And before that...

Huffing Borax is a total waste of time; it says right on the box, "Not For Drug Use."

But it dessicates the holy out of some flea eggs, so Borax is ok by me. When I remember not to snort it. (Flea eggs and resultant fleas courtesy really cute somewhat sick puppy. PS i have yet to call the pound with the reference number and find out what her fate was. I can't decide if I want to know or not.)

I went to the east coast, and now i am back on the west coast, and they kind of both feel like home. I noted on the cab ride from LAX to the office that the vegetation didn't look foreign anymore, even after ten days of looking at "normal" vegetation. But the vegetation at home did have more of a spiritual oomph packed in.

As it turns out, DC is still a swamp (and I am officially now a pussy with regards to hot+humid), they still let people smoke cigarettes in public enclosed spaces on the east coast (forgot how much that sucked), and the Ladies of the East are still wantonly decorating public terlet seats with their golden nectar whenever the whim strikes them. But, El Pollo Rico still exists and the Nelson bros. and Ann Jaeger, Adam Wallacavage is making octopus chandeliers for his new house, my sister got me St. Barbara-in-a-can for my birthday (among other things), and my mom and dad wiped out the "Cute" competition at nationals again this year. With the exception of the purpled ass and whatever i did to my ribcage (which now only hurts occassionally), east coast good.

west coast way better weather though.

Did i tell you I recently read a sign that indicated that I live in "Little Armenia?" I suspect it's akin to the "French Quarter" that Mars works in.