Dr. Evil is dead. Well, not actually "dead" per say. Just figuratively - not literally

There are about a billion different shades of purple. The best way to see them all? Check out my mom's arm.
Her final day of chemo turned out to be the most trying; there were just no more veins left in her arm for the nurses to stick needles in.
It took five - FIVE - different nurses prodding and pricking her arm before they managed to find a viable vein to juice her up. At the end of the day, her arm looked like it had gone 12 rounds with the California Raisins.
But she'd be the first to tell you that she's happy it's over. Chemo is done, and now she can get back to what is most important to her- growing her hair back.
I had a couple different nicknames for her the past couple months; it started out as Dr. Evil, but eventually morphed into the Evil Elf, because she insisted on wearing this black and purple toque with a little fuzzy dingleball on top. Just imagine what would happen if one of Santa's little helpers developed a serious meth problem, and you've pretty much got it nailed.
She even wrote a thank-you card, complete with a little picture of an evil elf, for the nurses. It was actually pretty hilarious watching their reaction to it, as there were times I'm sure she tested their patience.
Last time I went with my mom to the chemo ward at Royal Jubilee, I met a sweet old lady, and we ended up talking for hours. This time around, I met this wacky Quebecois lady who was telling us all about her kids.
Then she, and I'm not making this up, started doing the Souljah Boy dance to demonstrate how hip she was. (For those of you who don't know what it is, here's the instructional video. If you're white, have no rhythm, or your name is Miceail, don't attempt this dance, because you'll end up like these doucheb... err, guys.)

Seeing an old lady "crank it" and do the Superman while hooked up to a rolling IV was pretty funny, but it wasn't the highlight of my trip. That had to be seeing the Archer sisters again. Well, two-thirds of the Archer sisters, since I still haven't caught up with Cindy yet. (Why? Well... that's a good-ass question.)
The last time I saw Whitney, she wasn't even able to drive yet. In fact, she'd barely even acknowledged that she liked boys. Bear in mind that this is a girl who I've known since she was four years old, with lil braids and underoos. Now? Well, now she has breasts, drinks Porn Stars, is going to UVic and has a hockey-playing boyfriend named Jesse.



So, naturally, as I feel all paternal and ish, we had to go for a drink when I was there. It was a lot of fun catching up, and not once did I feel like:
a) I was super old. (I am)
b) She was super young. (she is)
c) Weird having a drink with someone the same age as people I date.
d) Upon reflection, ya maybe I did feel like that... lol

But it was good times. I tried to pull the ol' intimidating older brother routine when Jesse showed up, but by that time, the alcohol was flowing through my system and and couldn't help but be jolly. Dammit.

That was the first night - Evening No. 2 involved the middle sister, Amy, two bottles of wine and a whole lot of "you did WHAT?!"
I will not divulge the details here, but needless to say, Amy has developed an affinity for the bad boy. Bad boys who father more kids than Shawn Kemp. (That's a lot, for all you non-sports fans).
She does, as messed-up as her love life is, seem to have everything under control. Or, at least, a semblence of control.
Anyways, I'll probably see them both again - and maybe even Cindy .. hmmmm ... - when I head back to Vic for Christmas.

It's two days in Vic, leave on Xmas day, a quick ferry ride to White Rock, a turkey dinner, then back on the road again on Boxing day so I can make it to work for 4 p.m.

Love those holiday travels... bah!