create_destiny: (sewing circle)
So, I'm sitting at my desk at work when my co-worker/friend walks up to me and hands me a hand-written letter. "Read this," she says, "it will put your life in perspective." I read the letter and it's from a 12 year old girl who has leprosy. She's asking our company for school money. I hand the letter back to my co-worker/friend and say, "I think I'll go wash my hands now."

So I'm lathering my hands and arms up to my elbows like a doctor about to perform surgery and I start to panic.

I mean, What the Hell, Man?!? You don't just give an unsuspecting borderline germaphobe a letter hand-written by somebody with leprosy!!!

I tell another co-worker to google "leprosy" because I was just possibly exposed to it and he reads aloud to me from the World Health Organization website, "The exact mechanism of transmission of leprosy is not known."

Great. It's through hand-written letters, i just know it.

I wiped my hands, arms and my entire desk and keyboard with Clorox wipes. This chick is my best Chico girl, but I was tempted to call HR on her ass!

I snorted a couple of lines of powdered bleach and I'm hoping for the best. Unfortunately I won't know whether or not I have it for 3 - 30 years, because that's how long it can lie dormant in your body!

The google-guy reads a list of symptoms and I begin to feel each one as he describes it:

"Sensory loss is a typical feature of leprosy."

"Oh my God. I can't feel my face," I reply.

"And may be accompanied by a tingling sensation."

"My skin is buzzing!"

"You're very susceptible to suggestion, aren't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Those suffering from leprosy may also become euphoric and experience a heightened sense of well-being," he lies.

"I'm not susceptible to positive suggestion, though. Only negative ones."

Seriously, though. This happened and it's not okay.
create_destiny: (sewing circle)
I just dug out a bunch of Jeff Brunson's cartoons from a box in the closet and scanned some of the best ones. When he sent these to me he warned me that, "Some of these are kind-of sick, but a sick mind is a terrible thing to waste." Man, I'm telling you, these are classic.

comicstrips0003

comicstrips0007

Clickity-Click for More Hilarity!
create_destiny: (Default)
My good friend, Jeff Brunson of Ft. Wayne, Indiana passed away two days ago after a brief struggle with cancer. As far as I know he had only been diagnosed a couple of weeks ago. But the diagnosis was pretty bleak: cancer in his brain, his liver and his bones. He was only 44 years old.

Jeff Brunson 3 Jeff Brunson 1

Scanned photos of Jeff taken in the early 1990's--In our backyard with our new kitten & Manic journalist at work in our tiny apartment.

I met Jeff in 1990 when we were both poor college students. When he found out that I had a secret crush on him we started going out. He became my first "co-habitation boyfriend." We lived together for about 2 years until he morphed into the brother I never had and I had to end our relationship. It just felt too weird to make out with my brother. But we remained great friends. After I left Ft. Wayne, he stayed in contact with my folks and would bring his new girlfriends to their house for BBQs and euchre.

But man, the times we had when we were together were some of the best in my life. Protests, Grateful Dead shows, Pints of Ben & Jerry's Rain Forest Crunch and The Simpsons on a Sunday night.

Read more... )
create_destiny: (wreck slow)
My good friend, [livejournal.com profile] dietcokehed and I took her twin kids to a "Chocolate Festival" today. Here's what her kids looked like after they ate a chocolate raspberry truffle:



As we were pushing her kids around the festival in the stroller, people were gushing over their chocolate-covered cuteness and we almost caused a cuteness riot.

Afterwards we went to a Mexican restaurant and her kid Nick really dug the nacho cheese:


I've dipped my hand in nacho cheese sauce too, but I was on hallucinogenics at the time. I don't know what this kid's excuse is.
create_destiny: (Default)
I told my klutzy-even-when-sober friend, Beth, that we would be camping in a rocky, primitive area. I told her that we would have to transport all the camping gear down a steep, dirt hill. I mentioned this several times as well as my fear that she would fall and hurt herself in this terrain. What I should have said is, "Bitch, if you love me, you best bring appropriate rocky-hill-climbing shoes or I'll have a continual anxiety attack that no amount of alcohol can suppress." I should have said this repeatedly. I should have screamed it in her ear every time we spoke on the phone in the days preceding our much anticipated camping trip because she brought and wore these:

P10100221

This is a photo of the dirt road we travelled to get to the prized campsite:

P10100741


Read more... )
create_destiny: (Default)

My friend C.C. came for the weekend with her son "Binkie."

Eight more pics behind the cut )
create_destiny: (sunshine)
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This is a picture I took of Bertram and Bene Torres last year at 20th Street Park in Chico. I used to baby-sit for these guys.

In this picture Bertram (the one in the foreground) is a few months shy of sixteen and his brother, Bene (standing in the background) is, I believe, twenty-one. When I first started babysitting for them in 1996, Bertram was eight years old and Bene was twelve. As a seventh grader, Bene was not thrilled about having a babysitter in the house, but Bertram was too young to be insulted by the idea. In fact, he thought I was the bee’s knees and I thought he was, too. Still do.

Read more... )
create_destiny: (Default)
My friend Kris and I decided to ditch her non-sufficient-funds-causing "husband" and run away to Fort Bragg for some ocean therapy. This, apparently, is what financially responsible people do in order to prevent the awful ripping of a "new poop-chute", shall we say, for bad boyfriends. Being somewhat financially irresponsible myself, I only learned this yesterday.

We took her twin babies with us and they were pretty good for most of the trip, so we got lucky in that department.

Throughout the day, I suffered numerous bouts of hiccups, which prompted me to tell the story of my Mexican co-worker, Azucena: the Hiccup Curer, which, dear readers, I shall now share with you.

Read more... )

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