Correspondence from the underground . . .
Kerry joined the geriatric society yesterday as she rang in her 19th year with a very exclusive suare at the Wallingford pizza house. All friends worth giving a shit were present. Those of you who sent their best wishes to the birthday girl, yet failed to attend can all bugger off. But please, remember to send presents, checks, and the ever-popular cash gift.
My beautiful car is still relatively healthy since the emergency alternator transplant that required overnight hospitalization at Specialty Automotive Service & Repair in Bend, Oregon. Minor complications of the procedure include a high-pitched screaming caused by a piss-poor belt instalation. Fortunately for me, Nollan is available tomorrow to wrench on my baby. Although, this may not be the wisest plan of action considering the fact that my alternator was falling out of my car due to Nollan's mechanical negligence on a previous occaision. Hmmmm.
On to more depressing topics . . . Even when they win, the Mariners suck hard. Ben Davis: you're not out of the shithouse yet. Thanks for the effort, but redemption demands consistent displays of talent. And to our new manager: If Edgar's going to run bases, get him on a treadmill, drop some chub and pick up the speed. It was a nice try to save face, but didn't quite cut it. They'd better "bring it" when they play at home. C'mon, the Angels blow.
Kerry's broken tibia is a guy magnet. She hooked a big one this week. Literally. Standing nearly six foot-four, Shay, a festive addition to the UW's powerhouse rowing team, hails to us from Moscow, Idaho. Welcome to Washington, the weather sucks. This kid is a great sport. Not only did Kerry manage to entice him into watching Back to the Future, but he willingly answered my trivia questions. The real bread-winning moment was when Shay managed to answer a good ninety percent of the questions correctly. It's good to know that my beloved University managed to attract some jocks with brains. Unfortunately, the current news in the papers would indicate otherwise . . . One football player quits because he doesn't get to play his position of choice and another may be in jail. Neat.
Money is short right now, and that ad in The Daily offering women 19-25 a whopping $3500 to donate eggs is looking mighty appealing. Sick. There could be little Kirstens running around the planet and no one would have any warning because it's all done anonymously. My personal ethics prevent me from taking the money and forking over the somatic cells . . . well, ethics only really hold you back so long when you're desperate for a little dinero.
My sister and I discussed the ever crucial hypothetical situation wherein you're given three, and only three, wishes.
Gretchen: Easy. World peace, infinite wealth, and to be 5'6.
Kirsten: Oh, not for me. World peace, infinite wealth, and a relatively small Latin-American country for me to rule with an iron fist.
But realistically, any sort of dictatorship will really do, I'm simply partial to the Spanish language. Plus, I've fallen for the romantic history of Latino tyrants in both Central and South America. I would love to be a part of that legacy. And the food is great, the weather's not bad at all, and the men can dance. Which is nice.
My beautiful car is still relatively healthy since the emergency alternator transplant that required overnight hospitalization at Specialty Automotive Service & Repair in Bend, Oregon. Minor complications of the procedure include a high-pitched screaming caused by a piss-poor belt instalation. Fortunately for me, Nollan is available tomorrow to wrench on my baby. Although, this may not be the wisest plan of action considering the fact that my alternator was falling out of my car due to Nollan's mechanical negligence on a previous occaision. Hmmmm.
On to more depressing topics . . . Even when they win, the Mariners suck hard. Ben Davis: you're not out of the shithouse yet. Thanks for the effort, but redemption demands consistent displays of talent. And to our new manager: If Edgar's going to run bases, get him on a treadmill, drop some chub and pick up the speed. It was a nice try to save face, but didn't quite cut it. They'd better "bring it" when they play at home. C'mon, the Angels blow.
Kerry's broken tibia is a guy magnet. She hooked a big one this week. Literally. Standing nearly six foot-four, Shay, a festive addition to the UW's powerhouse rowing team, hails to us from Moscow, Idaho. Welcome to Washington, the weather sucks. This kid is a great sport. Not only did Kerry manage to entice him into watching Back to the Future, but he willingly answered my trivia questions. The real bread-winning moment was when Shay managed to answer a good ninety percent of the questions correctly. It's good to know that my beloved University managed to attract some jocks with brains. Unfortunately, the current news in the papers would indicate otherwise . . . One football player quits because he doesn't get to play his position of choice and another may be in jail. Neat.
Money is short right now, and that ad in The Daily offering women 19-25 a whopping $3500 to donate eggs is looking mighty appealing. Sick. There could be little Kirstens running around the planet and no one would have any warning because it's all done anonymously. My personal ethics prevent me from taking the money and forking over the somatic cells . . . well, ethics only really hold you back so long when you're desperate for a little dinero.
My sister and I discussed the ever crucial hypothetical situation wherein you're given three, and only three, wishes.
Gretchen: Easy. World peace, infinite wealth, and to be 5'6.
Kirsten: Oh, not for me. World peace, infinite wealth, and a relatively small Latin-American country for me to rule with an iron fist.
But realistically, any sort of dictatorship will really do, I'm simply partial to the Spanish language. Plus, I've fallen for the romantic history of Latino tyrants in both Central and South America. I would love to be a part of that legacy. And the food is great, the weather's not bad at all, and the men can dance. Which is nice.