Thanksgiving

I'm not looking forward to Thursday. Thanksgiving. It's not a huge event, consisting of mother, twin, two farm workers, a client (my attorney), Little Dark Creature, myself and about a dozen dogs. My employer may also show up, as his family is on a cruise and he has a soft spot for the little shit machine. (Yay free babysitting!) This will be the first Thanksgiving I will spend with family in six years. It's not just Thanksgiving I haven't been invited to, but every holiday that is traditionally family oriented. I was a little taken aback that I was asked to come. I can only assume it is because the family wants to see, and include, LDC.

I'm not put out that I am not usually invited. In previous years, I would have turned down the offer anyway. Many times I'm on call, or simply don't wish to come. And I know they have a damn good reason for nearly begging me to not attend. I have a nasty little habit of sending someone to the hospital or setting the house on fire at every gathering. I don't go into it with that intention, it just happens. Sometimes it's accidental, usually it's on purpose, always it's impulsive. You can see how this would inconvenience those who want a calm holiday, and why I am not asked to join them.

This Thanksgiving I need to go. I have business to discuss with my attorney, and am going to see if I can convince one of my immediate family members to take ownership of LDC. I also said I was bringing pie. Yeah, I can be all domestic and shit when I need to be. I'm already dreading the facade I'll have to put on to get through the day. Many shots of Jameson will help. Or not.

I'm taking bets as to whether I'm setting the house ablaze or sending a family member on a no expense paid vacation to the E.R.

The Desire

My skin was hot with anger. My palms burned against the bone saw. Even as Bach was pouring out of the speakers, I couldn't calm. My heart pounded, squeezing more and more blood with each beat- flooding my aorta, engorging my carotids, and making my head throb somewhere within the temporal lobes of my brain. My respiration was eighteen per minute and climbing. I could feel the dizzying undertow of oxygen sucking me deeper and deeper inside of myself. My vision began to blur, partly from surging blood pressure, partly from hyperventilating. At that moment of desperately trying to regain control, I would have given anything to put down the monster inside.

The desire to hurt someone physically always begins this way, and I always believe I can control it, or wait it out, or even force it into submission. Psychopathy is a cunning thing. Even as I drove away from the mayhem I left at work today, I fooled myself into believing I was better at controlling myself than I am. That the good in me can overpower the dark impulses. Ha. Who am I kidding. There is so little good in me that darkness is all there is.

Hamburgers Are Thicker Than Blood

People are arrogant, undeserving to live, taking over the planet, not worth my time, insignificant, untrustworthy, and narcissistic.

Many many years ago, I had a pet cow. This cow (well, steer) was my pride an joy. I raised him on a bottle, broke him to ride, and spent a lot of time with him. When I was expelled from school, father decided it was a good time for hamburger and slaughtered him to teach me a lesson. Once Eclipse was slaughtered I realized that nobody would look out for my self interest, except for me. I wouldn't say the event was traumatic, as cattle are sent to slaughter every day, but it was a moment of clarity that a lot of people never experience. There is no reason to trust or enjoy people, because they are always looking out for themselves with little to no regard as to how it will effect others.

I don't believe them to be worth my time. They're either far too trusting for their own good (making it too easy for me or someone else to hurt them), or they are out for themselves (which leaves me at risk for being hurt). If I had to choose a group to be around, I would begrudgingly surround myself with the arrogant and self-centered because they are more likely to leave me be, and because naivety is highly irritating.

Not all people who experience a potentially traumatic event will actually become psychologically traumatized. Some people can and do take everything in stride and are equipped to handle things that other people find traumatizing. In the case of fathers suicide, I believe that it would be ridiculous to mourn him since I had no emotional attachment to him. Why mourn the loss of something that you fantasized about killing in a slow and painful way? That would be nonsensical. He did bad things. I wanted him dead. He's dead. End of story.

People are generally repulsive to me, so when one dies there is a part of me that silently (sometimes not so silently) rejoices. That is one less person to socially interact with, one less person who wants reassuring physical contact, one less person to have awkward conversations with. Dealing with peoples emotions causes everything from unease to nausea, so I prefer to stay away. I'd rather spend time with my pet cow than with my family, at least when I had a cow.

(This was in response to someone asking me if past trauma shaped my view on people.)

Exorcisms Are Preposterous (and so is your religion)

I was glancing through the news and came across a hilarious article (link).

"Citing a shortage of priests who can perform the rite, the nation's Roman Catholic bishops are sponsoring a conference on how to conduct exorcisms."

"More than 50 bishops and 60 priests signed up to attend."

As an atheist, and an anti-monotheist, I find this absolutely fucking ridiculous. Faith healing is one thing, and I can kind of understand it because if you think you're healthy, or you believe your god is helping you, the human body can repair itself. But having some probably pedophile priests expel imaginary demons out of you using questionable methods is rather disgusting to me.

It reminds me of the days when mental illness was treated was ice baths, induced vomiting, bleeding out 'bad blood', and insulin shock.

Stalemate

I'm back at the same impasse I was at a year ago. Do I go back to the morgue, or to the mortuary.

I wouldn't feel complete without the ability to create my deranged art - taking the newly dead and turning them into something beautiful. When a facial trauma come in and is slated as needing an open casket my heart races with anticipation of the fun I will have. But I am burned out from dealing with the never-ending bullshit and falseness of it all. It's all a show. I turn the dead into something the living want to see so they can sniffle and gasp and make ridiculous faces. I don't understand grief, yet am immersed in it.

The morgue is a more sterile environment. As a tech I don't deal with anyone but the delivery guys and colleagues. I can hold a once living heart in my hand and gut a human being without being judged or found guilty of murder. Part of me finds it relieving to be that close to the ugly side of death. Comforting. I prefer cutting open and gutting bodies to embalming them... but I prefer reconstruction work to aiding in autopsies.

My monster and me... as usual fighting over which path to choose. My neurotic compulsions with cleanliness and order or its compulsion with destruction and blood lust. I fear we are at a stalemate.

You Can't Suspend Me... I Quit!

We have agreed a suspension without pay is the best route to take. You're an excellent employee most of the time, but lately we've been noting that you're impulsive and unpredictable with the bereaved and a gallon of anger in a pint sized container when dealing with your co-workers. I've had nearly everyone complain about what a hostile work environment this has become and I can't let it continue.

Please take this time to work a few things out and maybe seek a professional who can help. (Psychiatrist name) is supposed to be very good at situations like this. I would like nothing more for you to rejoin our family, but changes are going to have to be made.

Regretfully,
(Employer)

My response was less than great, and kind of emphasized the whole hostility thing:

"I appreciate your fucking witty remarks, but shove it. I don't want to work with incompetent, and (worse) sensitive individuals who find it necessary to meddle in every aspect of my work environment and insist it is a 'family'. Fuck you."

Looks like I'm going back to the morgue.

Patriarchal Bond

I have to admire my father. He was a sick twisted son of a bitch, but taught me most of what I know about manipulating, lying, relationships and staying out of legal hot water.

He and I were cut from the same cloth. He had the same demons I do. He called it his muse, I call it my dark creature. Regardless of what we call it, the same driving force is there. We had many adventures together that most people would cringe at or be revolted by, but they were defining moments of my life.

There is something deeply sensual that happens when two peoples muses dance together. The work they create can be anything from disturbing to something beautiful, but is always unforgettable.

Resident Drunk

People in my line of work are regarded as a necessary evil, but most people don't want to step foot into the building. Most people don't understand why anyone would want to be a funeral director. I've met a few morticians who don't want to do their job. These people tend to be the resident drunks and practically every home has one.

I am this person. I hate dealing with the living aspect of my job. People come in at one of the most emotional times in their lives. I have never known how to handle this. I don't understand their grief and frankly it makes me uncomfortable. I know in theory you show compassion by doing your job professionally and doing it well. However, I can't do that when dealing with family.

Some of us are better suited to be a buffer between the family and the harsh realities of putrification and decomposition. The families want a clean and meaningful memory, and this I can give them. I will remove maggots out of eye sockets, deal with skin slippage, and turn the dead into a work of art with a smile on my face. But pass the whiskey if you put me in a room with the living.

Son, I Love You. Please Die.

What do I find when I get to work today? No bodies. Not one. No decaying goodness for me to practice my deranged art on, just an appointment to preplan a funeral. I slept an hour before going into work today, making me even crankier than usual. That's saying something, since I am usually quite cranky when dealing with the living.

Rarely do I get a young healthy person coming in to plan what kind of funeral they want. Typically my preplans are elderly, some are younger but have an illness that will probably kill them. This is the demographic I expect when I have an appointment. I had a cup of coffee and brooded while waiting for Mr. Doe to show up.

One minute after his appointment was supposed to start (yes, I was irritated with him being late) a young twenty something walks in with a black eye, staples across his forehead, and his arm in a sling. Instantly I am intrigued. We make our introductions before getting started.

Him: I wrapped my car around a tree and want to plan my funeral.
Me: Well, I can help you with that, but it looks like you survived it.
Him: *laughs*

I showed him some options in the price range he was inquiring about. He chose cremation, with a tree planting ceremony on his family farm.

Him: If I die before my mom does, don't let her bury me.
Me: As long as our paperwork is in order, your wishes will be carried out.
Him: You don't know my ma. She will come in here and beat you with a shovel to get my body so she can bury me.
Me: I'm impervious to shovels.

Turns out the reason he came in to plan his funeral was because he and his mother had a huge argument in the hospital as to what she would have done if he died. She wanted a large catholic funeral and already had the clothes picked for him to wear.

This struck me as a little strange. The guy spent a few hours in the ER before getting sent home, so it wasn't like she had days to mull over her plans while he was in the ICU. Wouldn't most parents be glad their child was alive, or scold them for almost killing himself and totaling the car, instead of worrying about a funeral?

