You guys know that when I love something, I give that thing complete loyalty. How often do I mention Hoagies and Wings as my favorite place to eat in LA? And any day of the week I’d happily go to breakfast at Nat’s and then go visit The Big Kid. And, of course, even though I’m no longer a Vegan, I still push all of my vegan friends to order from Vegan Essentials. All of these places, while they offer great things, have my devotion because they are also run by great people.

I’m very devoted to people. And I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who create wonderful things. From comedians to writers, artists, filmmakers. And, of course, musicians.

Today I am trying to put together the finishing touches on a band bio and album bio for Infantree. I met this band two years ago after their publicist sent me a list of bands she was working with, and they caught my ear. From that first interview with them, I have been a huge fan, and not just of the music they make. These guys turned out to be pretty solidly amazing people, with wisdom, humor, and a mellow kind of cool that sets everyone at ease.

Their new album is coming out soon. I’m listening to it right now. I’ve been having some trouble putting this together, because I feel a bit exhausted and anxious lately, but I have a feeling the words will come soon enough. For now, while you wait, take a listen to the band I’ve become a superultramegafan of.

Check out DeliciousTacos.com

And I didn’t get him anything. I bought some bacon at the store and made him cook it and we ate it and then I threw up and I was a wimpy shit laying on the floor, bloody vomit all over my face, and I made him bring me water. I wrote him some stupid little note, not even a card, and I expected that to be enough. Well, to be fair, it has to be enough, because that’s all he’s getting. Bacon, bloody vomit, and the chance to watch a few minutes of iRobot on my tiny television and crack a few jokes.

But this guy, Tim, my best friend, I just don’t think I can express adequately how important this guy is. I have a recipe box with handwritten recipes of my own. Tim’s recipe for fried chicken is in my box. Tim and I would both laugh and make bone in box jokes right now. One day my son brought back hamburgers and mine had cheese on it and I was near melt down because of a slice of cheese. I was going to cry. But Tim scraped off every bit of melted cheese for me. I have cried in front of Tim the way you only do when you’re sure you’re alone.

And did I mention that he’s brilliant? Well, he’s brilliant. Not only is he quick in conversation, but he happens to be one of the best writers I have ever read. I am waiting patiently for the day he writes his first novel so I can stand next to him and watch the masses of women throwing their literature loving panties at the guy. I believe in him so much, and his talent astounds me.

So, it’s not like this is the world’s best birthday present. It’s actually sort of lame. But, why don’t you go take a read: This post is one of my favorites. And I’m not even going to say “Help me wish my friend a happy birthday by reading his blog.” Instead, do yourself a favor and start reading. He’s really damn good.

I love you, Tim. Soon enough our Echo Park X-box playing will be a reality.

I recently posted a photo to Facebook of an Aveda toning spray that was really soothing to spray on my bald head. Shortly after I posted the photo, I got a comment from Lori Dorn, a writer who has been going through cancer treatment for some time now, telling me that putting aloe onto my scalp feels good and helps the hair grow back more quickly.

At the same time, I got a message from a friend whose mother is about to start chemotherapy treatments thanking me for the tip. So, I figure, if I need to go through this, and countless other people will be going through this, why not start keeping track of some of the things that are helping me not feel so fucking terrible while I go through treatment?

Every once in a while, I’ll post one of these. And if you have any tips, please comment, or email me at NikolHasler at Gmail so I can try this stuff myself.

This week:

The problem? My head burns.

The skin feels nasty to the touch, like the skin of an elderly rhino, and it’s cold, but somehow it manages to burn at the same time.

The solution:

Spraying this stuff all over it:

The ingredients include rose water and peppermint, making it smell all sorts of pleasant and soft, too. I remember that I got this as a part of a full face care package while I was pregnant with Pelham, which does makes me wonder if I should get the cleanser and lotion as well.

The problem? My skin is itchy!

I guess it’s the radiation, which causes skin changes, especially in the areas being radiated. But some nights I finally get warm and calm enough to sleep, and then my skin starts to feel like I’m sleeping at Bed, Bug, and Beyond. (Thanks, Dan, that joke always makes me smile.)

The solution:

Okay, this one is going to need a whole lot of solutions. I’ve been trying everything. But, at least when I am in the bathtub, this stuff works really well:

Neutrogena

And it doesn’t smell strong or like someone’s grandmother’s bathroom. It’s clean and fresh smelling. And so soft and smooth. I have been using a soft sponge I got at CVS to apply it and scrub. Gentle and nice, and providing a few minutes of relief.

The problem? I’m super hungry, and super barfy.

So, the chemo makes me barf pretty frequently, which not only exhausts me, but also embarrasses me and makes me nervous about going out in public. Like, I don’t want to be person horking at The Laugh Factory. Stand up comedians are insecure enough. But the prednisone I take (the P in R-CHOP) as a part of the chemo makes me hungry and causes weight gain. Unfair, isn’t it?

The solution?

(I mean, of course, other than weed.)

Here’s what we’ve got. Miyasaka Instant Miso in Spinach flavor, Yehuda Matzo, and Command Nutrimax Banana Instant CereOats. This has become my lunch and often my dinner. Nutritionally, I get

• 240 calories
• 2 g fat
• 48 g carbs
• 11 g protein

And I also get 57% of the iron I need, which is a big deal, because all this stuff tends to make a bit anemic, and iron supplements are hard to keep down.

And now? I ask you for a tip!

My mouth has been dry and I have that super thick spit like it’s the leftover oatmeal juice in the bottom of the bowl. What’s the best way to keep my mouth un-gunked for a long period of time? Looking forward to hearing your suggestions.

About a year and a half ago I was diagnosed with NHL, specifically Diffuse Large B-Cell lymphoma. At that time it was all spleen-central, and they took out my spleen, and all seemed fantastic, except for not having a spleen.

For those of you being all “Pfft. Spleen. What does a spleen even do?”, well, you’d be surprised. Your spleen isn’t sitting there playing cards with your appendix and watching soap operas. The spleen is a busy little hub of the lymphatic system, kind of screening out the big stuff before it gets sent any further. So, not having a spleen has meant I have gotten sick easier. If you have had a cold in the last year and half, I’ve gotten it from you, even if you live in stupid far-away-from-me places. (I’m looking at you, Wisconsin.)

But the thing about lymphoma is that you’re pretty likely to come down with a case of the cancer more than once. And this time around, there was no spleen to take care of the dirty work, so it’s all R-CHOP and radiation for this gal.

And now I’m bald and I have a rash on my head, and holy balls, you guys, I am really damn tired, and barfy, and my bones hurt really bad. I also noticed a marked increase in my complainy-ness.

But, I’ve been closed mouthed about this, and here’s why. YOU! PAY ATTENTION! I’ve been quiet about this becaaaaauuuuuse…

• If I get one single (((((((((hug))))))))))) about this, I might scream. I know you mean well, and you can’t hug me in person, and you want to send positive thoughts and all of that, and I swear I’m trying to be positive myself. But please, please, don’t bracket hug me. The cancer is making me feel pitiful enough. Which brings me to…
• I don’t want anyone to treat me differently. Don’t laugh harder at some lame joke, or look at me with those eyes you make when you look at a person who is sick. Don’t treat me like I’m sick. Beeeecauuuuuuse…
• I don’t want every conversation to be about cancer. I know, you want to know what’s up. You’re concerned. And know what? I’ll totally talk about it when I need to talk about it, and I promise you that if there is anything to tell you, I will tell you. Becaaaaaauuuuuse…
• I’m scared, too.

Most of the time I am keenly aware that I am kind of a larger than life person. Sounds a bit ego maniacal, but I am aware that I have had an extraordinary life, and that my life has impacted other people and will continue to do so. That’s no small thing. I have so much to accomplish, and I know know know that cancer isn’t going to kill me or stop me.

But sometimes I’m still scared, because I am human, and it’s hard not to be. So, if I’m not talking your head off about whatever phase I am at in my treatment, it might be that I need to process it before I can open my mouth. Wait for me. You know I’ll come around.

And yeah, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you personally. Don’t take it to heart. Get mad if you need to, but, honestly, how can you stay mad at me? I have cancer. That’d be rude as hell, yo.

So, look forward to me cracking jokes and posting photos of my disgusting skull soon enough. Much love to all of the people in my life. I know I don’t make stuff easy sometimes. Too bad. Quit your whining and make me a sandwich.

I don’t mean to brag, because normally I let other people do that for me, but right now my dad is in stupid Wisconsin, and I can’t fly him out here every damn time I want him to stand in a room and tell people how damned great I am. Plus, he’s old as hell, so people are like, “Whoa. Guess it was bring your WalMart greeter to the networking party day.” Anyway, thanks to my dad living far away and being old, I guess I’m going to have to be the one who pins up my accomplishments on the giant refrigerator of life. This refrigerator better have some decent leftovers inside. I’m a bit of a night eater.

This is to apologize to my dad for calling him old and to endear me to you. Our band is called “Country and Rap”. Hire us to play music for you when you’re drunk.

Anyway, being “freelance”, or as some jerks call it “Got No Job”, or as I call it when I am filling out a weekly form, “unemployed”, that means I have to spend a lot of time thinking about what exactly I’m good at. I even made a list. I’m exceptionally good at list making, by the way. Unfortunately, the stuff I am good at doesn’t always naturally (or legally) translate into me having a job. Even some of the whacky shit people hire other people to do in Hollywood is harder to come by than you think. You can’t just walk into Howie Mandell’s house and offer to wash his hands for him. I know. I tried.

