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breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Had a hideous nightmare that my mother was dying of pharyngeal (sp?) cancer. Took place in a hospice. I was trying to tell her all the things that I wanted to say--you know, the usual, that she'd done a good job and I was proud of her--and it was generally gut wrenching. Since my grandmother died rather unpleasantly of cancer over the course of several days in the hospital when I was twelve, and I was there for most of it, my brain was capable of furnishing this scene with the sort of detail that, if I could pack into a painting, there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house.

However, this was one of MY dreams, so naturally that tender scene of universal pathos was interrupted by my having to fight off an organized crime ring being run by the hospice director, who had a bunch of redneck orderlies in an aging Mustang, and I was armed only with a toilet plunger, the broken glass from the parking lot, and my vast irritation.

If I ever needed proof that I am inherently just a cheerful person, it's got to be the fact that my brain can't even handle a death-of-a-loved-one nightmare without deciding it's time for a slapstick kung-fu with toilet plunger sequence. (Or this may just prove that I'm insane. Or, as Grampa Simpson would say, "A little from column A...")

Anyway. Was very glad to wake up. Must call Mom today or something. Brrr.


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Bwahahaaa! Hee hee! Someday there must be a painting of that slapstick kung fu sequence. With you as the chupacabra. Whee!

The toilet plunger reminds me of a time I was working for a publisher as project manager on special editions of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. You know the tradition of toilet papering someone's office on their birthday? Yeah. They toilet plungered my cubicle. One stuck to the monitor, one stuck to the filing cabinet, one hanging from the ceiling. Plus TP everywhere. One of the IT guys came by while a plunger was still stuck to the monitor and I told him, "Look, someone was trying to uninstall a Microsoft product."

My boss on that job gave me a bunch of miniature plastic toilets filled with lip balm, which I displayed in my cubicle as the "6th Floor Miniature Toilet Museum, funded by the Federal Endowment for the Lavatories". Said IT guy once pointed out that, given the packaging, perhaps the balm was not meant for the lips. I said, "If your ass is so chapped you need ass balm, I don't want to know how it got that way."

That was a fun job. Except for the 30-hour days right before pub deadlines.

One of the IT guys came by while a plunger was still stuck to the monitor and I told him, "Look, someone was trying to uninstall a Microsoft product."

That is priceless.

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