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07.24.02 -


So last night I passed out on the kitchen floor, whacking my knee and hip hard enough to leave some nasty-ass bruises. And there wasn't even a pitcher of kamikazes involved.

What happened was this: I got the hiccups. Bad. The "Ip! Ip!" kind that hurt your liver. The only cure for the Death Hiccups is to ask JB, politely, to choke the hell out of me. I know, it sounds weird, like maybe we also put plastic bags over our heads and slather our naked selves with spicy mustard behind closed doors, but it works. He just presses on my neck for a minute, and the hiccups cease and desist.

Well, I don't know what ninja move he's been studying, but for some reason last night when he pressed on my neck, I completely lost consciousness. One minute I'm standing there in the kitchen, the next I am flat on the floor stammering to JB that I was ok. I guess I scared the crap out of him because I simply collapsed, practically bashing my brains out on the oven door. My body also jerked reflexively, making him think I was about to have a seizure.

Good thing I didn't whiz in my pants while I was at it.

The bummer thing is that I *need* the few remaining brain cells I have. I can't afford to go about cutting off my oxygen all willy-nilly and losing the ability to remember which episode of The Simpsons was the one with that world dominator guy, you know, the one where they move to what looks like Seattle? So lesson learned, do not choke off air supply when attacked by hiccups. Next time will drink beer instead.

The whole thing reminded me of middle school. For some reason, in 8th grade a bunch of girls went through this stage of trying to pass each other out. You would take big fast breaths for a couple minutes to hyperventilate, then your friend would push really hard on your chest. I remember getting really dizzy but never quite fading out, but lots of girls would just slither bonelessly to the floor. Then they would slowly get back up and everyone would talk about how freaky it was. Whoo, good times.

The other possible-brain-tumor-related thing that happened yesterday was that I talked IN MY SLEEP about Diaryland. JB said that at some point in the night I clearly said "I hate changing that thing on the bottom, don't you?" Understandably confused, JB asked me what I meant - and got only mumbly whurfling in response. He ended up pressing me until I officially woke up, and realized what I was saying. "Um," I said, "I meant I hated having to change the code that links to past entries, but I didn't like using the Diaryland 'last 5' code either." "Wow," JB said while rolling back on his side, "you dream about some fascinating shit."
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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland