Frobi made the observation that funeral homes and stuff like that keep cropping up in my posts, and he's absolutely right. I may not have explained why, at least not all in one place, so I will now.
Pay attention. I'm only going to do this 50 or 60 more times.
In the small town I grew up in, my family acted as the caretakers of the local pioneer cemetery. We really did know where all the bodies were buried.
Most summer Sundays found the whole extended group of us there, mowing, arguing, scrubbing tombstones free of moss, clearing away faded arrangements and repairing vandalism.
These are very happy memories. My grandmother was always there with her gardening butcher knife in one hand and her clippers in the other. We'd drag in a huge white sheet filled with fresh flowers from her garden and we'd decorate everyones' marker with them. Our people first, of course.
It was always a beautiful day. The place was filled with enormous, glorious flowering trees and shrubs of all descriptions which grew with the kind of rank vigor that I've only seen vegetation in Oregon's climate exhibit. Hummingbirds were everywhere, bees everywhere, and robins nested in the decorative finials topping the tallest stones. Sometimes deer cropped the grass and watched us.
Because many times families could not afford a stone at the time of burial, it was common to mark a grave with a distinctive plant. Some of the plots were perfect small garden rooms in themselves, planted with cypress and cedar and yew and box, all symbols of everlasting life.
The Infant's Garden overlooked the valley. Small white lambs slept atop many of the stones. The saddest one bore an empty nest in a wreath of marble ivy. I always decorated their graves first, and was certain that this cheered them up. My grandmother aided and abetted this by sneaking live trilliums from the edges of the woods and transplanting them atop the little plots so there would always be a beautiful flower on each one every spring.
Thanks to this experience, graveyards hold no terror or icky fascination for me; no more than any other over-decorated park or garden might. In fact some of the best head I've ever
never mind.
Because my adopted parents were also quite a bit older than average, I spent a greater than average amount of time at rest homes, hospitals and attending funerals.
Hospitals back then were pretty grim places for a little kid, what with the low lights and whispering and the smell of Lysol and boiled food. And as far as the 'rest homes' go, let me tell you - back then your average rest home was a Dickensian nightmare. They reeked of urine and mildew, and I mean stank DOWN THE STREET. I've described in other places being a child, standing next to the beds of people so shrunken by age and disease that they were translucent, people covered in stained dressings who seemed to be dissolving, people black with cancer, or literally rotting away with bedsores...people hung with tubes attached to machines that exited directly into open buckets on the floor.
All this made a lasting impression on me. It also made me immune to the 'romance' of death, praise Jesus!
When you spend as much time as I do dog- sick, you have a lot of time to worry about your mortality. When you throw clinical depression into the mix, you get a degree of worry that fades from indigo to utter black. That's not so much of a problem for me these days. But I tell you what, when I'm feeling like shit, sometimes dying still scares me.
Being scared pisses me off. Being pissed off and scared makes me want to stop being pissed off and scared. The way to do that is to learn about what's scaring you and pissing you off. So I learn. And you know what? Dead shit is interesting.
I have had a really strange life. It's made me a really strange person. Really strange, and really brave, and really partially informed about a whole hell of a lot of really different things.
I like that pretty well.
Welcome to my blog.
Friday, April 27, 2007
reality: it's not a pretty picture
All arguments that deal with THE BIG QUESTIONS tend to fall apart at the very beginning...when the hard math people are advancing towards the English majors' line, both of them slinging Reason just as hard as they can back and forth across the barbed wire.
Isn't that presuming that the universe conforms to order?
Do you really think that?
Grow up.
"Oh, no problemo!" both sides chirrup. "Subjectivity doesn't count! It's not quantifiable."
Arch chuckles all 'round.
One weeps.
Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy? We could just all plug our ears and sing real loud until stuff we can't explain and can't make fit into our arguments just goes away?
But that irrational, chaotic, unpredictable stuff just keeps on being there, doesn't it.
You know why?
That static? That will-of-the-wisp, here and gone frisson?
That's reality, kids.
Reality is the note which still hangs in the air after the string has been plucked.
...Unless I'm wrong.
_______________________________
.......with great big honkin' props to the bravest woman on the internet, Chaucers' Bitch, and her Brave New Blog, Question: Everything!
Think you're bad?
GO THERE NOW.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
some happy thoughts
I've been sick a lot in the past few weeks. As a consequence of this, you could say germs are kind of on my mind at the moment.
Let's say you have your choice of any residence at all. Would you choose to move into a toxic waste site?
No? So then tell me what the blessed fuck are you doing when you move into an old mortuary?
We're watching 'If Walls Could Talk' this evening (a show about people who move into old properties and the interesting things they find) when along comes this segment on some dorkus maligni who did just that. Oh, this dipshit was just tickled to death with himself, too. 'I was looking for an old creepy house. Haunted was a plus,'* he cheerfully explains to the camera as it pans around the painstakingly restored Victorian interior. 'That's why I moved into this old funeral home.'
You stupid sack of shit.
I've already done a cutting edge, in-depth post on the scandals of the modern-day funeral industry, and if I knew how to do backlinks I would because it was totally cool in a far-out and happening way. Anyway take it from me, things are bad in the dearly departed trade. And if things are bad now, do you really think standards were any higher back before there was such as thing as a public health department?
Let's say the funeral parlor in question was in a city and let's say the place was actually hooked up to what passed for a municipal sewer system back then. First off, there was no treatment plant...the guck ran down from homes and communities into brick tunnels and from there straight into the nearest creek, river or bay. Period.
Here on the West Coast, the sewer pipes (and the water pipes) were made from bevelled wooden staves, or hollowed out logs, all fitted together in sequence like a kid's castle made of soda straws. These things leaked. They were made to leak; it was a materials allowance for freeze and thaw movement.
Now let's put aside the whole issue of waste for a moment. I won't even go into what lives on the walls of a constantly wet wooden sewer pipe laying in the dirt anyway, OK? Let alone what lives on in the surrounding soil, or for how long.
Notice, so far I'm being generous. I'm assuming an urban setting, and I'm assuming indoor plumbing, however rudimentary.
Back before the days of the u-bend, the drains and supply lines all stank of methane and ammonia, bugs and germs colonized them, and Frobisher used them as a convenient hiking trail to go from house to store to dump to brothel to hospital to tavern to funeral parlor to restaurant. Even then, drainpipes and plumbing were a huge health hazard, and a well-known one. When the plumbing was upgraded, it was common practice to leave the old stuff in place, along with the surrounding contaminated soil, because it was too much of a health hazard to move. And there that shit still lays. Full of Christ knows what.
Now here in the Northwest, on a geological structure that percs efficiently, that could well be nothing at all after all these years of bioactivity and all the intervening rainfall. And in the case of a farmhouse, once again; little or nothing....or possibly huge amounts of arsenic and strychnine, both regularly dumped down drains to prevent pests, both common poisons. In the case of a funeral home, add mercury, formaldehyde, arsenic, alum, sulphur...just about any weird damn thing you can think of...all used by the walloping bucketload for preserving the dead before embalming practices were standardised.
And here's the cherry on top: those wacky Victorians didn't have electricity. And come summertime, unrefrigerated dead bodies tend to get rather...squitty. Sometimes explosively so. And even in cooler seasons you had logging accidents, burns, gas gangrene, cancer... If there were leftovers, trust me- those didn't go into a high-temperature furnace. The area in which the bodies were prepared was not hosed down with live steam, or soaked with chlorine, or even burnt out with wood alcohol. They were mopped with hot water and lye soap. If that.
Say! How often do you think Katy thought to swab the ceiling?
All the fluids and by-products either went right down those same drains, or went right into the outhouse or 'cess' pit nearby. Usually WAY TOO NEARBY. In fact, 'nearby' often meant 'located directly under the foundations of the house'. To percolate into the soil. And maybe into the water supply.**
So here comes Dick Dumbass with his 'Oh it's so cool to live in an old funeral home with all the ghosts! Oh, let's all hang out down in the embalming chamber, woo, won't that be fun?
Yeah. Right up until you get cholera, shithead.
_____________________________________
*I am not even going to go near the subject of ghosts, which are not real and do not exist. Can you imagine the swarms of outraged departed that must be oozing around in the dark in a place like that with their faces all hanging out going 'wooooo'? Yeah, I'd sleep there. And wake up with 'die human die' written in fresh blood running down my bedroom wall; no, I don't think so. Good thing ghosts don't exist.