Angel Lust

Many, many, many years ago, when I was an intern, I worked for a lovely gay necrophile. From here on out I'll call him Kevin. I learned recently that he has passed on, so I wanted to honour him by sharing my favourite story from the time we spent together.

I was still wet behind the ears in the world of mortuary science when I got the call to pick up the body of a gentleman in his mid 20's who was HIV positive and known to live the PnP lifestyle. In a panic after getting his HIV diagnosis, he hanged himself and wasn't found for several days.

When Kevin and I arrived to this gentleman's house, the smell was overpowering. The body was infested with maggots and wasn't in very good shape. I turned the corner into the kitchen and there he was. Naked, maggots crawling out of his eyes, and fully erect.

I couldn't help but bust out laughing. This was my first week working for Kevin, so I should have been trying to act professional, but the image had to be laughed at. It wasn't that he wasn't well endowed, quite the opposite in fact. The decomposition process had been very generous to that region. Kevin walked in moments later, asking me why I was laughing, then started laughing himself.

The coroner cut him down and we transported him back to the mortuary. I noticed Kevins own member growing as he was working on that region of the body. Later we went out for drinks, as we did most nights. Usually our conversation stayed pretty tame, but that night we had an in depth conversation about corpses with angel lust. He's one one the few people I've ever really liked, and I believe the world was better with him in it.

Zombies Versus Vampires

Vampires (glittery ones not withstanding) are thought to be evil by nature. They are damned, if one believes in that sort of thing. Zombies are not typically thought to be evil by nature, but instead are seen as doing evil things. Both are driven by an undying need to eat. Vampires need blood, zombies need brains. There is no room for time dedicated to watching a tractor pull or taking a long leisurely walk down the beach just to watch the waves.

If there was an epic battle and all that was left were tyrannosaurus rexs, zombies and vampires, the T-rex would win out... but since they already had their turn on earth, they aren't factored into my equation and I'm not sure why I'm bringing them up.

Okay, if there was an epic battle and all that was left were zombies and vampires, both would be pretty screwed. I figure the zombies would end up winning. And for a pretty good reason. (I think.) Vampires would be desperate to eat and end up trying to feed on the zombies, leaving them open for attack. Zombies don't need their blood, but vampires need their brains.

This is not taking into account that they may infect each other and there could be a super race of vampire zombies...

(No, this post didn't go anywhere. Yes, I've had too much to drink... thank you for noticing.)

No, I Don't Have A Cat

Yesterday I was accused of becoming attached to animals. I've been thinking about this and trying to see why someone would believe that. Yes, I have animals. Quite a few of them. I have reptiles, rodents, a dog and several horses. But when I look at them I don't really see them as something I need.

I have reptiles because I enjoy watching them kill their prey. And I enjoy killing their prey even more. I started off with a breeding pair of corn snakes and have since moved on to much larger varieties. All but one of my snakes are used for breeding purposes and their offspring are sold at reptile shows. So snakes are for cash.

The rodents are self explanatory. Snakes and monitors have to eat. I have guineas and mice. I figure since I am breeding them I might as well play with their genetics and come up with interesting colours. So rodents are for food and hobby.

There is a dog in my house. He is a well behaved, quiet and clean French Bulldog. He gives me my space, I give him his. I don't really see him as an animal, more as furniture. So the dog doesn't count.

I grew up with horses. My first job was riding other peoples horses at shows. Today, thirty percent of my income comes from riding jumpers. I have a few old mares I keep as broodmares. I have a couple horses on the race track. I have my filly who is probably already sold. And I have Penny... my trail horse.

All of the horses except for her are dollar signs on hooves. She is a well trained dead head horse who goes where I point and stops when I say whoa. She is irreplaceable. Is that attachment? How do you feel about your pets?

Reasons To Be In A Relationship

I am an efficient person. Affection and love are foreign concepts in my mind. When others express those emotions to me I feel uncomfortable, and a little nauseous. So why do I bother getting in relationships? Well, there are a few reasons.

First of all I love sex. Primal, dominating, fighting, gory sex. If the sex is good I can stay with someone for quite awhile. That is if they're willing to stay with me. Most men don't understand that women can be sexual sadists, and I am not referring to fuzzy handcuffs and spankings. I need rope, duct tape and a stun gun. As far as I am concerned if he isn't writhing in pain, it isn't fun for me.

Social standing is a big one for me. Not so much being a socialite within the community, more of people who can get me where I want to go. This usually relates to my job. If I want to work an autopsy that interests me in the next county, I need a way to have an in. Or if there is a horse I want to ride that isn't available to try, I need someone to make a few calls. I have a few exes on speed dial for just that reason.

The only other reason I've ever dated anyone is for their wallets. Yes, I'm that shallow. New cars, island vacations, new wardrobe. I'll take it all. I'll smile and act nice at your company and family functions until you are no longer useful for me. Or I'm simply bored with you. And no, I don't see a problem with this.

But occasionally I wonder, why do people stay in relationships? Obviously I'm not cut out for them, but surely others are. Then I see people who seemingly hate each other yet go home together. I just don't understand.

The Other Woman

When a man dies, occasionally there is a string of women left to mourn him. Ex-girlfriends who haven't let go. A wife or fiance. His mistress. All whom usually sit civilly looking at his dead body and mourn in silence. Very rarely does anyone make a scene. I remember the first ex-boyfriend I planted. It had been nearly three years since the last time we talked when I got the call to pick him up from the morgue. He had done his pre-planning with me while we were together, and his fiance followed through with his plans.

When I started working on him, it hit me that nothing had changed. He still looked the same as he had, and he was still being unpredictable, dying of a brain aneurysm in the middle of the night. I couldn't help but wonder if he also still had a mistress tucked away somewhere. After talking to his fiance, I gathered that she had no idea we had a past together, which was fine by me. That could complicate things and I am a fan of everything running smoothly. I dressed him in the suit he specified in his pre-plans, which coincidentally, was the suit I met him in four years prior.

The viewing was going well until I saw a familiar face walk in. His 'other woman' while we had been together. She walked over to me while I was handing out a prayer card to the a gentleman sitting next the fiance of the stiff. For some reason she found it dreadfully important to ask if I was still with him when he died and how could I steal him away from her (I guess I was the other woman...) and continued to make a big scene. The, for lack of a better word, widow starts becoming hysterical. Asking if I was the one he was cheating on her with.

At this point I have lost total control of the viewing. I had two women who still loved the deceased yelling at me and each other. Family members trying to get in the middle of it. And a confused colleague who walked up from the preparation room. He was able to calm things down and take my place allowing me to finish the body he was working on. Since then, I have avoided working viewings... they can get a little rough.

Dear Guy Who Raped The Chick In My Parking Lot

I would like to congratulate you on your conquest. I know a big 6' guy like you must have had a hell of a time taking down a 5'5" 18 year old college cheerleader. And restraining such a small girl must have been a bitch. I bet that hundred pounds you had on her didn't help with her trying to kick you in the nads. I'd like you to plan your next attack on one of the campuses private residents. In fact, I encourage you to chose me. Don't worry about the concealed weapon I keep my hand on when I'm out at night. Although I do have to apologize ahead of time, I hear a gut shot with a 45 hurts like hell.
Sincerely,
Come Out And Play

Kindergarden Arson

I come from a family rich in diagnosed personality disorders, namely narcissism and antisocial psychopathy. My uncle is serving a life sentence in Ely, Nevada for killing his wife and two daughters, age 6 and 9. His brother, my father, had an arrest record as thick as a romance novel, and nearly as juicy. And me, well, let's just say I take after his side of the family. Between the three of us, we have been charged with murder, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, statutory rape, breaking and entering, larceny and arson. It looks like there is going to be another member added to our elite club.

My sister called me today to talk about her nearly five year old son, Bobby. Evidently, Bobby decided that he wanted to set the house on fire because she scolded him for hitting his twin sister. While she had Janie downstairs, Bobby grabbed a lighter and set the living room couch on fire. Sister thinks that I can help her curb his behavior. My only advice was to give away her dog before Bobby moves on to other methods of venting his frustration.

Iris Scanners and Big Brother

Has anyone been reading about the raise in popularity in iris scanner technology (link)? A city in Mexico is making a point to, in essence, make the safest city in the world. To do this they're going to place eye scanners all over the place. They say it's for law enforcement and marketing uses, but it seems that this is a huge invasion of privacy. For example, once someone gets convicted such as shoplifting, every time they walk into a store the iris scanner will alert the manager that they are there.

The company who is trying to make all cities like this claims that there will be no reason to carry around a drivers license or credit card, all you need is your eye. They want to ID you for everything from getting into your car, to picking up prescriptions, to accessing medical records. Their plan is that within the next 10 years every person on the planet will be in the database. Criminals will automatically be in the system, and law-abiding citizens and really smart criminals who haven't been caught will have the option, but because they expect the masses to come out and want to be in the database, opting out isn't an option.

I think this is utter bullshit and am considering gouging out my eyes before it comes to this.

Cue Banjo Music

Today, I went to the river. I was bribed. I admit it. A medical examiner friend of mine promised to get me in on an autopsy I wanted to work on (body burnt to a crisp) if I did him a favor. How bad can that be? It turns out it was really bad. As some of you may remember, I have a, shall we say, aversion to water unless it's chlorinated and comes out of my tap.

He had the bright idea that he wanted to go kayaking, and of course, wanted me to go with him. Did he tell me where we were going? No. If he had there would have been no way he could have gotten me in the car. Instead, he said we were going to go see one of his friends. That was true. His friends live on the Kentucky River and run canoe and kayaking trips for the uninspired and suicidal. When we arrived at the building I freaked. As I said, I am not a water fan. Especially when the water is moving and filled with microbes and there is a strong chance that you will drown.

