friends and family for getting me through this again, for putting up with me when I'm difficult, and for respecting my desire to keep it on the down-low. My husband has stepped up these past couple of days - bringing me flowers, making me food, bearing the brunt of the child care, and giving me foot rubs. My friends have all expressed their love and concern for me and have tried to shield me from stress as best they can. They've (for the most part) overlooked any bad moods and unreasonable reactions I may have had. They've coddled me a bit, and I'm so grateful for them all.

And I'm grateful to you all for making me laugh and providing a distraction when I needed it! Thank you all. I'm a lucky gal.

This is probably the last I'll speak of my cancer at length, but I'm placing this ribbon on my sidebar. I'm not ashamed of it - it's nobody's fault, it's just my particular row to hoe. I just choose not to wallow in it if I can avoid it.

Last but not least, I hope I haven't rambled on too much during this post. My meds kicked in somewhere in here and I started to feel all warm and numb and groovy. I'd better sign off before I say anything really revealing or off-the-wall!

Much love, and here's to better days ahead!
XOXO
Bev

Candy is dandy...

...but liquor is quicker!

Good Monday morning, lovelies. It's a gray & foggy day here but I'm determined to keep my chin(s) up! To that end, I thought I'd share a few funny pics from the other night.

After my crappy day at work on Friday I decided to take Mala up on her offer of a night away from my family out on the town. As is always the case when I'm out with my bestie we ended up getting a wee bit goofy and of course, I took pictures. Shocking, I know.

First off, we hit Margaritas for some, well, margaritas. We had some yummy Mexican food and lots of laughs. I took this self-portrait with my cell phone, which has a flash so bright it looks a little like Chernobyl.

We laughed SO hard over this pic -- first off, don't look at my giant puffy Mask face, ok? Don't look at me, I'm hideous!

Secondly, we're not sure why but doesn't it look like Mala is missing a tooth?



We dubbed her a "nerdy hillbilly" and laughed at ourselves until our sides hurt and people started to stare. Par for the course, really.



We decided to catch a movie but we had some time to kill beforehand, so we stopped into one of our favorite stores, the NH Liquor Outlet. We found some funny stuff and of course declared, "That's going on the blog!"

First up, liquor bottles that made us want delicious pancakes.



Something tells me that Mrs. Butterworth would be psyched to see this shelf of hotties! Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match....



Heh heh. Knob.



Fuki Saki-it-to-me! Fu-ki? Fu-ku!



Mala reeeeeally liked this bottle for some reason. I can't imagine why.



Anywho, there it is. I have a rather busy week ahead of me, so I may not blog with my usual regularity but I'll do my best. Have a lovely day. :)

XOXO

A Friday quickie

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In search of an epiphany

I woke up out of sorts today. I have the day off and hadn't made any plans; I didn't feel like going out and being social, and even though I should have gone shopping for a few belated Christmas gifts for Jim's brother I just didn't feel like it. It has been snowing for two days straight, but this morning the sun was out, the sky was blue, and every twig on every limb on every tree was heavy with fresh, white snow. It is not often that I feel compelled to get out into the cold and enjoy a winter day, so when I am so inclined I act quickly before I get lazy and stay inside watching bad TV and surfing the internet.

Some of my best thinking has been done while walking outside. Some of my deepest thoughts have trickled into my consciousness slowly while I mindlessly move my limbs and propel myself forward. Today was the kind of day when I needed some kind of epiphany - it didn't have to be massive or life-altering, it just had to be meaningful.

I quickly threw together a play list on my iPod (appropriately titled "Moody Music") and off I went. The snow was beautiful and melting fast, so occasionally as I walked it would flutter down from the tree canopy and twinkle in the sunlight as it fell onto my face. It felt good, like being sprinkled with pixie dust or somehow anointed by nature, and it made me smile. I did miss having a dog at my side, but it felt good to move my body and I felt long disused muscles waking up. Some of those muscles were pretty pissed! My ass, for instance, was not loving it, but I ignored its protests and I told my creaky ankle to STFU as well. Soon enough they listened to me and I was able to concentrate on the crunch of snow under my boots, the sunlight and trees making patterns on unblemished fields of snow, and the quiet music in my ears.



What kind of New Englander would I be if I didn't summon Robert Frost on a walk such as this?

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

When I came to the place where I would normally turn back towards home, I kept going. I decided to just keep walking until I felt sorted out, however long that took. Turns out it took about two hours.

I'm not sure exactly where or when my epiphany struck, but before long I realized that something in me had lifted. You see, lately I haven't been myself. I've been wallowing in emotion and stewing in discord. I've been allowing myself to experience my fears as if they are real. I've been thinking too much and laughing too little. In short, I've been taking myself entirely too seriously.

Not every thought deserves to be analyzed. Some thoughts don't even deserve the time it takes to think them. During the course of a given day we experience a plethora of feelings; some of them are worthwhile, but some are not. I need to work on enjoying the good and ignoring the bad.

As my thighs turned numb from the cold and my nose started to run, I also found myself grateful for my body again. I'm so glad that I can walk for hours and climb hills and be rewarded with a nice view! My body sure isn't perfect, what with its bum thyroid and propensity to gain weight if someone so much as says "Carbs" in my vicinity, but it has given me so much pleasure in my life! How could I not be grateful?

Therein lay the epiphany, you see. I think I had forgotten to simply be grateful. Life is hard - no doubt about it - but everything worth working for is hard. Wasting time worrying over who said what and what-ifs won't help me embrace that which is essential to my happiness: love & gratitude. Loving myself, loving others, loving where I live, and even loving my crap job, which enables me to take long walks on a Wednesday morning to reconnect with myself and what's important to me.

Maybe it was the elusive "runner's high" that the skinny folks talk about, but by the time I came home I was elated. I felt like jumping into the 4 ft. high snowbanks and making snow angels. I waved cheerily at cars as they passed me. I let myself in to my quiet house that smells like my cooking and hung my coat on the hook that is reserved for my things, and I felt a discernible click as everything fell back into place in my world. Nothing has changed except my attitude, and that has made all the difference.

The fattest month

AKA: I hate you, January.

I feel so pudgy right now. I hate how my face gets fat when I put on a couple pounds. You can disguise 4-5 lbs under sweaters and ignore snugness in your waistband, but you can't deny a puffy face or double chin. This is the time of year, after the dust has settled on the holiday binging, when my friends all laugh at me because whenever someone takes our picture I immediately blurt out, "You look great, but I look like the kid from Mask!"

Every single time. My face... it just expands!

Time to cut some calories. I suppose I can start by discontinuing the Hershey's Kisses I've been sneaking here and there, and of course I'll have to put the kibosh on allowing any more Tostitos into the shopping cart.

*sigh* I miss those crunchy, salty bastards already, but I miss my cheekbones more.

One quick funny before I go. Last night Jim and I were watching a Family Guy rerun in which Brian shows Stewie the infamous "Two Girls, One Cup" video:



Now, I've never watched the 2G1C video because I was fortunate enough to find out what it was before anyone tried to scar me for life with it. This piece of filth is so far away from anything I would ever willingly subject myself to, it isn't even funny. But yeah, I live in these United States, I listen to the radio and watch the teevee, so I am aware of it.

My husband, not so much. Sweet, clueless Jim. He turned to me, questions written all over his face, his little brow knitted with confusion, and asked me what Stewie was watching that was so horrifying.

I could have been mean & made him watch it, but I didn't.



I may have given him a somewhat kinder, gentler idea of what the video was about. After all, why plant that mental image in his head? Shielding our loved ones from life's many horrors is but one job we wives and mothers share, is it not?

Just kidding - I told him, and I told him good. ;) How could I not?

Latah, tatahs!

Panty theft?

Last night I was watching Hung and a line jumped out at me, inspiring me to ask you all a somewhat personal question. In return for your honest answers I'll share an embarrassing TMI story from my mis-spent youth. Deal?

Ok, in Hung a female character admits to stealing the guy's underpants after bedding him, and she claims that it's a common practice and "who among us hasn't had our underwear stolen after a hook-up?"

Who, indeed?

Have you ever had your underwear go missing after a romp? Tell me true - I promise not to judge!

Now, to answer my own question. In a word, yes. Yes, I've woken up and haven't been able to find my knickers despite crawling around on my hands and knees and frisking the bedsheets. Yeah, I've been there.



I was twenty and heartbroken, you see. Back story: I don't think I'd ever labored under the delusion that my then-bf and I were going to get married or anything like that, but I was still blind-sided when he broke up with me early in the summer after our first year at different colleges. I thought we'd at least spend the summer banging each other and would break up before our sophomore years started, but no. He fell for some chick (the one he eventually married) and I was stuck hocking overpriced hippie clothes and jewelry at a boutique in my po-dunk town because I'd decided to come home for the summer... to be with him.