**One of the grossest things I've ever seen is the 'Woodlawn' cemetery in Belfern. It is a pioneer cemetery, full of sodden wood coffins and people pickled in arsenic and mercury, or leaking out through lead lined caskets long since invaded by tree roots. It sits on a small rise next to an old stage stop...and between the two locations runs a creek.
To this day, all the nearby area residents still take their water from the rural water association well.
Let's say you have your choice of any residence at all. Would you choose to move into a toxic waste site?
No? So then tell me what the blessed fuck are you doing when you move into an old mortuary?
We're watching 'If Walls Could Talk' this evening (a show about people who move into old properties and the interesting things they find) when along comes this segment on some dorkus maligni who did just that. Oh, this dipshit was just tickled to death with himself, too. 'I was looking for an old creepy house. Haunted was a plus,'* he cheerfully explains to the camera as it pans around the painstakingly restored Victorian interior. 'That's why I moved into this old funeral home.'
You stupid sack of shit.
I've already done a cutting edge, in-depth post on the scandals of the modern-day funeral industry, and if I knew how to do backlinks I would because it was totally cool in a far-out and happening way. Anyway take it from me, things are bad in the dearly departed trade. And if things are bad now, do you really think standards were any higher back before there was such as thing as a public health department?
Let's say the funeral parlor in question was in a city and let's say the place was actually hooked up to what passed for a municipal sewer system back then. First off, there was no treatment plant...the guck ran down from homes and communities into brick tunnels and from there straight into the nearest creek, river or bay. Period.
Here on the West Coast, the sewer pipes (and the water pipes) were made from bevelled wooden staves, or hollowed out logs, all fitted together in sequence like a kid's castle made of soda straws. These things leaked. They were made to leak; it was a materials allowance for freeze and thaw movement.
Now let's put aside the whole issue of waste for a moment. I won't even go into what lives on the walls of a constantly wet wooden sewer pipe laying in the dirt anyway, OK? Let alone what lives on in the surrounding soil, or for how long.
Notice, so far I'm being generous. I'm assuming an urban setting, and I'm assuming indoor plumbing, however rudimentary.
Back before the days of the u-bend, the drains and supply lines all stank of methane and ammonia, bugs and germs colonized them, and Frobisher used them as a convenient hiking trail to go from house to store to dump to brothel to hospital to tavern to funeral parlor to restaurant. Even then, drainpipes and plumbing were a huge health hazard, and a well-known one. When the plumbing was upgraded, it was common practice to leave the old stuff in place, along with the surrounding contaminated soil, because it was too much of a health hazard to move. And there that shit still lays. Full of Christ knows what.
Now here in the Northwest, on a geological structure that percs efficiently, that could well be nothing at all after all these years of bioactivity and all the intervening rainfall. And in the case of a farmhouse, once again; little or nothing....or possibly huge amounts of arsenic and strychnine, both regularly dumped down drains to prevent pests, both common poisons. In the case of a funeral home, add mercury, formaldehyde, arsenic, alum, sulphur...just about any weird damn thing you can think of...all used by the walloping bucketload for preserving the dead before embalming practices were standardised.
And here's the cherry on top: those wacky Victorians didn't have electricity. And come summertime, unrefrigerated dead bodies tend to get rather...squitty. Sometimes explosively so. And even in cooler seasons you had logging accidents, burns, gas gangrene, cancer... If there were leftovers, trust me- those didn't go into a high-temperature furnace. The area in which the bodies were prepared was not hosed down with live steam, or soaked with chlorine, or even burnt out with wood alcohol. They were mopped with hot water and lye soap. If that.
Say! How often do you think Katy thought to swab the ceiling?
All the fluids and by-products either went right down those same drains, or went right into the outhouse or 'cess' pit nearby. Usually WAY TOO NEARBY. In fact, 'nearby' often meant 'located directly under the foundations of the house'. To percolate into the soil. And maybe into the water supply.**
So here comes Dick Dumbass with his 'Oh it's so cool to live in an old funeral home with all the ghosts! Oh, let's all hang out down in the embalming chamber, woo, won't that be fun?
Yeah. Right up until you get cholera, shithead.