Seeing as how I absolutely do not want to miss the chance to cut into a barbecued human, I begrudgingly agreed to get into a fiberglass death trap and float on sludge. It was a hundred times worse than I could have guessed. Less than two miles out of a fifteen mile trip the damn rapids pushed me toward the Tree of Eradication. The swirling current of doom sucked me and the kayak under to die. But I had company under there. A couple of birds and a turtle, all decomposing and bloated. The kayak flipped and filled with water. Did I mention I can't swim? I can still taste the death water and see protozoa swimming across my eyeballs.

At this point I was seriously considering banking the boat and just jogging back to the car. A crispy body would be nice to play with, but I wouldn't be able to see it if I drowned. Alas, my desire to be around death overshadowed my self-preservation and I continued down stream. We came to a quiet place in the river and crossed under a covered bridge. There was a few people fishing off it, and no shit, someone was playing a banjo. I made a mental note to download Deliverance to my kindle if I made it home alive.

Obviously I made it, unless you believe I am writing this as a ghost. I made a point of hitting my now ex-friend, but I am still on the duty roster for the autopsy tomorrow. Was it worth it? I don't yet know...

Bring Out Your Dead

An elderly (okay, older than dirt) gentleman passed away this evening. His family, being jewish, are paying premium to do a rush job so he can be buried tomorrow morning... and they want a hell of a funeral before that happens. See, catholics leave their dead laying around, jews want them planted immediately. Hell, it seems like they can't even flatline before arrangements are being made.

I don't understand the philosophy difference. I admit to not paying attention in my cultural studies classes. I was in school for the sole purpose of learning to cut bodies up and create deranged art out of them. It didn't matter to me why people wanted autopsies or funerals. I didn't care what religions needed what kind of service. I never wanted to work with the living. Alas, being licensed as a funeral director occasionally puts you in the same room at people who want to breathe your air, and I just don't enjoy the morgue as much as the mortuary.

Before embalming was a common practice, there was a reason to rush a funeral. Bodies have a way of becoming unsightly, unhygienic, and rather potent in a short period of time. But the ritual seems antiquated. I guess it doesn't matter to me as long as I have a body to work on.

Car Crash With Illegal-Scum

I've bitched about illegals in the country before, but today I am back on that tangent. One of my main complaints has always been the lack of a drivers license and car insurance. That is what really irks me right now. There is nothing quite like driving through an intersection and getting t-boned by a piece of shit truck running a red light. Let me tell you, not the best feeling in the world. Especially when the truck has a lift kit and is practically on top of the Prius.

Of course the kid (here on called illegal-scum) didn't speak english, didn't have identification and didn't have insurance. I have a feeling he would have tried to drive off if a cop wouldn't have pulled up soon after the crash. I actually would have preferred the cops to not get involved. I have to pay for the repairs anyway, at least then I wouldn't have been scrambling to conceal the firearms I keep in my trunk, dash and driver door in my purse before the tow truck got there. (On the side of the truck it said "We don't want an arm or a leg, just your tows". I found that amusing.)

Illegal-scum didn't get arrested as I had hoped, and I was told what I already knew... that I was probably going to have to have my insurance cover the repairs. Even if I took illegal-scum to court to get the money he would either not show up or be unable to pay. The cop actually laughed while saying this.

So, this has been a greatly fun day.

AARSBalm vs. Formalin

I am set in my ways, especially when it comes to my working environment. I want my tools where I put them, my area clean, and everything to smell of bleach, formaldehyde, and decomposition. That's what I trained for. That's what I signed up for.

There is a newer product called AARDBalm (and AARDCavity Gel and AARDColourant and their own fucking trocar) that is aiming to replace Formalin based products. AARD is claiming that because this product is safer than formaldehyde, that is is superior.
Sorry, come again? It's iodine based so it doesn't firm up the body (nothing like leaving a body juicy), it doesn't last very long and it's a fuckload more difficult to get it to spread correctly. The owner of the Home I work for is raving about it after a tape he watched and thinks that we should switch from Formalin based products to these new 'safer' iodine based products.

What the fuck does he know? He's never embalmed a body in his life. He says that it's for his employees own good. Formalin is very well known for causing nasopharyngeal carcinoma within the death care industry, but that's a risk we obviously willingly take. If we wanted safe jobs we'd have skipped learning to work with chemicals.

(Quote from AARD's Website: "Although the treatment of a case with AARDBalm may take a little longer to complete, it does provide a completely different appearance to a case treated with conventional fluids. The aesthetic results are very pleasing and have been well received by funeral client families and staff, with comments including that the deceased ‘feel more natural’. The facial features look relaxed-not stressed. Initially you may not like the effect produced, particularly if dye has not been administered to the tank. Indeed this may be true if you are a devotee of the firm and intensively coloured product we are all used to seeing. On the positive side you might feel just that little bit better after a hard day, with less headaches, nasal rhini- tis and depression. Your clothing and hair will smell that bit better too.")

I will stick with Formalin.

Taste Like Rotting Flesh In Here

The last few days I have spent my time inventorying, cleaning and playing catch-up with my paperwork. There's a shocker. I would rather rebuild a whole body than do one days worth of paperwork. I hate it. Fuck, retarded monkeys could do it. Alas, the mortuary is being inspected tomorrow, so it had to be done.

Late last night I received a call that I had a morning project. Not a lot of reconstruction, just a few facial and hand lacerations, but my coworkers have gotten lazy. Hell, I can't think of the last time any of them have stepped in and done any sort of reconstruct. Okay, maybe it isn't them being lazy, it's me being greedy.

On this balmy 96 degree day I was prepping a rapidly decomposing body with skin slippage. Doesn't sound that bad, right? But once again the air conditioner is acting up. No, not acting up... dead. Like everything else there, as the smell kept reminding me. Usually the air is cool enough, moves enough, and is dry enough to keep the taste of rotting flesh out of your mouth. Hot, humid and stale air doesn't give much relief.

However, I would have worked on ten bodies today before doing another minute of paperwork. That type of hate takes dedication.

Reversing Plastic Surgery (After Death)

I had a *ahem* client recently who had obviously been obsessed with plastic surgery while she was living. She wasn't a young woman. She has breast, butt, chin and cheek implants. She had her ears pinned, her nose redone (twice) and several face and eye lifts. Some of the work was obvious, but most of this information came from her distraught husband.

He requested her face go back to what it was supposed to look like for her funeral, providing several pictures of what he wanted her to look like. His reasoning was he wanted her to be "his wife again" when they meet in heaven. My client died peacefully. There was no trauma to her body whatsoever (not even an autopsy), so there was no need to reconstruct. I tried explaining this to him, as did my superior, but there was no swaying his decision that this had to be done. He only asked that her breast and butt implants stay "because, frankly, they look great" (his words, hence the quotes).

After deliberating it, and greatly increasing the price of the funeral, my superior gave the go ahead and I went to work on this ridiculous case. I can't help but wonder, if they do meet in heaven, if she isn't just going to bitch slap him for making her look old and giving her back a face she obviously hated.

Television Pisses Me Off

"Oh, I can't go out, Burn Notice is on tonight." Umm... okay. You know, it's great that you have a favorite TV show and all, but you've turned into a hermit. A fat fucking hermit. If it's not Burn Notice, it's American Idol or Lost or True Blood or The Bachelor or some other mind numbing crap. You wonder why you are 35 and single? It's because you won't leave the house. Stop bitching and marry your TV.

And you, the one who somehow managed to get pregnant between channel surfing, no matter what you say, you will never convince me that watching TV is a family activity. No, going on a hike together is a family activity. Sitting in the living room reading aloud is a family activity. Taking a rifle and shooting your kids in the face is a god damned family activity. Asses glued to the couch, drool running out of your mouth, watching reruns of Friends or Gilmore Girls is NOT a family activity. It isn't even activity. It takes no thought... at all. And setting your kids in front of Dora isn't the same as spending time teaching them something.

I don't have a television, and I am sick of people asking me how I can stand it or what I do with my free time. Uh, I read. I hone my skills on the piano. I run. None of these are difficult concepts to grasp. Hell, if more people turned off the idiot box and DID something, who knows what could be accomplished. Alas, this isn't going to happen. CSI is on, so you had better park it back on the couch.

A Cat Tale

I hate cats. I don't mean a general dislike towards cats that most sane human beings have, but I truly hate them. They are poor pets and are better for skinning than petting.

Several months ago I let my French Bulldog, Bundy, outside during a storm. He came back a couple minutes later with a cat following him. When I saw her, my first reaction was to grab the shotgun under the couch and shoot her. But being that I am literally in the middle of a small community, the blast would have garnered some undesired attention. Instead I opened the door, and both soggy animals walked in.

I was relieved to see the cat was wearing a collar. That means she had an owner. Someone who would come pick her up before her meowing drove me to feline-icide. After three days of looking for her AWOL owners, it was apparent that this meowing tasty snake snack was abandoned. After a month of living in the same space as this demon, I finally named her Ellie. It seemed she wasn't going to find her way home, and I couldn't throw her in the microwave because of the metal on her collar.

Soon after I named her, she started becoming satan incarnate. Attacking me when I walk by, or while I am trying to sleep. Many nights I have planned on tying a cinder block to her neck and dropping her in the river. After corralling her, I always remember I don't have a cinder block, and put it on my shopping lists. Unfortunately I never follow my shopping lists.