One of the things I’m really good at is the thing where you write about the stuff in your head which is the stuff you think about the things you see and do and hear. That last sentence is a perfect example. I don’t know how I churn out such sensicle bits of amazing, but they flow out of me like mixed metaphors out of a unicorn diamond fountain. I’m telling you guys, I write good.

And I regularly find myself writing for free, only it’s not for free. My payment comes in the form of thumbs ups, or people rating my Yelp reviews. I’ve got, like 35 “Funny” ratings on Yelp, and I’m not even trying. Also, I’ve been reviewing music and comedy for AV Club, Beatweek, and LA Record for years now. Also, at age 8, I wrote a compelling letter to the Kellogg’s people regarding the quality of their in-box toys, which did not come pre-stickered, leaving those of us children with shaky hands to apply our own stickers and face the painful thunder of a million playground bitches mocking our slightly askew sticker jobs. That letter resulted in a whole box of pre-stickered toys, and a letter signed by Tony the Tiger.* In any case, I am rather certain that it was my stellar writing that got my message across.

So, since I’m already writing for free, and since I have a bit more time on my hands lately, I’ve decided that I’m going to start filling the world with more of my reviews. Hey, if I’m not working for anyone in particular, that means I can say whatever the hell I want, however I want to say it, and gradually build up more samples of my writing that will either cause people to hire me, or be used against me when my children have me committed.

What you got for me internet? You got a business you opened, a product you’re selling, a music you made, a book you wrote, or a sandwich for me? I like all of those things, you know? So, get in touch. Reach out. And if you don’t, whatever. I’m still going to be here, writing on the internet, until some anti-piracy act makes me stop. Stay tuned for some reviews, y’all.

*As I write this, I am wondering how the hell a tiger, with such huge, furry paws, was able to place those stickers with such precision.

So, Tim came over to my house to help me with a few episodes of So, What Did We Learn? And I may possibly have usable footage for that. But I also have a ton of other footage, and so… Coming soon. Tim & Nikol. We’re Sorry.

Warning- NSFW  and if you care deeply about maintaining an idea that I am a rather wholesome lady, just don’t click play.

Good morning everyone! I trust the day finds you all well. I don’t mean to be overly emotive, but it’s been a fairly exciting morning over here at my house. I woke around 10, which seemed a bit early for a Saturday, but something was keeping me from sleeping. I had a special feeling about the day. So, I went to the bathroom, made my coffee, and took a look at my inbox. Well, you know how people are always talking about how you should trust your intuition? I quickly found out why I was feeling the belly flutters.

That’s right. American Golf is interested in me. Amy, you’re an angel. Your golden hair and your winning smile in combination with your incredible perception for matching me with the right job make you an enviable goddess whose visage ought grace a postage stamp. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and you alone hold the key to revitalizing our damaged economy. You ought to be appointed the new Secretary of Labor immediately. And so, indebted to Amy for finding me this position, I wrote back to her.

And also, in acknowledgement of her hard work on my behalf, it would have been a slap in the face to not jump at the job opening she found for me. And so, I applied. My cover letter:

Dear American Golf,

I’m sending you my resume because Amy, over at Career Builder, said that you would be interested in me. If you know Amy as well as I do, you’ll know that she’s pretty spot on when she figures out who would be a good match. After all, she did base her recommendation on my experience and qualifications.

While I have never in my entire life done anything even remotely related to accounting, I have a really good feeling about this. I’m sure someone from your team can explain all of that to me. I do have a son in 8th grade, so I could use his Algebra books as a resource whenever a big report is coming up.

I look forward to hearing back from you and setting up my office. What are your policies on decorating, by the way? I once worked at a place that didn’t allow us to bring our own rugs. That just doesn’t work for me. If your company has any sort of rug policy, I feel like we should discuss that up front.

Best, Nikol

So, fingers crossed, everyone. By this time next week, I may be gainfully employed as a Staff Accountant for American Golf. Dreams actualized. All thanks to Amy.

Over the years, having moved as frequently as I did, Christmas was always something totally different. For those first years my mother was married to a Jehova’s Witness, so Christmas didn’t exist. By the time I got into Kindergarten we were celebrating, but we were poor, so Christmas meant weird jello from a cart at the soup kitchen, and picking up our “angel tree” gifts from Walmart. I don’t remember ever thinking about anything I wanted for Christmas during that time. I didn’t know that wanting things was an option.

Then there were the years of laying in bed on my belly, feet kicked up behind me and a marker with it’s cap all chewed poised in my hand and I turned the pages of the massive Sears catalog. I would limit myself to five things, thinking that if I circled more than five, I would be punished by karma for being a greedy pig, so I spent hours making small dots next to the things that I wanted, slowly reviewing and determining what I wanted the most. I remember that I got one of the things on my list one year, a Cabbage Patch Preemie doll, but most of all I had wanted…

Glamour!