_____________________________________
*I am not even going to go near the subject of ghosts, which are not real and do not exist. Can you imagine the swarms of outraged departed that must be oozing around in the dark in a place like that with their faces all hanging out going 'wooooo'? Yeah, I'd sleep there. And wake up with 'die human die' written in fresh blood running down my bedroom wall; no, I don't think so. Good thing ghosts don't exist.
**One of the grossest things I've ever seen is the 'Woodlawn' cemetery in Belfern. It is a pioneer cemetery, full of sodden wood coffins and people pickled in arsenic and mercury, or leaking out through lead lined caskets long since invaded by tree roots. It sits on a small rise next to an old stage stop...and between the two locations runs a creek.
To this day, all the nearby area residents still take their water from the rural water association well.
TINY COWS
The road to hell is paved with naked mole rats. Which is in no way germane to the following, although it IS something you should bear in mind.The thing most people fail to realize is how many of our present environmental and social problems can be traced back to tiny cows.
The North American Tiny Cow, seen here at 3x magnification.Tiny cows were introduced into this country early in the 1930's in a misguided effort to prevent homosexuality in Midwestern tent caterpillars. Unfortunately no one was ready for the horrible, frenzied miscegenation which ensued, culminating in a tide of nocturnal, winged bovine-insect hybrids. These hordes were ultimately responsible for the Great Blackout of North Dakota.
Hordes of freshly-metamorphosed cow-moth hybrids burst forth, new-born from the canvas enclosures of their attending parent-caterpillars, pausing only to devour them in their lust for nourishment, and, spreading wings still damp with fluids, set out in search of electrical current in order to fuel further unspeakable and unguessed-at growth.
Bloated with electricity, the Tiny cow waits, brooding, pregnant with menace, as internal organs metamorphose into arcane and extranormal variationsEmergency services, such as they were, were called in from seven states to aid the beleaguered Dakotans. Nobody knows how many millions of gallons of DDT were used, but the seething hordes of electricity-loving hybrids were finally drowned out, hunted back to the vast colonial swarms to which they retired to sleep.
Early attempts at one-on-one extermination, although personally satisfying, proved ultimately useless at stemming the spread of Tiny CowsMany public buildings in the Dakotas remain uninhabitable to this day, filled with the strange, translucent, empty carapaces of millions of tiny cow-moth hybrids, exoskeletons from which the vital ichor has dissolved, which rattle in the sand-filled winds which sweep the barren and dimly-litten midland plains.
Always ravenous, the Tiny Cow should never be approached without the proper safety gear.Still, small colonies of tiny cows remained. They were commonly discovered huddled in tiny, lowing clusters within the Bakelite housings of the telephones of the day, from which they ventured forth only to rent the use of pedal boats, hoping to blend in with other vacationing cattle.
However, unable to restrain their natural propensity to discard empty beer bottles via the 'burial at sea' method and then lean over and watch them sink, many tiny cows fell overboard and drowned, their tiny bovine carcasses clogging the intake grids of municipal water supply systems and irrigation pumps, the un-cowed pedal boats left to drift on the surface of the water, eerily motionless, cigarettes still burning, sandwiches left uneaten.
Left behind...waiting for a luncheon that never comes Today the tiny cow is found in all 50 contiguous United States and parts of Lower Mainland Canada. They are more of a nuisance than a threat, having been permanently mutated by repeated applications of DDT into a form incapable of interbreeding with moths.
However, people camping in remote wilderness regions have reported wakening in the night to the unspeakably horrible questing touch of hundreds of tiny cow hooves in the night, searching for ingress, probing the moist, vulnerable orifices of the slumbering, seeking to gently but insistently insinuate their tiny wriggling bodies between the tightly compressed lips of the assailed, who can only cower and hope for the coming of the day.
Infestation beginsThose who have failed to resist are immediately identifiable by their glassy stare and the hundreds of udderlike eruptions on their faces.
Few realize that Tom Waits' music career was tragically cut short by facial udders
At present the only treatment is isolation. Only the National Health Service knows how many formerly normal citizens now live hidden away from public view, forced to lactate anonymously for the common good in huge concrete edifices where they mill and low beneath the eternal flickering of fluorescent overhead lighting, dreading the cold and heartless ministrations of the mechanical milker.