Enough time has passed that I realize that I am really not thrilled with her here, especially since said cat was trained to attack and try to kill every living thing. But I have a plan. I am training Bundy to be a cat-attack dog. Maybe one day this situation will end in a bloody battle to the death, gladiator style. I'm taking bets on who will win. That is, unless anyone wants a cat?

Suicide In The Mortuary

Suicide is a touchy subject for most people, but it's a huge profit center for funeral homes. When a loved one is elderly or terminal, most people start the grieving process before they lose that person. But when someone kills themselves, they leave a wake of people who seem to feel like they should have done more. Should have done better for the deceased. This leads to higher priced services so the loved ones can prove they really did care about the person who took their life. (There is a small percentage of families who have no service and just do a simple cremation if someone commits suicide, but this is a rarity.)

Not to long ago I was called into work by my employers sister company to do a massive reconstruction. A 16 year old boy decided to end his life with a shot gun in the mouth. The family wanted an open casket, and as you can imagine, he was in no shape for it. When I arrived I found that he was already prepped (washed and embalmed) and I was just to work on what was left of his head.

After assessing the situation, and taking a trip to the local hardware store (no Lowes in sight), I peeled off his face off starting directly above the collar bone. When I saw what I had to work with, I realized that I wouldn't be able to do a decent job without removing his skull and working from there. When you start cutting through flesh and bones the prep room starts to smell like a slaughter house doused in formaldehyde. It's not unpleasant, but not something you want to bottle into perfume. I won't go into more details, but a reconstruction like this isn't cheap. If an old woman sustained head injuries that made an open casket funeral a near impossibility, her family would have accepted it.

I don't understand why people feel the need to prove their love after someone is dead. It can turn into pissing contests between family members. I appreciate it, seeing as how it pays my bills, but it doesn't make any sense.

I'm Pissed Off

To the fuckers who are annoying me today:

Who the fuck do you think you are? The only people who have any right to ask anything from me sign my paycheck. You have no place calling me up and asking me to come look at a bump on your horses back. Do I look like a fucking vet? You have no right to get fucking bitchy if I tell you I may be moving from the area. I'm not here to babysit you. Frankly, I don't give a shit if you care or not. And shut the fuck up about you needing my help. Chances are I am not going to help you or even talk to you, so back the fuck off.

I am so sick of people trying to cling. Who try to keep me close. Get the fuck away from me. I don't need you around. I don't want you around. I don't give a flying fuck about you.

Baby Oh Baby

I am not like most morticians. I accept that. I see a baby or toddler come in and get giddy. I love working on them. I have yet to find someone else who shares these feelings.

(What's blue and thrashes about on the floor? A baby playing in a plastic bag.)

I have had ample opportunity to work on babies as small at 1lb 2oz. Those are some of my favorites. There is a lot of work that goes into prepping a child that small. It's difficult to make something that was never off a respirator look peaceful and baby like. I enjoy the challenge.

(What's purple, covered in pus and squeals? A peeled baby in a bag of salt.)

There is something I don't understand, though. Why do parents spend over $5,000 for a service and burial on a child that was conceived less than 30 weeks before? Are they really that attached to them already? I'm not complaining, I like the business... but it's a lump of useless tissue.

(What's the difference between a dead baby and a Styrofoam cup? A dead baby doesn't harm the atmosphere when you burn it.)

It would seem that people are burying the idea of a child. The idea of a family. The last preme I worked on was a little girl. Her mother was distraught and evidently threatened suicide when the baby was born dead because that was the best thing she had in her life.

(What do you get when you dislocate a dead baby's jaw? Deep Throat.)

To me, losing something you haven't had very long isn't ideal, but it isn't worth killing yourself over (literally, financially or figuratively). It seems like the $5,000+ would be better spent on therapy or adoption.

(What can't turn around in a hallway? A baby with a javelin through his throat.)

Casket Sales Pitch

Me: Is this the casket you were looking at?

Them: *fondling picture of high end, high gauge stainless steel casket* Yes. I don't care about cost. *starts crying*.

Me: You've made a fine choice. This particular model comes with a lifetime guarantee.

Them: *looks at me* Really? *busts out laughing*

Nasty Ass Skank

Dear Nasty-ass Skank at the overpriced coffee shop. You know who you are. Let me start by saying that you think you look good, but you don't. Cover Girl won't help you because you have nothing to work with. You are NOT average size, you are fat. You would do yourself a favor by looking in a mirror for a reality check. Wearing spandex mini-shorts that say 'Juicy' across your double wide ass isn't attractive. Neither is that spagetti strap shirt that's 2 sizes too small. Nobody want to see your armpit fat or back rolls hanging out.

And while we're on the subject of what people don't want to see... When I am waiting in line to get my triple espresso soy latte in the morning, I don't want to watch you scratch your ass and spread your legs like a dirty skank whore. If I can see your pubes, there is a problem. And please keep your rude kid under control. You may think his behaviour is 'cute' and laugh when he walks up and sticks his hand under my skirt and grabs my thigh, but it's not. That is a fast way to get smacked, as your little bastard child found out.

How can you be so stupid as to think that the overpriced coffee shop was going to take food stamps? The cute underpaid guy behind the counter may not look annoyed when you ask him to be patient as you count out your total in coins, but that doesn't mean you have a shot with him. Nasty ass skanks with ridiculously untamed children don't get dates with hot guys. Accept it. Don't make me listen to you whine about not being able to get a date while I'm drinking my overpriced coffee. Just go away.

Moral: Wear A Seat Belt

Just wanted to start with what the moral of my post is, in case anyone misses it.

Today I went to a funeral home I don't work for as a favor for the owner, who considers me a friend. Being that I worked with him for nearly a decade, I didn't refuse. Besides, he said the case would interest me. Of course, the first thing I think of is babies... I really enjoy working on babies. But holy shit. It was even more interesting.

A thirty something male with several mandibular and maxillary fractures was waiting for me. Basically everything from the middle of his eye sockets to his chin was caved in from massive facial trauma. To add to that, he was an organ and tissue donor and the tissue recover-er left a hell of a mess. Two long bones missing and a concave area where his organs should be. But before he left yesterday morning, his wife didn't say goodbye to him, and wants that chance. Who am I to deny her?

After a short trip to Lowe's to pick up a few necessities (like aluminum repair patches, screws, metal tie plates, etc.) I started playing orthopedic surgeon. I used a few methods I have never tried before, and was thrilled with the results. It took nearly seven hours, but he looks human. He looks like him.

So I leave you with these thoughts.

01. Wear a seat belt.
02. I am an awesome re-constructionist.
03. Be an organ and tissue donor.
04. Lowe's is the shit.
05. Wear a seat belt.

Obesity After Death

I've had several people ask me what my problem is with fatties... so allow me to explain. As you all probably know, I am a mortician. I spend most of my working hours prepping the dead for burial, many of these overweight to obese. I am a whopping 110 pounds. Moving corpses up to and over 450lbs isn't something that appeals to me. I am lucky where I work now. Our coolers (where bodies are stored) can only hold people up to 450lbs or so. Anyone heavier than that is sent across town. I have spent many days dealing with 800lb+ bodies, and I will never willingly do it again.

Some fun facts:

01. People who are obese decay at a much more rapid pace than those who are thin. I can't tell you how many fatties come in already in the process of decomp a few short hours after death.

02. A standard casket size used to be 29" wide. Now the standard is 35"... with the ability to go as wide as 52".

03. Those in a 52" casket will not be carried by anything but a forklift to their grave, and cemeteries will require you to buy two plots. (Too bad airplanes don't follow this rule.)

04. No matter how proper funeral home employees are, those embalming will still discuss how disgusting an obese body is as they're trying to cover up the fact that their skin is already sloughing off from decomp.

05. The heavier the body, the more expensive the funeral. With extra burial plots needed and larger caskets, it can run over $5,000 more than their thin counterpart.

So, why do I hate fatties? They are disgusting when they are alive, and even more so in death. Get some fucking dignity and put down the fork. Get your stomach stapled. Fall into a wood chipper so you don't cause injury in those who have to deal with you after death.

If I Was A Dictator

EDUCATION: Stop this 'no child left behind' bullshit. If your kid doesn't make the cut for graduation, s/he's not going to. If the child is more than two years behind because of a reason not related to a mental disability, they will go to a military style school until they straighten up enough to learn in a proper classroom. All schools will be on a year round schedule and all will be uniformed. Parents will be held accountable for their childs attendance and actions. And while I'm talking about kids, there will be an end to all foreign adoptions and the the adoption system here will be revamped to people can get the kids they want in a timely and cost effective manner. There will also be a two child rule. While delivering your second child, the OB will remove your uterus. If you want more than two kids, adopt.

IMMIGRATION: Stop wasting money patrolling the borders. Instead sell hunting passes to any backwoods country redneck that applies and can see. Hand them a machine gun and have at it. If the illegals trying to pass over thought their birth country was unsafe, wait until they see the hunting parties heading out. But if you want to come over legally, then go through proper channels and you will be welcomed. (link)

AGRICULTURE: Slaughter houses, commercial egg and dairy farms and feed lots will be shut down. Local butchers and small ranchers will have a monopoly on any animal products. Anyone caught neglecting or starving an animal will get the same legal ramifications as someone who neglects a child. There will be an incentive for farmers to grow lucrative crops and build greenhouses.

FOREIGN AFFAIRS: Pull out any and all support to other countries. If anyone attacks us, drop bombs on their country until they surrender or there is no country left. I personally don't care which. I am not saying there will be no army, just that we have no need to be funneling money into other countries when our own is already in debt.

