The worst song lyric EVER

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Writing by

The voted worst song lyric of all time slapped me in the face yesterday as I danced under the stars in Budapest. There we were in an open-air nightclub on Margaret Island (I was clinging to consciousness, this being my first night out post chemotherapy and it was already ticking past 2 am), Zsolt was pulling his signature ‘I’m pointing my fingers’ dance move, and I was head bopping and body rocking along when the DJ mixed in Rhythm is a Dancer, by Snap! You know this song? It’s a bit of a classic, and I must have heard/danced to it a hundred times before.  So this gets me excited, because finally here’s a song I recognize and I begin to make attempts at actual dancing (rather than my ‘I’m totally exhausted’ head bobbing’) when out comes the line: I’m serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer.

What?

And all head bopping stopped. I was shocked.

Snap!, apparently, is serious as cancer when they say rhythm is a dancer. But really, are they? Well lucky for them to not (at least at the time of lyric writing) have cancer in their lives – that’s great for anyone – because if they did, I’m sure this line would never have made the final edit. Really, you have to assume (you just have to) that the creators of this song look back at this lyric choice and shake their heads with regret. But there it was last night, regret or no regret, shouting over the speaker system and reminding me about something I had really hoped to forget for the evening.

However I’m not writing this post to shame Snap!, because chances are they’ve already been shamed. Nope, I’m writing this because Rhythm is a Dancer is such a well known song – I’ve heard it  many times, and yet last Friday night (aka Saturday morning), was the first time I’ve ever noticed that lyric.

Which goes to show, perspective is all about experience. BC (before cancer) I would never have been so impacted by such a dumb lyric – nope, I would have waved my arms, shook my hips and spun in a circle, and maybe, maybe, registered in the back of my head that I’d heard something strange, but certainly it wouldn’t have winded me, thrown me back, stopped me dead.

I can remember this other time when I was the idiot (cause in fairness to Snap! we all make mistakes – just too bad theirs was cut, produced, and distributed). All throughout my childhood was this expression: “that’s so gay”, i.e. that is stupid.  And my unknowing mouth would pronounce this or that as gay, and my distracted brain would never, ever connect it with the bigger insult (I don’t mean calling someone ‘gay’ as in homosexual is the bigger insult, I mean using the term ‘gay’ as a bad thing is insulting to anyone who is, actually, gay.  Seeing as there’s nothing stupid about homosexuality, heterosexuality or being bi – it’s a true misrepresentation of words.)

ANYHOW – it wasn’t until a summer spent in Jasper, at the too-old-to-know-better age of 20, that I remarked (for the last time) “that’s so gay” and a friend turned to me and said, “Catherine, I expected better of you.”

At which point, I woke up to the absolute rudeness.

Like last Friday night, when I woke up to the world’s worst song lyric and felt disguised, buzz-killed, and angry at the flippant remark.

Which makes me think, what else have I allowed to slip past my internal radar of decency? Plenty, I’ll bet.

Rhythm is not serious like cancer. Anyone post diagnosis knows this. Anyone with family who have battled knows this.  Anyone who has helped support others through a whole lotta crap knows this too. Everyone should know this, cancer or not.

But it is a reminder to be aware, and be considerate. Even when spoken with a light heart, there are people who will feel the impact of such ignorant language.

So last Friday I learned a lesson.  And I danced, which – FYI – was really the highlight of the evening. It’s been over a year since I’ve danced all night, and the experience, right until that 2am face slap, was incredible.  I felt young, healthy and totally care-free. From a night out at the restaurant, to walking around the boulevards of Budapest, to finding a giant outdoor club and a spot to dance – it was a wonderful evening. I’m 100% thankful to have made it past last year’s nightmare. Just another reminder that there is another side – the after-side – of treatment, and it was worth the fight to dance again, finally, under the stars. 

Budapest: a great night out

Posted in Fun, Life, Travel by

Before myMonday post, I’d just like to say that Friday night was fantastic. FANTASTIC. We began at this hole-in-the-wall Slovakian restaurant behind the Hungarian Parliament and ate some truly delicious food. It was jammed packed with flavour. Cami ordered something off of the menu that no one recognized, which translated to her plate – it was like a pork pancake, combining potatoes, meat, cheese, sour cream and gravy.

After the food we stuck around the restaurant and had some drinks (couldn’t get a tea, settled for a milky coffee instead) and some friends came by to meet up.

I love meeting up with Zsolt’s friends in Hungary. These are people who I’ve known as long as I’ve known Zsolt – actually, I met them before I met Zsolt (exclusively) and there hasn’t been an instance where we haven’t had fun together.  Therefore, we were a happy table of laughter and good times. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them, because last summer all plans of a Hungarian visit were cancelled (duh) and last Christmas I was lucky enough to fly home to Canada.

