A birthday is a horrible time for a near death experience but, as my mother feared, the day I turned 22 I faced a twofold threat in Seattle–suspiciously close to Canada. The first was the insidious threat of crepe or nutella overdose at lunch:
The tastiest way to die
The Monterey Bay Aquarium is supposed to be pretty baller, as far as aquariums go, although I remained at the same level of impressedness I maintain towards the Tampa Bay aquarium (through Florida solidarity). In only two places do they excel: the sea horse exhibit and the penguins. Sea horses are, naturally, my favorite, being the giraffes of the sea, but the penguins were most impressive because of one’s stolid attempts to escape. Observe:
Luckily he did not succeed, for if he had, I would have undoubtedly faced DEATH once again as the infuriated, adrenaline-fueled penguin attempted to gore what he would see as the nearest of his human captors.
Of the many perils of California, none is more fearsome (to the supposedly highly allergic Patricia) than the house cat. Observe my brush with death at the hands of this cuddly assassin:
Only pretending to be cute to deliver the killing nuzzle, cheeky devil
If not for my premeditated application of copious amounts of Claritin, I could very well be NO MORE. Or at least in sorry shape before facing the next instance of NEAR DEATH:
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Do you know how hard it is to even get a cellphone signal in Montana and Western North Dakota? The only person who complained about my lack of updates was my mother, who I think checks this blog as an assurance that I’m still alive. She urged me when she was finally able to get a call through that my “friends would think something horrible has happened” if I didn’t write soon. Clearly she worries more than all of you. Or has less faith in my instincts of self-preservation. And so, in honor of my mother, I will catalogue the Times I Have Almost Died over the past few blog-less days.
You may not realize it, but despite the recent festivities (and all evidence to the contrary) the residents of THE 434 are WRACKED by grief at the death of our beloved friend, roommate, and noted alcoholic: Bridget, the long-lived Beta Fish. Previously thought to be immortal, her death at the age of three comes as a shock—although, as noted Betaologist Rachel Kinney astutely points out, “that’s like one million in fish years”. And so I’ve decided to compile a timeline of Bridget’s life to immortalize her greatness.
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