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Sound;
Back Fat is back to work today and I get to listen to her wheeze
and call her doctors all freaking day.
Sight; Be
afraid! I am now the wielder of "Bun Magic." A 6 inch piece of plastic
that contorts my pitiful hair into a bun that distinctively resembles
a cat's pucker. It's an interesting look for me.
Taste; Just had a cobb salad for lunch.
Touch; My hair feels hard as a rock in the "Bun Magic."
Smell; I'm still congested.
January 18, 2000
It's Always Me, Me, Me...
I found this quiz
on Jessi's page. Welcome to the
end of your life. What is your name? And how would
you describe yourself? You are about
to begin your last 24 hours on the planet earth. Is there anything you'd
like to confess? Where will you
spend the last day of your life? Who will you have
sex with? What music will
you listen to? What Films will
you watch? What vices will
you indulge in? How would you
like to die? How would you
like your body disposed of? What do you expect
the afterlife to be like? How will you sell
yourself to Saint Peter?
Design, graphics
and writing (c)1999/2000 Harvest Designs unless otherwise stated.
These things go around like the flu every once in a while, and everytime
they do, I indulge.
Sarah
Guinn Sheppard.
The eye of the hurricane, surrounded by chaos but never affected by it.
The book that Lydia and I wrote in 7th grade for an english assignment,
which received an award and got us featured in a neighborhood magazine,
was completely plagiarized.
The house I grew up in, my father's house.
My husband, and the woman of his choice. Something I've always wanted
to do with him. It's something I've experienced on my own, before we were
together, and I know it would be sexual, but even more so it would be
fun. You should never take yourself too seriously, even in the bedroom.
I just know we'd be laughing at some of the positions we'd end up in.
It would be intimate between my husband and I, and pure lust with the
faceless woman involved. Best of both worlds.
The Pharcyde (for laughs and nostalgia.) The Anti-Heroes (for the same
reason.) Old Bosstones, English Beat, Boys for Pele, The Pogues, Ella
Fitzgerald, Mahalia Jackson, Lucious Jackson, classic Frank Sinatra.
Absolute Beginners (if you've never seen it, WATCH IT, great older movie
with a youngish David Bowie.) Half Baked. The Joy Luck Club. The Hunger.
The Matrix (still obsessed.) Goodfellas. Blade Runner. Reservior Dogs,
Four Rooms.
Chain smoking while drowing in Caribou Coffee Depth Charges, chased by
their Classic Cocoa. Mick's meatloaf and mashed potatos. Cardinal Zin
(best cabernet I've ever had, a tad expensive though, everyone should
try it.) My husbands sheppard pie, with yellow cake and chocolate icing
for desert. I should probably see how fast I could smoke an ounce too.
I've actually given this serious thought before, and this was my conclusion...blown
away in a huge explosion. No pain, no sense of the inevitable, no lingering,
no questions about how the body I left should be disposed of.
See above.
I believe that we're reabsorbed into a huge net of energy that is constantly
convulsing and writhing around everything in our scope of seeing. I think
that there is an awareness to this, but I don't beleive it's the same
type of awareness that we have now.
Show him some leg.