Turns out that one of them – you know who you are – reads my blog frequently and uses it to improve her English. Wonderful, eh? I’d like to say a big “Hello, Szia!” if she’s reading this today.  Maybe that’s a good idea for me as well. Can anyone recommend some easy Hungarian blog to follow? There must be a million to choose from. It might be a good learning experience for me as well.

And after the restaurant we headed out in search of a nightclub. Honestly, this was my favourite part of the evening. Trolling around Budapest, passing the hen parties in the Octagon, stopping at every fast-food joint available (complete with bouncers at the door, things must get crazy in Budapest if even McDonalds needs a boncer), and just having a laugh. It was great.

Eventually we ended up at this club called Instant, which was really cool and I’d definitely recommend it, but their main disco was closed for the evening, so we ditched Instant (because Friday was set with a mission to DANCE/TÁNCOL) and caught a tram across town.

(By this point I was nearing a state of sleep-walker, but we hadn’t even started dancing yet, so there was no way I was going to call it a night).

Eventually we settled at this outdoor disco on (I think) Margaret Island. It was huge, the night was warm, the music was loud.  Tick off my box to ‘go dancing’ because finally, finally, finally I had my chance for fun. Geez, eh. Things have come a long way, and I’m so thankful my body has recovered so well.

It was a fantastic night. Fantastic. So to preface tomorrow’s post (authors are allowed to do this, we can preface anything with an explanation if we want, because it’s our story to tell), Friday night was wonderful – everything I’d hoped for and more.

Have a lovely Sunday.

OH MY GOODNESS. It’s father’s day.

Ok, PS. Today is father’s day, and I’ve yet to call my Dad. However, it was in my plans, and I will do it right now. Dad, you are awesome, as you know, and I’m lucky to be your daughter (and I don’t even mind that people constantly say I look so much like you, even though you’re totally a man.) Have a wonderful day, and I hope a garr bites your line – that’d probably be the very best father’s day gift you could receive. Fingers crossed. 😉

A time to dance, hopefully

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Fun, Life, Travel, Treatment by

Friday, Friday – gotta get down on Friday. Tonight I’m going out, and hoping it’ll be fun, fun, fun because I’m looking forward to the weekend. With my friend in town (literally in town, she’s gone off sightseeing and I’m still at home taking it easy – this possibly makes me a bad host, but at least it prevents a severe case of the grumps. Seems to me that while I’ve recovered so much from what chemo changed, I still have no tolerance for long, hot walks on the heat-waving pavements of capital cities.) she’s requested we visit a real European nightclub.

Hmm. Real European night club? I’ve been to several clubs in Europe, all with a general vibe of ‘small hole-in-the-wall place to dance’ as opposed to the monster clubs you might get in, for instance, Cancun, Mexico.  So I believe this might be a case of reality not meeting expectation. However, another friend, a Hungarian friend, has promised to take us out on the town tonight – he has a club in mind that is, apparently, “Hungaricum”. Whatever that means! (Geez, I hope it’s not rude, but then he isn’t a fellow to be crass, so I’m guessing that whatever Hungaricum means, it’s a nice phrase).

Anyhow. Why is this night special? It’s special because I haven’t gone out dancing in over a year. More than a year. For ages!

First: will I remember how to dance? Meh, it’s not too hard, I’ll likely remember.

Second: will I stay awake? My general bedtime is 10pm, which is pathetic for a woman not yet thirty, but there you go. I love my bed, and my bed loves me. We have a close relationship.  So fingers crossed I’ve enough energy to shake my booty, at least till midnight.

Third: will it be a good night? Yes. That shouldn’t even be a question. It will, for sure, be a good night.

And then Saturday will follow Friday (duh), and we’ll sleep in and visit another spa. This time we’ll be going to Széchenyi Gyógyfürdő (http://www.budapestgyogyfurdoi.hu/hu/szechenyi/elerhetoseg) which is a beautiful old spa in the park area of Budapest. This will be Cami’s last day in the city, since on Sunday she’ll fly out, and hopefully it’s a nice end to her Hungarian experience.

And then (and then, and then, and then). . .  I’ll get back to the real world – sorta – and start figuring out this online lit mag idea I’ve been having. It’s an attempt to give breast cancer fighters, family, carers, friend a place for creative thinking. Should be good, if I can ever get it started!

And while I type this, Goofy the dog, is pushing her muzzle against my arm in a constant attempt for attention. I’d forgotten how sweet and earnest dogs can be; they’re happy balls of fur and slobber.