Tammy W., spokeswoman for the Facial Lactation Prevention Council, says "Five thousand visitors to our Nations' parks last year found out the hard way. Facial Udder and Lactation Disorder (FULD) is PREVENTABLE."
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
guilt meme! UPDATED
Rock Mother has tagged me for a couple of memes now, and I forgot to do them, so when I saw this one on her (excellent) site I janked it.
Sorry I haven't been my usual hyperactive blogging and commenting self, but I've been sick. AGAIN. 24hr. flu bug this time. Lots of BUAAAK! HOOAHGHSPTPPLAT! BUAAARGHAK! and so forth. let me tell you what, I am awfully goddamn tired of being sick all the fucking time. Pfft; same shit, different day. At least it was raining.
So. Meme.
1. PICK OUT A SCAR YOU HAVE, AND EXPLAIN HOW YOU GOT IT.
Right across the pit of my throat I have a barely noticeable mark. Of ourse I notice it and to me it looks all bizzarre and sunken and scrotum-y. I had Graves disease and the thyroid gland had to be removed. If you ever want to lose 20 lbs fast, I highly recommend Graves Disease, although otherwise it sucked deep-fried doggie squattos. You get hypersensitive to cold and cannot abide even a slight breeze-it hurts! You itch like blazes. You can't descend even a short staircase because your joints are protesting every inch of the way.
Anyway. The doctor was a plastic surgeon, though, and did a fantastic job. Anyone else but me wouldn't even notice.
2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
Art. Lots of art. Some of my art, some prints, some vintage signs. Can't stand bare walls. Which is kind of counterindicated in a minimalist.
3. WHAT DOES YOUR PHONE LOOK LIKE?
Maroon Princess Landline in the front room and an oldschool Sony multifunction office model in the kitchen. I will not have a cellphone. We have one for travelling during emergencies, and I use it with all the enthusiasm of acondemned person sitting down to a tuna casserole with peas in it.
4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?
Ancient, classical, blues, all blues, Delta blues, jazz, alternative, Deep Blues, anything played by Glenn Gould, project Ars Nova, big band, 60's Motown, soul, R&B.
Nothing yodelly.
5. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT DESKTOP PICTURE?
My grandson scratching his butt.
6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?
Not. To. Be. Sick. AGAIN. EVER. And there's very goddamn little chance of that since my lungs are toast.
7. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GAY MARRIAGE?
Absolutely. I don't believe in marriage in general, is the thing.
8. WHAT TIME WERE YOU BORN?
9:am. Twas a lovely spring morning.
9. ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL TOGETHER?
I have no idea. If they're both alive, and Johnny Walker is still commonly available, probably yes.
10. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?
Myself type, and the local news on television in the background. Farm equipment going past, nesting robins.
11. DO YOU GET SCARED OF THE DARK?
Very, very rarely, if I'm tired.
12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?
Was a dog. Poor old taterman. I miss my Opie.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PERFUME?
Essential oils, please. Patchouli on me...jasmine is also good. There used to be a mens' cologne called 'Chaz' that had the power to make me follow the guy wearing it down the street.
Note: MEN! NEVER WEAR THE SAME AFTERSHAVE AS YOUR PARTNERS' FATHER! Because that's just GROSS.
14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOUR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?
Now this is just a goofyass question.
15. DO YOU LIKE PAIN KILLERS?
Oh hell yeah. My all-time favorite is sodium pentathol. Running a close second is whatever they gave me the last time I had my sinuses operated on. Oh my gracious YES. Valium is nice. The opiates, not so much.
16. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?
Goodness no. Nothing ventured nothing gained. People love it.
17. FAVE PIZZA TOPPING?
LOTS. With thick red sauce.
18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Nothing - I'm sick as a dog.
19. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?
BUSH KEEPS ME IN A CONSTANT STATE OF PISSED. other than that...? probably someone out on the road with a cellphone stuck in their ear.
UPDATE: OK, obviously I read that as 'made ME mad'. Fine. I have germs. Cry me a river. So. Last person I made mad? Probably the Stainless Steel Amazon. When she reads this she'll be pissed off at me AGAIN, making me right, only in the future. Which may be the past by the time she reads this AND by the time you read this too. Which still makes me right.