Bitter? Yes, yes I was. First chance I could, I hopped into my (t)rusty Subaru and went back to Burlington for a weekend sans parental units. My friend C was renting a room at, of all places, her cousin's frat house. You can see where this is going, yes? C and I partied it up that weekend with a couple of guys she knew from the house, and by Saturday night it was clear that I'd landed the short muscular dude and the taller guy was hers.

This guy was cute, but not my type at all. He was barely my height (5'7") and stocky, he had the short, powerful build of a wrestler and the vocabulary to match, but I honestly didn't care. As I looked at him through narrowed eyes that night I decided that it just didn't matter - I was horny and angry and he'd do. A few more shots of tequila and I didn't object when he tossed me over his broad shoulder (!) like a caveman and carted me off to his room.

Turns out he was short everywhere, which was a disappointment - but I'm not a quitter - so I stifled my giggles and carried on. The sex was... well. Ok, I'm being honest here - the sex was terrible. When it was over I felt more annoyed than anything else; I'd finally gone and had a real-life one night stand it it sucked. Go, me!

The next morning I woke up alone and heard him in the bathroom, so I seized the opportunity to quickly gather my clothes. Bra - check, t-shirt and shorts - check, black silky panties? Hmmm.... Not under the bed. Not in the bed. Not on the floor. Why were they not in my shorts - I knew they had come off at the same time! Crap! Out of time! Just throw on the shorts and get the heck outta dodge!

We hugged awkwardly and I took his number but didn't give mine, and I can honestly say that over the next three years at college I never saw him again, and that was a-ok by me. Another thing I never saw again? My undies.

Your turn. Ever misplace your undies or have them taken as a "trophy?" Ever stolen a pair?

Spill.

The Care and Feeding of Bev

Yesterday Cary over at LOTD asked us about our phobias which triggered a conversation with a friend regarding my own personal demon: spiders. I have a lifelong aversion to spiders, and the mere sight of even a spindly Daddy Long Legs makes my blood run cold and sends shivers down my spine. Many times I've tried (and failed) to pinpoint when and why I became so phobic of a creature that is largely harmless to humans here in the northeast. I did come up with two possible explanations:

a. In large part it was the disgusting fat-bodied gray barn spiders that populated my mother's horse barn when I was a kid. The place had a low-ceiling and she wasn't bothered by the fly-eating arachnids so she never swept down their webs. As a horse-obsessed child, this provided a terrible conundrum: enter the barn to feed and care for the horses with her and risk walking into a web or worse - having one unexpectedly drop down onto my hair! - or stay out of the barn and not pet the pretty horsies. Obviously, I chose the former and still bear the emotional scars caused by the staring of so many beady eyes.

b. In a past life I may or may not have been buried alive. Perhaps my final conscious thoughts consisted of the horrifying realization that I was covered in disgusting scuttling spiders in my dark, cavernous grave? Just a theory.

ANYWHO.

Suffice to say, I hate spiders. Other kinds of bugs don't faze me one little bit, even the ones that resemble spiders. Show me a spider of any variety, from tarantulas (GAG) to those itty bitty black fast little suckers that come out in the spring, and all I want to do is squish it and squish it fast. Frankly, I prefer it if someone else squishes them, especially if the creepy-crawly is on the ceiling or anywhere that they could move quickly and fall into my hair! My husband and close friends understand this about me and oblige because they love me and really, I don't ask for much.

Relocating the spider won't satisfy me; I am not satisfied until that spider is a smear on the wall and can never, ever touch me. Irrational? Yeah, probably, but that is one of my very few demands and step 1 of THE CARE AND FEEDING OF BEV.

I have a few other requirements as well.

2. Feed me in a timely manner.

Why? Because if I don't eat regularly I get cranky. Really cranky. Bite your fucking head off cranky. Trust me, you wouldn't like me when I'm cranky.

Mala likes to remind me that one of the first things I ever said to her when we were getting to know each other at the TV station where we worked was, "Hi, I'm Bev. I hope we have a dinner break soon because I get really cranky and mean when I'm hungry! If I'm ever mean to you, I'm probably just hungry." One thing about my smart BFF Mala: you only have to tell her once. To this day she makes sure I get my snacky-poos and in the 12+ years we've been friends we have never had a fight, ever. Coincidence? I think not.

My husband and family are the same way. It's very rare that I am snippy, so if I get sharp with them they look alarmed, then mildly amused, then they ask me if I'm hungry.

3. I'm a pretty smart chick, but I have my "dumb blond" moments like anybody else. When I have them, please don't rub it in.

