Vertigo

This morning I picked up Sparkle's ashes from a perfectly coiffed Southern Lady with a gold brocade pantsuit and ivory cane. Scarlett O'Hara as an elderly pimp. She was very nice about Sparkle, though; total class.

So this weekend is already off to a depressing and bizzaro start. Last night I drank way too much and watched Talk To Her, which is not a combination that I reccomend for those in an already delicate state of mind. Follow immediately with crying and Benadryl. Luckily, I was able to come home from the crematory (can anyone explaine why those people insist on using the word "cremains"? I mean, come on, can we all just start making up words?), and get laugh from the fact that there is someone in American manufacturing plush, smiling internal organs.

Feel free to pick me up a liver.