Non Sequuntur

I was in high school when I found out about the whole transsubstantiation aspect of the Catholic communtion and what the communion bell meant. Ever since, I think of the communtion wafer as Chicken in a Biscuit, but with Jesus instead. Jesus in a Biscuit.

My grandmother always called me Dear Heart. When I was little, I thought (because of Snow White's huntsman) that she was calling me Deer Heart. It grossed me out.

The only consistent vision I've had for my life since I can remember is that I will someday have a library with floor to ceiling oak bookcases and a fireplace. Okay - the 'oak' part came later, but still...

I have a hard time reconciling the fact that there are people I love that I see infrequently/never, but people I don't care about/don't like, I see all the time.

I am one of those people who other people spill their guts to. And not necessarily people I know. On my last transcontinetal flight, my seat neighbor told me the tragic tale of her financial ruin at the hands of a criminal accountant and her subsuquent divorce. I also heard about her problem breast augmentation and that she really regretted having her clit pierced because it had deadened her nerve endings and she no longer enjoyed oral sex because if it.

I am fully secure in my carniverousness, however, I think that everyone should be more connected to their food. For example, butcher an animal themselves, or at least acknowledge that they are eating a formerly living thing. I know a few people who can't even eat meat with bones because they can't think about the fact that what they're about to consume once had a pulse. If that's how you feel you should become a vegetarian and leave me your delicious meat.

Once, Wilbur and I were eating on the patio at Swingers on Beverly and two women sat next to us and had a discussion (that we couldn't stop listening to) about who Liam Neeson is. Finally, one said to the other in a deep Long Island accent, "He's the gray-haired gentleman. You know. He does spoof." Wilbur and I nearly peed our pants. I've never heard anyone confuse Liam Neeson with Leslie Nielsen before or since. And now whenever I hear either man's name, I hear the word 'spoof' echoing in my head.


catherine said...

This was perfect... Don't forget the floor-to-ceiling oak ladders on a track at the top, and with wheels at the bottom. :)

Dorothy said...

Oh, ladders! Good call. I would've been screwed trying to scale the shelves like Spiderman.