It's just that simple. My husband defers to me on just about everything really important: I run the house, pay the bills, keep the kids clean and fed, and arrange the social calendar. I decide when the mortgage needs refinancing and make it happen while my husband sits there shell-shocked and lets the "grown-ups" hash out the details. When I decide we need life insurance or 529 plans, I tell him where to sign. That's just how we roll.

But every so often I will do or say something so idiotic that even I am appalled, like on NYE when I thought I'd just keep the ham warm in the oven, so I started to pop it in there on a thick plastic cutting board. Thank goodness Jim was on the ball and stopped me before I had a melted plastic ham-splosion coating my oven! Oh, the smell that would have produced, not to mention ruining a beautiful honey-glazed spiral ham. Egads.

Now that's pretty dumb, but my loved ones didn't rub my nose in my idiocy because they know it's not the norm. They know I've got a lot on my mind these days. They merely chuckled and proceeded to get me drunk, which is what good friends do.

4. I am forgiving, but you can only push me so far.

I will forgive my friends for just about anything; last year three different close friends did the following: one got wasted on dirty martinis and pulled me over backwards, breaking my molar, one stalked off in a huff in the middle of Boston at midnight, leaving me in tears, and one grabbed my ass/hit on me. Was I angry? Sure, but I got over it. I get bent out of shape and it takes me approximately 2 days before I am over it and ready to move on. I don't forget about it, but I have a very high tolerance for friend faux-pas. Heck, I'm sure I've said and done shitty things to friends and I'd like to be forgiven if that is the case, so who am I to judge?

That being said, I do tell them that it hurt me, and they usually apologize and that's all I need. I'm not a doormat, I just like my peeps and I can overlook those "oops" moments a little more willingly than most. But if you do it repeatedly or do other things that make me believe that you're just a "taker," that's it. It's deep-freeze time. Quid pro quo, Clarice. I have my limits.

5. Know this: I need "me" time. Make sure I get it.

I love my kids, but they sometimes drive me insane. As much as I dream of being able to stay home and write and still earn a living, I know I'm just not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I love my children with a fierceness that sometimes surprises and scares me, but most days I really don't mind dropping their little tushes off at school and going my merry way to work. Jim gets it and willingly watches the kids while I go to concerts or distant cities every so often, and I reciprocate with an "open-ski" policy all winter long. It works out well and neither of us ends up feeling too burned out with the child-rearing. Most days.

I am their mother first, however I am still me and I refuse to give up my "non-mother" identity.

I think that one of the reasons why I detest my crap job so much is that no one here ever leaves me alone. I really need more autonomy in my workplace, and this job has effectively ruined me for office jobs. All I think about is escaping to a place where no one bugs me about stupid shit, where the phone rings and I don't have to get it, and where I only have to worry about my work and how it benefits me & my family, not someone else. Dream on, right?

So there you have it - 5 simple tips for creating a happy Bev. Not so daunting, eh? Feel free to print these out. You know, just in case. ;-)

HAPPY FRIDAY.
xoxo

(Kinda) Wordless Wednesday

We visited the Museum of Science in Boston last weekend, and as always, I took pictures. There was a special Harry Potter exhibition going on so of course my kid went in character. You merely have to suggest a theme and he will don a costume and fully commit to it; he has a real flair for the dramatic. I have no idea where he got that from.

(cut to me looking innocent, shrugging my shoulders in a "who me?" sort of way)

So here you have it - sorta wordless, but mostly not because even when I'm phoning it in on Wordless Wednesdays I must at least write captions.

Jim said, "Wow! That's a big scarf."



Me and Mala, "Forget the scarf, check out that bulge!"



It was a learning experience for the kids. See, here they are, learning:



Harry "Star Wars" Potter:



My youngest was not impressed. As you can see, my husband's "fro-bowl" has grown to epic proportions and it's getting a little embarrassing. I don't remember the last time he went for a haircut.



Harry Plopper:



Every time I go to the MOS I'm impressed by the gorgeous views of the city and the Charles River:




I like big bones and I cannot lie....



Have a happy day.

Oobh Stew: Lunch is served!

Mmmm, delicious Oobh Stew! I remembered it was your favorite, so I decided to mix up a big ol' batch of random ingredients and serve it up hot and spicy, just in time for lunch. Hope you brought your Tums.

Ingredient 1: A dash of Gaga.

