Look at me, I’m all bloggy or something, but this just cracked me up. I think it is proof that if you repeat the word ‘pork’ enough times, it becomes prime comedy.
Seriously. Pork. I crack myself up now. It’s almost (but not quite better) than the word poop. I think it’s because the word ‘pork’ doesn’t sound like something that should be eaten. It sounds more like a verb. Or it should describe the feeling when you come up from underwater and you have tons of pool water in your nose and you make that sound trying to get it out, but you can already taste it in the back of your throat. That’s pork. Right there.
All roads lead to pork. It kills me. It truly does. Sometimes I think I’m broken.
So I have this crazy feeling that I will be dying in the next couple of days. I don’t know why. I acknowledge that it is ridiculous, but everything has this weird finality to it. My sister called for no reason, thus I will die. Someone said ‘see you again some day’ instead of ‘see you later” so thus that means I’m going to die. My credit cards have no balances on them, thus I am worm food. The cat was being nice to me this morning because animals sense these things. My laundry is all done, so my family will undoubtedly have ample choices in which to dress me. (Make sure I’m wearing a Dayam!Bra, sis. No drooping corpse boobs for me.)
I’ve only had that feeling three times before in my life. Once before I left for college when I was eighteen, once before I left for England and now. It’s probably big trips that do it, although my college was only 90 miles away from Green Bay. I also had decided that Esteban was going to die two years ago when he went to Germany and Holland for some foreign computery thing. Gah. Must find my travel rune. Someone gave it to me when I went to England and it made me feel better. I have no idea where it is though. Hence, I will likely die.
Esteban was talking about someone we both detest the other day and he said ‘You know, I was thinking, if you died, when they come up to hug me at your funeral? I’m going to say ‘You know, Weetabix really loathed you’ because I think the look on their face would be the only thing that would give me some joy right then.’
We both agreed that it was a horrible thing and we were both horrible people but I made him promise that if I did indeed die, he should do exactly that. Because that would be gold, Jerry, gold.
This is just a reminder, sweetie. And don’t forget to feed the cat.
Now must go back to packing or I will be traipsing around SF in Birkenstocks, cargo shorts and a t-shirt all weekend. There are a plethora of entries down at the bottom of this screen if you’re a Monday through Friday reader, so mosey on down. And Mo and Jen? I hope I don’t die before we have our karaoke fiesta and replicate the Charlie’s Angels pose. Mwah.
