Hey, don't yell at me, Gus. I'm just honoring my father's twisted, penny-pinching mistheopic wishes.

I just had the most awful thought: what my dad would totally totally love is if, after donating his corpse to science, we showed ourselves to truly be his children and watch whatever it is they do. Noooooooo!

He is so totally and completely fascinated by that stuff. This is man who asks to have procedures done while he's awake so he can watch (hand rebroken and pinned, knees roto-rootered, reconstructive surgery on his FACE, um, other stuff .) He doesn't watch surgeries on tv or anything, no, what fascinates him is seeing how he works. Luckily, all his surgeons have found this fun and give him extra commentary.

Yeah, he's weird. OTOH, mom tells me he is incredibly bawdy going in and out of anesthesia so maybe having him awake is best.

Heh. Probably best, yeah. I saw a flash of my dad's testicles when he was getting out of bed after his triple bypass, and my God, I think my eyes actually spun around 8 times in .0001 seconds trying to look away.

Heh. Probably best, yeah. I saw a flash of my dad's testicles when he was getting out of bed after his triple bypass, and my God, I think my eyes actually spun around 8 times in .0001 seconds trying to look away.

My family was fairl hippie so it wasn't unusual for me to see my folks naked. Of course, when I was six I knew nothing about testicles so I thought my Father had three penises.

Which made sense to me because he had three children.

Well, "Jeezus Dad! Go put on a decent pair of shorts/fix your robe/you took your shorts off on the front porch?!" was a common refrain in our household. So. Though, ok, the latter only happened once and that even embarassed him.

My parents' nudity taboos are not my own, and that's all I'm saying on a public forum.

Hey, don't yell at me, Gus.

When did I ever yell at my Erin? I would not do that. However

"mistheopic"

"Bad-God-like?"

My parents' nudity taboos are not my own, and that's all I'm saying on a public forum.

But we KNOW the story of the hat and the nail polish.

Okay, that thing about watching surgery on his own face is completely freaking me out.

I am all about the green funeral thing. There's an Alternative Society here that I need to look into, because that's what I want to do. It creeps me out way more to think about my mummified corpse sitting all chemically and artificial inside a satin bed in a platinum vault or something than it does to think of just rotting quickly and becoming soil.

I don't have an engagement ring, since generally when you elope you don't actually have an engagement period. I wore my childhood sapphire on my left hand for a while, subversively, but no one noticed this and questioned me. I do have a wedding band (silver, 'cause gold is tiring) but I'm not currently wearing it because it's too small.

When I was married, the jeweler who fit the band to me was all proud of his ability to size in between the standard sizes, and as a result my ring is tiny tiny tiny. I've gained a bunch of weight since then, so it doesn't fit, but I hesitate to resize it because I like my little old jeweler story and I'm theoretically optimistic about losing some of the weight. The truth is that I'm lazy, but I really should do something, because I love the ring.

It's a plain silver band, with the "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine" inscription on it.

I don't wear diamonds, and it is because of the political issues. My sister lives right in the midst of it all, and I can't get with the horror.

Well, I figure if "misanthropic" is people-hater, then Dad is a misTHEOpe.

My family was fairl hippie so it wasn't unusual for me to see my folks naked. Of course, when I was six I knew nothing about testicles so I thought my Father had three penises.

Which made sense to me because he had three children.

If I were drinking anything, it'd be on the cat! Hee!