“Alright Tit”: a great reason to blog

I have no idea what the percentage of computer-literate, Internet-connected people who maintain blogs is, but it’s high enough so that most blogs are boring. A few people keep them because they are well-known entertainers, actors, and the like, and wish to make themselves and their personas more accessible to their fans. Many use them to describe the ins and outs of their favorite hobby, such as, oh, distance running. Most people use them more or less as public diaries, which is why so many of them are boring to everyone not already acquainted with the culprit. Some–and I won’t get into examples here–even blog seemingly just to shit on other bloggers.
Every once in a while I find a gem. This is usually the result of random hotlink hopscotching, and such was the case tonight when I discovered “Alright Tit,” the journal of a British woman who began undergoing treatment for breast cancer last year at age 28. IT is rare to see anyone write with such vigorous and wicked humor, but given her circumstances, Alright Tit’s attitude is disarmingly offbeat and unapologetic.
Here’s her “The one where it all began” entry:

From a lack of decent conversation and a curious tendency, my first (unsuitable) boyfriend and I fell into a routine of rarely speaking and instead using each other for experimentation. It didn’t always feel good and wasn’t always done right, but we were 15 and fed up and keen to impress our mates. One over-enthusiastic afternoon in an otherwise empty house, I somehow ended up with a hurt right nipple. How? God knows. But the subsequent few weeks were experimentation-free, while the far-from-attractive scab healed and, I suspect, my unsuitable boyfriend found someone else to experiment with.
13 years on, and I still silently blame this episode for my right boob being my least favourite. Not by a long chalk, mind – I’ve always been happy with my lot boobs-wise, and reckon that the few people who’ve seen them have been bloody lucky to do so – but we all play favourites, right? (Or left?)
And so today, I’d like to make an apology to my right breast. First off, for calling it a ‘breast’ just then. ‘Breast’ is just one of those words that I inexplicably hate, hence the inverted commas. (While we were engaged, I wouldn’t let P call me his ‘fiancee’ for precisely the same reason.)
But mostly, I’d like to apologise to my right boob (ah, infinitely better) for always preferring the left, when that’s the one that’s gone and got cancer.

She doesn’t mince words when it comes to the physical aspects of chemotherapy, nor does she resort to drama:

I found myself lying in bed with an embarrassingly musical arse and nagging constipation pains (a problem I’ve since resolved by breaking the World Prune Eating record), and wondering just how long it would be before I felt sexy again. And then I went to the toilet and (cue chip-pissing) looked down to discover that a handful of pubes had come out on the loo roll.

Not once that I can see has she strayed half a pace from humor, naked honesty, and hope, all packaged in fiery sarcasm and delivered in startling eruptions that invite readers to, well, care. And keep reading.
Lisa is planning to run a 5K in July to raise money for Cancer Research UK. Her fundraising goal is £2,000.00 (about $3,000); she’s currently a third of the way there. She’s never run a step before, so if you can’t drop a few clams her way, she could use some encouragement.
Enjoy. I never thought I would use this sentence, but this blog would be hilarious even without the cancer.