When I was nine I went into foster care right before Christmas. In the abruptness of the move, I no longer had my clothes, my books, or my favorite tapes to listen to. So I had learned that it was best to want something small enough that I could keep it close to me. That year, what I really wanted was…

Avon Faux Pearl Necklace

But then I got older, and moved more, eventually ending up in Edgar County Children’s Home, where we could make lists of the things we wanted so long as they were able to be purchased at K-Mart. Used to using Suave hair care products before they were doing knock-offs of the good stuff, the number one item on my list was…

Pantene Pro-V Conditioner

A few Christmases later I was still at The Home, and I seriously liked this guy, Patrick, and each day I would rush home after school to call him. We had a payphone in the hallway at the home, and it took nickels. I would call him, and each ten minutes I would need to deposit another five cents. So, that year, I only put one item on my list. It was…

Nickels! And Lots Of Them

I never got the Nickles, by the way. I do remember getting a framed picture of Marilyn Monroe with a note on the back telling me that I should try to have a less tragic life than she had. But a few years and a few homes later, I was living in a Jewish foster home. So, I got to experience Hanukkah. And that year, I remember that the gift I wanted most of all was…

Red Doc Martens!

As an adult, I’ve had a mixed bag of years, from many years of people pulling together to make sure the kids and I had a great Christmas, to the years of getting iMacs and ceramic knives, to years of being happiest to get phone calls, pajamas, and socks.

And this year came on me quickly, barely noticed because the seasons don’t change all that much here in LA. Life is good, and for the most part I’m content with the things I do and don’t have. I’m no longer at a place where I feel guilty wanting things, but I’m not crying in my Christmas oatmeal because I didn’t get them.

But there is one thing I really want this year, and it’s a really big thing to want. This year, the thing I want more than anything is to be able to express to every person I’ve ever had in my life, however briefly, is that I’m thinking of you. I love you. And you have all made this season mean more to me than I can express. I am so fortunate that I had the life I had, because where there isn’t tradition, there is a culmination of rich memories, making it possible to move forward knowing that there were so many people who gave me their time, and shared their Holidays with me.

Merry Christmas, everyone. If I forgot to tell you this, I love you.

Dear Santa,

So, first I wanted to say that I am still confused about the time when I was a kid and you brought Stanley Bean some presents, and we even saw a news report telling us that you were in the area. You’ll recall that on Christmas Eve of that year my brother and I spent our time caroling at a nursing home, and because I figured you’d want me to be extra damn awesome, I even let that one really scary woman who reminded me of a Skeksies touch my face. I was frightened, Santa, but I knew I needed to act right.

The thing about Stanley Bean is that he never ever brushed his teeth. He was a pretty rotten kid, and he got in trouble at school all the time. So, it was confusing to me when, come Christmas morning, despite the fact that I was so fucking well behaved that I regularly got three M&Ms for good behavior while my classmates got two, you didn’t give me a damn thing. Maybe the M&Ms were my year long gift, like playing annuity in the lottery, but had I been presented with the option I would have chosen a Mr. Microphone and some brand name cereal.

I’m grown up and aware that Stanley had a difficult home life, which caused him to act out at school to try to get attention. I don’t begrudge him the Christmas presents he got. However, I do feel like you owe me a few.

I would like very much, Santa, to be in amazing shape by March. I got some free personal training recently, and it occurs to me that I would benefit greatly from having the face of a trainer in front of my, begging to be punch, in order to motivate me to keep my shit together and do 20 reps instead of- well, instead of no reps at all.

And it’s not just for me, Santa. I want this for you, too. I want you to not have to make your elves knit me larger sweaters, and I want you to stop all of your fretting over my health. Plus, if you do this, I will totally send you pictures of me in a bathing suit. I’ll send them in an envelope that says “Heating Bill” so Mrs. Clause doesn’t get nosy.

What do you say? Help me get in shape? Wouldn’t it make you so happy to see me happy?

Holiday Best,

Nikol

Job hunting makes it sound so much more adventurous than it really is, you guys. I don’t get to carry a gun or wear an orange cap. I don’t race through the jungle tracking the blood of potential jobs. Instead, I poke around the internet looking for something that looks like it fits well with my “skill-set” and “wheel-house” and other hyphenated terms.

And this also means I need to get better at job interviews. I may be pretty good at first dates, but this is a different game. If things start to get uncomfortable, and I wink at someone or do that little head thing I do where I angle and make my eyes get all anime starry, chances are I’m just going to weird people out.

So, wish me luck. Here goes. And if anything amusing happens along the way, I’ll let you know all about it.