FINANCE: Taxes will not go up once all the foreign aid ends, because this is what I am channeling into health care. To reduce the already strained finances, anyone on welfare is off of it. If they can't afford their 10 kids then they will be rehomed. As for those on disability, someone will be coming to see how disabled you really are. And no, obesity and obesity related illnesses aren't considered a disability anymore. To offset road costs, that tax will be added to petrol. I predict it will go up at least 200 percent. Commercial truckers are tax exempt to keep prices down on food and goods. Marijuana and prostitution will be legalized and taxed. Anything high in sugar would have a higher tax.

HEALTH CARE: Every citizen and those with a valid visa starts with health care. Anyone who abuses this (hypochondriacs, drug addicts, the homeless drunk who get a ride in an ambulance to the er every night, illegals) will lose their health care benefits and be turned down at the hospital. Anyone who wants a permanent form of birth control will not be turned down, regardless of age. Mental heath facilities will be highly accessible.

LEGAL SYSTEM: This needs to be totally revamped. Any male sex offenders will have their dangley bits cut off. Female sex offenders will be fully spayed. If either repeat, they will be publicly beheaded (as will murderers, those who neglect their child/animal and anyone who violates the two child law). Thieves will have their hands cut off (and become ineligible for disability). Most prisons will become work camps. It will be legal in any state to shoot trespassers as long as you own the property (this includes protecting your house from peddlers of things and religion).

Images Of Fire Dance Through My Head

Scenario One:
Kids of about grade 6 on a bus. Trapped. The doors and emergency exits have been tampered with so they won't open. A fire bomb goes off. Any survivors of the initial blast are burned alive.

Scenario Two:
Baptists in their church. Broom handles through the handles of all exit doors. Church, pretreated in an accelerant, goes up in flames from a single match. Burning the followers in the hell they fear.

Scenario Three:
Weasel Face Twerp driving down the road in his Bronco. He hits the brakes only to find out they are cut. Smashes head first into burning church. Gas tank explodes (with help).

Scenario Four:
Burn pile in the middle of a secluded field. Bodies dragged from previous scenario and thrown onto the branches and other shit collected. Set on fire after dousing with petrol.

Scenario Five:
Oil spill on the ocean. Lit zippo thrown over a tanker sets the mess on fire. Everyone on the tanker burns.

Scenario Six:
Cat scratching on the furniture. Cat covered in kerosene. Cat is now a controlled burn.

Scenario Seven:
Baby in the uterus pulled out with a hanger. He's thrown into a large ceramic bowl and put in the oven. He catches on fire.

Scenario Eight:
Door to door evangelical finds himself tied to a post. Fire is started under him and babies until he is fully burned alive.

Scenario Nine:
Full plane taking off at the airport. After months of planning and bribery, the engines explode. Everyone on board dies a fiery death.

Hurricanes

Having made the move to a small town after working in a big city, I find myself increasingly bored. There isn't as many ways to find trouble (or cause it), there isn't as much room to run, and there is a lot less work. Think about it- how many people die a week in a college town of less than 18 thousand? So I have been trying to think of ways to take up more of my time. Obviously working 6 days a week with the dead isn't an option. Even doing runs for the morgue wouldn't fill up the void. And, no, the morgue isn't hiring for all of you wondering.

I've considered going back to school and starting EMT training. I already have a good grasp on medicine and a better one on anatomy... but there is a pretty huge conflict of interest in the field of health care and death care. Besides, if I saw someone with minimal functioning, why would I want to save them? Why would anyone want to be a vegetable, hooked to machines for the rest of their lives? I would have a problem not simply driving some of these people straight to the morgue or mortuary just to save time (and have something to do later). So I am pretty close to nixing that idea.

While reading my spam mail (yes, I occasionally do that), I came across an old newsletter from DMORT (Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team) and started thinking about joining their plight. I wanted to work Katrina, but was in some legal trouble and couldn't get down there. I think, now, I would be able to go on a pass... and it's supposed to be a terrible hurricane year. The thought of getting to work with floaters and rapidly decaying bodies excites me. I need to fill out some paperwork and talk to an attorney, but this is something I am rather sure I am going to be doing. I can't wait for hurricane season.

Oil, Roads, Coronors

Have any of you watched the live feed of the BP oil 'leak'? They are claiming that the 3.8 million liter a day leak is stopped, and what we are now seeing is mud coming out... but even if I believed them, that number is staggering for the last few weeks. I couldn't help but think about it while stuck driving in traffic on the freeway today.

I admit that I don't drive much, but with my hybrid I only go through a tank every 3-5 weeks. I know most people are unwilling or claim they can't get a hybrid, but come on... do you really need to drive that whale of a car that eats a gallon of gas every 23 miles? And it's memorial day weekend here in the states, so more people are out driving around. I can't help but wonder how many of them think about the major catastrophe we just had with BP while filling their tanks and driving miles on end for no apparent reason. Hell, I try to not use plastic because I think its manufacturing takes too much oil- yet everyone else seems to take oil for granted.

Another thing I was thinking about (and was why I was in traffic) is all the fucking road construction going on. At first I thought it had something to do with the city readying itself for the 2010 World Equestrian Games. Then I saw the "Put America To Work!" signs. Seriously? Let's spend our tax dollars overpaying under-qualified workers while fucking up the flow of traffic indefinitely. But in the long run encourage people to drive more which will increase the dependence on oil. In turn, letting us stay at war longer so that we can get a firmer grasp on the 55 percent we import. Fuck me.

When I saw this I had an undying desire to run the workers over with my little car (which is now for sale so I can buy an all electric car). I figure my defense could be that I was also 'Putting America To Work!'. Coroners and morticians need work too.

I Know

I know buckling up and wearing a helmet doesn't always save you.

I know embalming. Sometimes I think I have always done this, even before I was born. It fits me. It brings me closer to something bigger in this life.

I know that for the little baby I embalmed not to long ago (her death caused by a savage beating) my table was probably the only quiet place in the world she had ever experienced. Quiet at last. No more punishment for that little one.

I know the string tension on my piano is nearly 30 tons.

I know that is you use too strong a Formalin index on a jaundice case that the skin will turn from yellow to green.

I know the world is fragile, full of shadows and fears... many people fill it with regrets and should-haves. Heavy and dark. The curtains are drawn and there is an IN door, but no way out. And I know I will never see it this way.

I know a person will kill themselves by any means necessary when they decide their life should end.

I know there is nothing better than a chestnut mare and a comfortable saddle after a long day.

I know my space will always be orderly. Not a single thing out of place. No old magazines, not trash, and no maggots.

I know that hospitals have birthing floors and morgues.

I know bodies found in water usually smell the worse, but all flesh is messy.

I know west coast and east coast funeral homes only remotely resemble one another in the fact that they both dispose of dead human bodies.

On Being A Mortician

As a mortician, I aspire to raise arteries, conduct funerals, and dress the dead to the best of my ability (and secretly huff Formalin... haha Just kidding). The goal being to replicate the appearance of health and vigor by way of cosmetics, wax, and arterial dyes. These things are bigger than any words I can speak to a family, and for that reason I often speak lightly. I can take a body that was ravaged by quick trauma or lingering disease, with born spots and sunken eyes and fractures and dehydrates cheeks- and turn them into peaceful images in fresh clothing and contented expressions.

During college we are taught throughout the program to sculpt different facial features out of clay. You have to learn every features shape and contours, to learn to recreate mutilated, amputated or deformed features for viewing. If I remember correctly, the assignments started with noses, them moved to ears, eyelids, lips, and finally full facial proportions and lines. Our final test to be certified in the restorative arts was to sculpt an entire head out of wax, based on a photograph of someone of our choice. An entire semester sculpting, and we were graded as if we were fine arts students... on proportions, measurements, and aesthetic appeal. Trust me in that it was quite an endeavor.

All morticians, hell, all death care workers, are cut from the same cloth. There are many types, though. The elegant and well-dressed, the experienced and authentic, the word-savvy and confident, the functional alcoholic, the one obsessed with artistic detail, and the clumsy and unsure (typically referred to simply as 'intern'). Yet we all chose this career path. Some chose it to carry on the family business, but those truly dedicated (not that I am biased) find this path on their own. They just know that they want to stand with a clear conscience and lay hands on lost lives and their mourners.

How can this desire be explained to an outsider?

How Death Molded My Opinion On Abortion

Many years ago when I was still rather new at my job, I had a woman carrying an eight month old fetus come into the mortuary. She had bypassed the morgue as she was an obvious suicide and bypassed the hospital because by the time someone found her the baby was long dead.

I didn't know she was a suicide until after I had already started on the body. Seeing as how I had interned at the morgue and was a certified morgue tech, I was asked if I could handle removing the fetus, embalming both mother and baby, and arranging them in the coffin. I figured it wasn't going to be a problem. Sure, I had never embalmed anyone younger than 6yo, but how hard could it be? Harder than I thought. I had a lot of experience in the morgue, and a fair amount of experience in the mortuary, but had never done anything like embalming a baby who had never taken a breath of air. Removing the baby was relatively simple. I remember wondering why OB's get the big bucks for doing C-sections. I guess there are higher stakes when working with the living... higher insurance too.

Moving on- the jugular is anterior to the carotid, and very fragile. Even more so on a baby that was never born. I kept telling myself 'the artery is located along the posterior medial aspect of the lower third of the sternocleidomastoid muscle' over and over again. As I was digging around, trying to uncover the vein, I ran through it with my aneurism hook. Thick blood oozed out of the broken vein, filled the incision and dripped on the table like cold syrup. The heart may have been stopped, but the jugular is a natural drainage point, so puncturing it causes a bloody mess. I moved to the femoral, cursing. I found myself wondering how this woman and what was most definitely a child, not a fetus, died. Before starting the first and last bath this baby would ever have I glanced at his mothers information.

The family was Catholic, the woman had gotten pregnant (didn't say whether it was consensual, incestuous or rape), didn't want the baby but family pressure had kept her from an abortion, depression followed, but overall she had been a happy girl... this was her third suicide attempt in six months. I guess third time is the charm, eh? Of course there were markers on her body that indicated a different story than what had been written. There was no evidence of abuse, but she had scars indicative of a cutter and many scars between her toes. I questioned (silently) whether one or more of her 'attempts' had been accidental drug overdoses. But it is not my place to question, just embalm. I continued on my work, all the time wondering why this womans mother wanted her to be buried holding a child she had never wanted. I almost wanted to feel sorry for her. She killed herself trying to get away from the baby, but instead was laid in her final bed with him... tragic.

Before this case found its way to me, I didn't really have an opinion on abortion. This changed it for me. If she had felt like that was a viable option, would she have killed herself? Or was she depressed to begin with and just waiting for something to push her over the edge? I, of course, don't have the answer to that. I never met her while she was living and you can only learn so much after death. I am curious to know what pro-lifers opinion is on this situation... if this was your daughter would you have let her abort her son to possibly change the course of events?

A Cure For AIDS

Let's face it... billions of dollars a year are spent medical research. On the forefront of the research is cancer and AIDS. Less than 5 percent of cancer is genetic, it has mainly to do with lifestyle choices, so I am not going to touch on that right now because that needs its own blog. But AIDS is a different story. We know EXACTLY what causes it and how to prevent it- yet 33.2 million people were living with it in 2007... I'm sure that number has gone up. Generally people live 20 years (with medication) after initial HIV infection. Each medication in the AIDS cocktail cost between $200 and $2300 a month.

I don't really care how people spend their money, but this obviously isn't a cure. There IS a cure for AIDS, but humanitarians everywhere are going to have a shit-fit when I suggest it: Round them up and kill them. Sure, a slight few of those people are 'innocent'. They were born to an AIDS infested crack whore mother who got it when she was raped by her AIDS infested heroin using dealer. Maybe a nurse got it by sloppy blood handling (and perhaps it wasn't their sloppy handling). But in general, these people know how they got it and chose to live that way... and let's admit it, NOBODY is actually innocent.

But I may have gotten off my point: Medical research and medication is expensive, bullets are cheap.

Fat vs. Thin

I've decided that fat people have it easy- yeah, you get made fun of for being fat, and if you're really fat you smell like yeast... but all you have to do it sit around and eat. Eat when you're bored, eat when you're lonely, eat when someone makes a joke about fatties...

Being skinny is a lot harder. I had an old grandmotherly woman stop me while I was jogging in place at an intersection and hand me a cupcake. "Yer skin an bones, you need ta eat little one." And hands me a fucking cupcake! I considered smashing the cake in the woman's face, but the light changed so I ran off instead and threw the cupcake in the nearest trashcan. (I highly doubt it was vegan.)

And when you're fat and go to the doctor, nine times out of then he isn't going to be like "dude, you're a Fatty McLumpkins! You need to stop eating and start running like a Thoroughbred!" But it's a travesty if you come in with a BMI of 16. "OMG, you're too skinny, you need to eat. You must have an eating disorder. Let's send you to inpatient treatment to cure it." What the hell? I am 2 points under where I should be. If you told someone who had a BMI of 28 that they needed to go into inpatient treatment to get their weight under control more than half the fucking country would suddenly be in a hospital.

I don't go around telling you not to sit on the couch and eat double bacon cheeseburgers, so don't tell me to not run 15 miles a day and to stop being vegan.

Good Grief

When you graduate with a Funeral Service and Mortuary Science degree- you end up taking a lot of grief psychology classes. It's just one of the three things your teachers expect you to learn (along with embalming and business). Before taking these classes I, being one who has never and never will experience grief, though that grief was just sadness. I didn't believe the professor when he was telling us all the responses people have. I've been personally blamed for the situation, seen families turn quarrelsome against each other and staff, people having full breakdowns every time you try to discuss anything about the death, individuals who do nothing but make jokes, one who asked to watch the process and those who show no emotion about it whatsoever.

Last year, in early spring, I had a guy on my slab who had been in a hit and run accident. His skull was crushed as was most of his chest. I was thoroughly fascinated, but being the highly intuitive person I am (lol), I knew his family would not appreciate an open casket, so that was the recommendation I made. His wife... mother? Maybe it was his sister, I don't remember. Anyway, the person who was taking care of the arrangements flipped out and started throwing things when I said he was in no shape for an open casket funeral. She called me incompetent and a few other not so flattering things before I agreed to try to make him look a little more like a human and less like roadkill (which, in fact, he was). Three hours and several pounds of styrofoam, plaster and filler later, he looked pretty good. A few days later, after the embalming and cosmetics and blah blah blah, the whole family came in to view. The wife/mother/sister who had made the decision freaked out and swung her purse into his face, crushing it again, basically freaking out and saying it looked too much like him and she couldn't handle it. I had to restrain myself from beating the crap out of her...

Grief makes people react in strange ways, and I don't care how long I am in the business... I will never understand it.

Old Habits

Most people go their whole lives without the pleasure of knowing the feel of dead flesh. I remember the first dead animals, a cat, that I ever held. It was so cold, stiff and lifeless. Most people would instinctively withdraw from the alien feeling. All I could think of was that the cat could feel nothing, yet I could feel it. It was a strange and pleasing realization.

Over the years I have caused many deaths with my bare hands (snakes have to eat), prepped human cadavers for burial, cut all sorts of animals and people open for necropsy and autopsy, dressed the dead, cleaned the dead, skinned the dead (animals) and I have enjoyed every minute of it.

Sometimes I overlook that I have the perfect job for me. I get caught up in petty political power plays and forget why I am in the business. Today, as I was folding the hands of a young woman over her abdomen, I was reminded why I always smell like formalin and put up with the weasel-faced-twerp. It's calming to be with the dead, familiar. It's the living I am unacquainted with.

You Are What You Drive

I judge you by what you drive.

If you drive a Hummer you don't recycle and couldn't give two shits about the environment (fucking americans).

If you drive a Jeep that isn't in the Wrangler family, you're a yuppy wanna-be.

If you drive a Wranger you are outdoorsy but couldn't give a damn about saving the environment.

If your car is older then you are, you live with your parents and are too lazy to get a job. Exception to the previous is if you drive a reconditioned classic- in which case you are trying to relive your childhood.

If you drive a fancy sports car you either have a small penis or penis envy.

If you drive a pseudo-sports care (like a Miata) you are pretending you're rich, but in reality barely make over minimum wage.

If you drive a mommy-mobile you need a lesson on contraception.

If you drive anything less than a 2500 (or 250 in Ford) truck or ANY truck with a short bed I want to beat the crap out of you. That isn't a fucking truck, moron.

There are more, but I can't see any other type of car out the window at this moment. Basically, if you don't drive a hybrid I am going to judge you harshly.

School Bus

I hate fucking school buses- with a passion. If they aren't driving 20 miles an hour under the speed limit their fucking flying down one lane roads, towards you. And fucking christ, they are ugly as hell. Fucking loaves of bread on wheels. And the color? Orangey-yellow that is reminiscent of squash soup that has been puked up all over the floor. I have a strong desire to drive a semi head-on into one and when they are sufficiently stopped, throw a molotov bomb into an open window and watch it explode... pieces of whiny snot nosed brats all over the road. Then stick around to enjoy the smell of burning bus and flesh.

The Afterlife

Want to hear what I think happens to you after you die? It's not cynical...

Let's say for whatever reason, heart attach, horse crash, appendix malfunction... you die. Poof. You start to feel like you're floating, but there's no water or mushrooms around. You're in a long tunnel without a trace of graffiti anywhere. At the end of the tunnel is a bright light, like what you see when you're struck by lightening. And you hear a voice saying, 'Come closer, all will be well.' You float toward it and when you get to the end of a tunnel you see a termite.

(Yes, a termite. Have you ever tried to get rid of those things? There has to be some kind of divine intervention at work.) So the termite asks you if you're ready to enter the afterlife. And you say, 'Mind if I float a little longer? This is really neat'. But the termite says that time is short, and says you must enter the afterlife, but first you must perform an act of penance. (Not stomping on the termite is a big one, besides, you don't want to stomp on him in your bear feet.) Anyway, the termite says that to show your penance, you must rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.

You see, it's harder than it seems because you're ethereal, your hands go right through you. So, to get to the afterlife you have to prove you're worthy by going through with the bizarre sensation of putting your hand through your head. (You can practice with a partner now if you wish...)

So, you may be asking, what does the termite do next? Well, I've changed my mind... it's a cockroach. (Amazing how my beliefs about the afterlife can morph so quickly, eh?) Once the cockroach gives you admittance, you pass through a gateway, where your life is reviewed. If you had a good life, you are returned as a baby, ready to begin anew. If your life was miserable enough that the Committee decides you need a break, you move onto the next world.

You may be asking yourself, riveted by my vision of the afterlife, is in the next world? You won't be disappointed, I promise you that. Munchkin land!

Satisfied

Did you ever notice how substandard things are nowadays? This definitely includes people. People can really suck, particularly if you are depending on them. Even when things go basically okay, they still suck. I'm demanding. I want things: piping hot, very cold, neat and clean, NOW. And everyone, for the most part, lets me down. Except me. I don't let me down. Hell, I know me better than I know anyone else. I know what I like. I know what pisses me off. So yeah, I'm good to myself. I treat myself better than I do other people.

Most people are hamstrung by things like affection for fellow employees, honesty, desire to appear to be a 'nice person' and other crippling limitations not suffered by the truly powerful, successful and happy. But I say to hell with people if they don't like you. A bottle of single malt scotch can be awesome company after a long day crushing people.