I realize this isnt' fair, but it's easy.
20. IS ANYONE IN LOVE WITH YOU?
Yes. Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Although that's probably more of a mental health issue on both our parts.
Sorry I haven't been my usual hyperactive blogging and commenting self, but I've been sick. AGAIN. 24hr. flu bug this time. Lots of BUAAAK! HOOAHGHSPTPPLAT! BUAAARGHAK! and so forth. let me tell you what, I am awfully goddamn tired of being sick all the fucking time. Pfft; same shit, different day. At least it was raining.
So. Meme.
1. PICK OUT A SCAR YOU HAVE, AND EXPLAIN HOW YOU GOT IT.
Right across the pit of my throat I have a barely noticeable mark. Of ourse I notice it and to me it looks all bizzarre and sunken and scrotum-y. I had Graves disease and the thyroid gland had to be removed. If you ever want to lose 20 lbs fast, I highly recommend Graves Disease, although otherwise it sucked deep-fried doggie squattos. You get hypersensitive to cold and cannot abide even a slight breeze-it hurts! You itch like blazes. You can't descend even a short staircase because your joints are protesting every inch of the way.
Anyway. The doctor was a plastic surgeon, though, and did a fantastic job. Anyone else but me wouldn't even notice.
2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
Art. Lots of art. Some of my art, some prints, some vintage signs. Can't stand bare walls. Which is kind of counterindicated in a minimalist.
3. WHAT DOES YOUR PHONE LOOK LIKE?
Maroon Princess Landline in the front room and an oldschool Sony multifunction office model in the kitchen. I will not have a cellphone. We have one for travelling during emergencies, and I use it with all the enthusiasm of acondemned person sitting down to a tuna casserole with peas in it.
4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?
Ancient, classical, blues, all blues, Delta blues, jazz, alternative, Deep Blues, anything played by Glenn Gould, project Ars Nova, big band, 60's Motown, soul, R&B.
Nothing yodelly.
5. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT DESKTOP PICTURE?
My grandson scratching his butt.
6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?
Not. To. Be. Sick. AGAIN. EVER. And there's very goddamn little chance of that since my lungs are toast.
7. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GAY MARRIAGE?
Absolutely. I don't believe in marriage in general, is the thing.
8. WHAT TIME WERE YOU BORN?
9:am. Twas a lovely spring morning.
9. ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL TOGETHER?
I have no idea. If they're both alive, and Johnny Walker is still commonly available, probably yes.
10. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?
Myself type, and the local news on television in the background. Farm equipment going past, nesting robins.
11. DO YOU GET SCARED OF THE DARK?
Very, very rarely, if I'm tired.
12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?
Was a dog. Poor old taterman. I miss my Opie.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PERFUME?
Essential oils, please. Patchouli on me...jasmine is also good. There used to be a mens' cologne called 'Chaz' that had the power to make me follow the guy wearing it down the street.
Note: MEN! NEVER WEAR THE SAME AFTERSHAVE AS YOUR PARTNERS' FATHER! Because that's just GROSS.
14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOUR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?
Now this is just a goofyass question.
15. DO YOU LIKE PAIN KILLERS?
Oh hell yeah. My all-time favorite is sodium pentathol. Running a close second is whatever they gave me the last time I had my sinuses operated on. Oh my gracious YES. Valium is nice. The opiates, not so much.
16. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?
Goodness no. Nothing ventured nothing gained. People love it.
17. FAVE PIZZA TOPPING?
LOTS. With thick red sauce.
18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Nothing - I'm sick as a dog.
19. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?
BUSH KEEPS ME IN A CONSTANT STATE OF PISSED. other than that...? probably someone out on the road with a cellphone stuck in their ear.
UPDATE: OK, obviously I read that as 'made ME mad'. Fine. I have germs. Cry me a river. So. Last person I made mad? Probably the Stainless Steel Amazon. When she reads this she'll be pissed off at me AGAIN, making me right, only in the future. Which may be the past by the time she reads this AND by the time you read this too. Which still makes me right.
I realize this isnt' fair, but it's easy.
20. IS ANYONE IN LOVE WITH YOU?
Yes. Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Although that's probably more of a mental health issue on both our parts.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
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