By now you all know I love the song and video for Lady Gaga's Bad Romance, so it is only natural that I share the latest (hilarious) spoof version made by a bunch of bored teenagers in somebody's messy house. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Badder Romance":



Thank you, Urlesque.

Ingredient 2: One scalded unit

Do you guys know who Channing Tatum is? Yeah, me either. Apparently he's an actor who gave a very revealing interview to Details magazine about an accident he suffered while shooting a movie no one will ever see in Scotland. It was so cold that they were pouring diluted boiled water down his wet suit to keep him from freezing to death, and at the end of the day a crew member with a serious grudge against him forgot to dilute the water and he ended up severely burning the head of his wee-wee and going to the hospital. You can read all about the painful details here. Ow.

Ingredient 3: Suri Cruise, age 3, wears higher heels, has nicer clothes, and drives a more expensive car than you do.

That's right, her psycho dad bought her a tiny little race car replica that costs almost fifty grand.

Yet he'll no doubt be shocked when she develops a drug problem, sleeps with anything that moves, and has no concept of reality when she hits her teens.

Ingredient 4: A pinch of Jason Bateman in ladies undies.
Don't ask me how I found this photo because I couldn't even tell you. It just popped up on a Google image search and I couldn't NOT post it. Do I know why my long-time crush Jason Bateman is wearing girly undies? No, no I do not. Do I care? Not really, no. I'm sure it's *cough* a photoshoot or something *cough*.

I'd still hit it like the fist of an angry god.

Ingredient 5: Simon Cowell is leaving American Idol.

Shock! Awe! Meh.

I don't care. I don't watch that shit, yo. In other news, when I was looking for a picture of Simon, preferably one of him on the beach with his furry moobs showing (what? I just think they're funny!), I found this little item:



HA!! Perfect! My husband has a birthday coming up, and I think I know just what to get him....

So there it is. *BURP* That's some good stew, if I do say so myself. Hope you enjoyed it too!

Ta-ta for now!

Worst. Movie. EVER!

Last night after the kids were safely tucked up in their cozy beds, dreaming their kiddie dreams, the hubster and I decided to watch a movie. I had recorded The Watchmen a few nights ago after hearing about it from our friends Mr. & Mrs. Mala. That is to say, we had heard that it wasn't very good but that there was a rather scandalous "practically soft-core pr0n" scene in it that had made a mother and her teenage son leave the audience when they saw it in the theater.

Of course when they told me about the booty scene, I was sold! I can dig a comic book movie from time to time; I've suffered through every Batman & Spiderman movie ever made and can even add both craptastic Hulk movies to my resume. The Superman movies are classics, IMO; even the dreadful Superman III has it's moments! So I figured, how bad can it be, especially if there's a good bit of super-sex to spice things up?

It was the worst movie I've ever seen in my entire life. I HATED IT. As in, it was so bad that it made me angry.

First of all, it was boring. Each dark, rainy scene was more dreary and dull than the last, and even two hours into the movie we still weren't 100% sure about the details of plot. What is the point? Something about nuclear war? Something about Richard Nixon (worst movie make-up job I've ever seen, btw)? I really couldn't tell you.

Secondly, it was gory. Gratuitous compound-fractures punctuated every fight scene, and if I wanted to watch someones hands being cut off with a circular saw I'd go rent one of the umpteen million torture pr0n movies out there instead of a movie about supposed crime-fighters.

Third, and this isn't a complaint so much as a WTF kind of thing - since when is full-frontal male nudity suitable for an R rating? The blue dude was hanging low and loose throughout the entire movie! Again, not complaining, but... weird! What is UP with Papa Smurf's shlong? We saw it so often it was practically its own character in the movie. Get some BVDs on that guy!

Oh, and the sex scene wasn't all that great either. Sure, we saw Patrick Wilson's gorgeous, firm hiney doing the bump & grind, but we see that in Little Children a lot more and it's A LOT HOTTER. Like, a lot hotter.

So, after watching this piece of trash for two hours I paused it to see if it was going anywhere and found that it still had an HOUR to go. An f'ing HOUR more. Three hours? Really?!

We threw in the towel and agreed that it was the worst movie we'd ever seen, which is saying something because I've seen some real piles of road apples disguised as film in my 30-some-odd years of movie-viewing.

We actually felt dirty afterwards and decided to watch something else so we could go to sleep without horrible images etched onto our mind's eyes. It's bad when you put on TLC's Hoarders and it soothes you back into feeling like the world is a normal place.

So, there you have it: the worst movie I've ever seen, ever.

What's yours?

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