I guess this is the 'satisfied' blog- because no matter what anyone says or thinks I am content with myself as company and plan on continuing to climb up the food chain... with the end result being the WFTIRLTA getting fired.

Federal Offense?

So I went out stalking, er, I mean I went out for a walk this evening... I know, weird that I was walking instead of jogging or sprinting, right? There is a really good reason behind that. I find it difficult to scope out the area at higher speeds. To really get a good look at your surroundings there is nothing quite like a late night walk. You can see who leaves their windows open (read unlocked/easy access), who works nights, what cars are left unlocked, where they are usually parked, who has big fucking nasty-ass dogs etc...

I had a little fun, which has led me to the following question: is it a federal offense to steal mail AFTER someone has already read it? I know it is if you take it out of their mail box, but what about if you snatch it off their kitchen table? Or off their refrigerator? (Hypothetically of course... Who would actually do a B and E just for an awesome postcard she sees hanging on the fridge, come on.)

Fucking Hell

I am an extremely high energy person, and it takes me a great deal to become physically exhausted. But today has kicked my ass. No, not just kicked it... kicked it, skinned it and dragged it through the mud.

Before I left for work this morning I went for a brief (ten mile) run. This is an every day thing, no big deal. I commuted the hour it took me to get from Cincinnati OH to Georgetown KY during rush hour. I was still early so I went by my new house and dropped off my dog, Bundy. Work went as planned... no big deal. Same thing I do on a daily basis. Move corpses, drain fluids. Fill them up with other fluids. You know, normal stuff. Hell, I even left early so I could miss rush hour and get some packing done.

I drove up to my apartment building and saw a huge fucking U-Haul parked outside and my old boss (Dr. K for you long time readers LOL) sitting in the front seat, waiting. He took the day off to pack and move everything in my apartment (less the piano... he knows better than to fuck with my beloved like that). I didn't know whether to shoot him or to hug him. I'm not big on hugs... and my arsenal was packed, so I would have had to ask him where in the truck they were- that might be a dead give away he was toast. I just got back in the car and led him the hour back to Georgetown.

When we were done unloading the van I sent Dr. K home so I could start unpacking... much to his displeasure. I didn't want to deal with him anymore (big surprise). Of course as soon as he left Bundy decided it was HIS turn to go for a run- and being that there are leash laws (and I am now living in the middle of a Baptist campus, and we all know they EAT dogs haha) I was obligated to go with him... another five miles.

Dear WFT

I admit that I spend a LOT of time and energy on planning the deaths of others and visualizing ways they can kill themselves. Frankly, I don't give a damn about people- especially those who I find over emotional and annoying. I mean- hell... if someone slights you, move on and get the fuck over it. Laugh it up at how pathetic they are for targeting you or wasting their energy on bugging you. I find it amusing when people say mean things about me. But some WFT people find it necessary to bitch and moan and whine and beg for attention and claim they can't protect themselves.

I read this shit and start thinking of ways to end the problem. I'm enjoying the thought of a certain WFT person strapped to the hood of a car and scaring them to near death by off roading through thick brush.. Tie them behind the car and let their WFT skin get ripped off by the asphalt. (There is nothing quite like road rash... blisters well up then skin starts pealing off like the peal of a banana...) Beating with a tire iron is always fun. As is using lead pipes. I love the thud from hollow pipe, especially on skulls. My personal favorite, or course, is to lightly restrain the WFT victim and cut off their toes and testicles and make a stew of them. *yummy* (Other methods I approve of are burying the WFT victim alive, beheading, electrocution, firing squad and acid baths.)

Of course, as much as I enjoy fantasizing about killing WFT people, I think I enjoy thinking of them ending their life on their own accord to be just as appealing. Throwing themselves down stairs, under trains, and off tall buildings is always fun. As is setting their WFT self on fire. (I do love a good fire.) (Along with bullet to the brain, falling on chain saws, throwing yourself into a meat grinder, hanging and self-starvation.)

I guess my point is there is nothing wrong with a good fantasy- and there is nothing wrong with sharing it with others. Just don't overreact- it's fucking weak and pathetic.

Sincerely,
Psychopathic Bitch

This Is A Title

I am hollow... empty inside and unable to feel. I don't mind faking every mundane interaction and I don't see it as a big deal. That doesn't mean I don't get tired of it. Why should I have to interact with the living when ninety percent of the time I am thinking of ways to kill them? As of late I have been able to cap the well and bottle the beast inside (mixed metaphors, but screw it). But now it has found its way back out and its claws are tearing me apart from the inside. I don't believe I am insane, but I'm about as far away from reality as you can get. I am the type of person who would be happy to torture and kill a helpless person strapped to an operating table.

Perhaps one day my knife will experience the joy of flesh. I think there is nothing wrong with this or anything else I've done, and that's my right. However, I do know that society views it as wrong so I try to hide these dark and possibly unhealthy thoughts and fantasies. I try and feel guilty when I violate their important commands, but it's beyond me. I don't really care what they have to say or about their rules, but I do enjoy my freedom. So no matter how much I want to go out and have an adventure called the WFTIRLTA, I shall try to restrain myself.

100 Foot Lake Monster

I have always been a handful. I would kill my child if he acted anything like me (though for some reason I have a feeling Des won't be all that different...). Mother tried to get me to play with dolls, but from a young age I knew I wasn't the motherly sort. I will go ahead and say it- I was Satan's Understudy. Every doll or action figure I was given were punctured, dismembered, melted over an open flame, sunk in homemade quicksand, and tortured with minor acid from brothers chemistry set. Their cries for mercy went unheeded.

When I wasn't mass murdering my action figures, I was on the piano. I don't know many six year-olds who have the patience to sit and play music for hours, but it was always something I enjoyed. I suppose it's odd since nobody in my household played at the time. Maybe I just knew early on that death (whether doll, human or animal) and the piano would be my passions. But perhaps the reason is a little more obvious.

My parental unit had a fascination with being at the nearby lake. They used to drag all their kids there and try to get us to swim and boat and so forth. I am not a fan of water (unless it comes from a tap and is used for cleaning). I hear people talk about it like it's a special force or something spiritual. I look at it and see a series of billions upon billions of molecules consisting of two parts hydrogen combined with one part oxygen... and nasty stuff. Nasty, nasty stuff. I look into lakes (or worse, the ocean) and see demons writhing in their tormented agony.

In case anyone is wondering why I have such an aversion to water I will go ahead and write it. If you aren't the least bit interested- move along.

Please keep the accusations of 'creative license', or 'slight exaggeration', or 'blatant lying' to yourself. When I was learning to swim in the lake I was attacked by what must have been a ten foot monster under the surface. I didn't feel it grab me but why else would I suddenly be unable to swim? (Not that I could swim before... but since everyone else could I should have been able to.) As soon as the 20 foot long creature started pulling me under, cocoons of demon butterflies started hatching in my stomach. I certainly didn't know I had those so it must have been the 48 foot creatures kin, trying to help it drown me. I almost died and have never really wanted to go back into the lake of death- or any other lake for that matter.

(Did I mention this disgusting lake monster was at least 20 tons and 100 feet long?!)

Seventeen Other Unseasonably Hot Locations

I met my boss today, also known as the-weasel-faced-twerp-I'd-really-like-to-asphyxiate. A lot of people have the Boss From Hell. I have the Boss From Hell And Seventeen Other Unseasonably Hot Locations. Evidently I act like I am on cocaine. I guess the WFTIRLTA has never worked with anyone with energy or who likes their job. And someone getting a bloody nose while being hyper? Pfft. DRUG TEST!

The WFTIRLTA came up behind me while I was working and I jumped. Caffeine + energetic person + working with the dead = jumpy person. I guess he has never seen anyone do that before. Later he came back while I was trying to stop a nose bleed. Anyone who has worked extensively with Formalin and bleach knows it causes them. (If the WFTIRLTA ever left his cushy office he'd know that.) He confronts me and says I wasn't drug tested because I came highly recommended- but obviously they do things differently where I am from because here they don't tolerate drug usage on the job.

Uh... come again? I clenched my fists and thought if I could just kill him right now I could go to the electric chair a happy camper.

A Horse Story

I don't consider myself a horse hater. Having 4 wouldn't really be recommended if I was. But Booger is a sieve-brained miniature pony who usually just stands around sweating. I haven't had him that long so didn't know that he was a terrible creature to get on the trailer. After pulling on his lead rope and smacking him on the ass for what seemed like the hundredth time (but was actually only the 93rd...) I was fed up and wanting to rearrange his body so his head would never see the sunlight again. I gave up and tied him next to the trailer to go find someone to help me pick him up and toss him in.

Turns out Booger doesn't tie. He jerked back and broke his halter before taking off running. I was a little surprised because, as I said earlier, he doesn't move around much. He's about as active as a 400lb transvestite... and in about the same shape. Anyway- he was running like an idiot trying to get away from the people trying to capture him. But his speed lessened his accuracy, and he tripped over an inconveniently placed piece of dust and tumbled to the ground. Despite the fact that he had officially turned into my personal pestilence, I couldn't help but laugh as he laid there, dazed and looking as dumb as ever. At least he stayed down long enough to be caught.

Job Hunt Over

Not that I was actually hunting for a job... but I got the one I interviewed for today. I start on Monday- and sign the lease to my new house (yes, house... not apartment) tomorrow. A very productive day indeed.

I really don't understand the purpose of a verbal interview. Some people just suck at it because they are shy or too nervous to function. Other people are completely suave and manipulative and can get any job any time because of their mad interview skills. If I was to hire someone I would look over their resumes, call previous (or current) employers and then throw them directly into the job to make sure they know what the hell they are doing. Nathaniel just asked me general questions. Never even asked if I knew the procedure. After the interview he said I was hired because he thinks I am 'wonderful', then showed me around. BTW- it looked like every other funeral home I have ever seen.

But what the hell does 'wonderful' even mean? I know the dictionary definition (admirable, astonishing, marvelous...). My confusion come in to what is he referring to. My skills in talking my way into (and out of) anything I want? My resume? My outfit? The way I can control mass armies of destruction using mind control? (Okay, I can't really do this, but his long monologues were soporific so I was day dreaming.)

End Of An Era

The lease on my apartment is up next month, and I have decided no to renew it. I need a change- it's time to move on. I got out of my job at the morgue, don't ask me how. I figured I was going to have to be on the slab myself before Dr. K gave me up. But he was awesome about it. After stopping by work this morning I went over to the mortuary and spent a bulk of my time in my old roll. Perfecting the dead is something, one of the only things, I am content doing. There is an opening at one of the mortuaries in Georgetown, KY. I am interviewing there tomorrow, and if I get the job I will then go exploring for a place to live.

Something clicked in my brain today as I was draining a dead mans fluids. I never have thought about death before. Not really. I have always been around it, yet it has never crossed my mind that one day I will die. Odd seeing as how I have put myself in many situations where I probably should have died- but until today it never crossed my mind. It wasn't an in depth thought. I didn't dwell on it. I was just the sudden realization that death is a given, and in my situation, it will probably happen sooner rather than later. I am at peace with it.

Dear Obese Shopper

First off, you are slow to walk behind, and that pisses me off. And what is with you using scooters at the grocery store? If you are so fat that you can’t walk chances are you don’t need to be at the grocery store. I am a firm believer that doors to grocery stores should only be 15 inches wide. And if your knees hurt so you can’t walk, lose some weight! Your knees will stop hurting if you aren’t carrying around 100 extra pounds.

Don’t feed me that damn line of you are only fat because of a medical condition. And whine that you don’t really eat that much. You do! No matter what you think, four billion calories are just too much in a day. Try cutting down to 1300 and exercising. Fat fuck. You are disgusting.

By the way, reader, I will be leaving friday and won't be back for awhile... So bye if I don't talk to you before then.

Work

After last nights romp (and I don't mean roll in the hay...) I am in a great mood. I start back at the morgue tomorrow, day shift. I am thoroughly looking forward to sharpening my tools and cutting bodies open. Pulling out organs and playing catch with them... er... I mean inspect and weigh them respectfully.

Also starting tomorrow I will be working 7 days a week again. Not that I am complaining about that. I am always content at work. Weekends will be my favorite time to go in for I have managed to get my old job back at the mortuary. I am looking forward to cutting someone open then preparing them for burial. I know that will happen at some point. I can already smell the formalin...

Night Shift

I look at the corpses that come in at night and find myself wondering what their stories were. Did they come from a big family? Were they prosperous? Were they a grandparent of 10? Was there a time in there life that they were so depressed they wished to be here?

I look at them and can’t help but think how dead they look. That must sound ridiculous to those who aren’t in the business. I am accustomed to dealing with two stages of death. Either I am cutting them open, which makes the deceased more like a piece of meat, or an anatomy lesson. Or I am embalming them, making them greater and more beautiful than when they were alive. Seeing nothing but dead, useless bodies is a little strange. I think working nights is starting to finally get to me. I don’t feel the release at work I used to. I might as well work stock at a retail store.

My life feels flatter than usual... boring. Displeasure and something dark is bubbling below the surface. I need to do something to calm that and make my life more interesting.

20 Facts About Me

01. I can’t stop the microwave if the numbers don’t end in :00 or :30. If I miss my window, I let my food overcook and give it to my dog.

02. I prefer embalming to aiding autopsies, though I prefer cutting open bodies to embalming them. Don’t ask me to explain this.

03. I have three horses, but only ride one of them.

04. I’ve been vegan since I was a kid. Not because I care about animals, but because the thought of eating them disgusts me.

05. I put salt on almost everything. Cereal, fruits, salads, soy ice-cream and so on.

06. My favorite animals are serpents. My smallest snake is 7 feet long, the largest is over 20. The best part of owning them is killing their food.

07. I read 4-6 books a week, but if the book isn’t available on my eReader I probably haven’t read it since I acquired the nifty gadget.

08. Nearly everyone in my immediate family has died a self-inflicted death. I embalmed half of them.

09. I drive a Prius because part of the false identity I made for myself to appear a little more human is pretending to care about the environment.

10. I was expelled from school for the first time in the third grade. The reason? When asked to write about what I wanted to be when I grew up I said a hit-man. When presenting this, I brought my fathers colt revolver for emphasis.

11. I clean. Everything. I spend more hours a week cleaning than I do on anything but work. My apartment, place of employment and cages always smell like bleach. My dog gets bathed every other day. The piece of shit cat that’s living with me and my breeding rats get bathed twice a week.

12. I’m an atheist. I am also anti-monotheist. It makes no sense to have an absolute view of the universe. To have right and wrong judged by an all powerful, all-knowing being who cannot be questioned or reasoned with. And in whose name horrendous acts are sanctioned without appeal.

13. When I was a kid, I thought the game ‘skin the cat’ meant actually skinning cats. That is, until I brought a stray and a knife to a play date.

14. My dog comes to work with me when I work nights, and he pees on the autopsy tables.

15. I hate holidays. They are stupid and unnecessary.

16. I take at least 3 showers a day. One when I wake up. One after work. One before bed. If I go to the barn I take a shower after I get back. If I want to take a bath I shower first.

17. When I need money, and don’t feel like dating someone to get it, I play the piano professionally or pick up horses to braid at horse shows. For the latter I gross $700 a day on average.

18. My favorite one digit number is 8. My favorite number is general is 54679.

19. I used to ride horses professionally.

20. I only wrote this list because I'm too fucking tired to write anything else.

Haiti

Haiti is a true three-ring circus of torture, rape, murder, name-calling and anesthetic free amputations. And nobody thought to invite me. There is an awful lot of information posted about Haiti’s condition on various human right groups. There are quite serious, shrill, in the things that are being and have been done there. Still, not much has come of it. No matter how much money is funneled into it from various rich countries, it never improves. After all, it’s only human rights.

It must be terribly frustrating for these groups to keep fighting a battle that cannot, in fact, be won. PETA seems to get much better results. These poor souls have done their research, published their results detailing rapes, electrodes and cattle prods. Listing the results of natural disasters in details. Detailing the results of long term hunger, poor water supply and unsanitary living conditions. Naming inhuman monsters who continue to wreak havoc on the islands. Yet more people boycott restaurants for mistreating chickens then care about the long term maintenance of Haiti. It’s a wonderful free-for-all where there are actually no good guys. Everyone out there helping is doing it for political reasons or to improve their standing with their gods. The awesomely basic and inhumane medical care the islanders are receiving is apparently so awful that it leaves people nostalgic for cattle prods in the rectum.

Alas, I believe it is the Haitians problem to solve whatever is ailing them. There would be a lot less bodies piled up from the recent disaster and the longer term starvation and poor living conditions if they stopped having kids and/or educated themselves enough to find work and a life off the islands. And don't waste your breathe telling me that they can't help it, it's a third world country blah blah blah because I know damn well they know where babies come from.

Suicide Rant

To anyone who's ever tried to commit suicide, fuck you. You make the rest of our lives fucking hell. Nobody wants to have to manage your estate when you die. And if you have animals, a double fuck you. Especially if you have more than 60 of them. Who the hell is going to take care of them if you die? Chances are your family doesn't give two shits about them and only tolerate them because you're alive.

So, in closing. Don't try to kill yourself until you have gotten rid of your animals and sold you house to people like me don't get stuck with all that crap. Life insurance would be nice too. And make your method something awesome so the medical examiner, staff and your friends at the mortuary have something to talk about.

Platypus

Here’s the deal. I’m starved for entertainment, and as a bloodthirsty bitch, I like my entertainment to be violent. The people I have been around lately are like a dictionary with an index- really stupid. I’d estimate that their intelligence level hovers around that of plaque. This morning I was asked the deepest question I have heard all week… whether or not I like duck-billed platypuses. Excuse me? Come again? Why should I give a rats ass either way? After stating that, the guy that asked me the question looked at me and simply said that he had been asking people that for years, and nobody ever had an opinion on them. I still am not sure why he cares.

It’s sad that this was the highlight of my social day, well, night. So I am pulling myself away from the idiots that I am dealing with and finding a new crew to play with. I am have also been attempting a new lying/bullshitting strategy. It works. Tell the truth first and people don't believe you- then they buy the lie. Interesting shit.

Changes

People respond to change in many different ways, and how we, as individuals, perceive change often determines how we react to it. In general, a new situation is initially met with apprehension and frustration, and is experienced as negative- unless, of course, there has been plenty or forewarning. Even then… most people seem to resist it.

But, alas, change is a part of life. If things never changed we would be quite bored. From the moment we are birthed into this crazy ass world, things around us are changing. We, ourselves are changing- physically, emotionally and intellectually. Siblings may be added to the family. Parents grow old and hopefully die sooner rather than later. Friends come and go. Buildings and roads are built where beautiful forests and farmland used to be.

In an ideal world, periods of change will alternate with periods of stability and calm. Focus will shift between worrying about the future and being happy with the present. One might think that with all the changes we are faced with throughout our lives that we, as a species, would be quite good at handling change. Maybe some are.

I don’t know about all of you, but I only like change if I create it. It is in the same class as chaos. I want to be in control. I am not in control of this change and that is going to have to be remedied.